Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Seven-fifteen,” he replied as he walked into the bedroom.

No, don’t, she wanted to shout. Go away. Don’t come any closer. But instead she squared her shoulders and offered him a half-hearted smile.

“Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”

He came closer and closer. Her heart caught in her throat. Although she wasn’t naked, she felt as vulnerable as if she were. She had shared a bedroom with a client before, but she’d always slept in more appropriate attire—usually baggy sweat pants and T-shirt. And she’d never had a client who struck every female chord within her.

When Miguel walked past her, she let out a deep breath, but that relieved sigh was short-lived. From the corner of her eye, she saw him bend over and reach down for something, then suddenly he came up behind her and draped her sheer silk robe over her shoulders. When his big hands grazed her naked shoulders, she gasped.

He ran his hands across her shoulders, slowly, sensuously. She shuddered.

“While you dress and prepare yourself for the day, I’ll put away the blanket and return the pillow to my bed,” he told her as he gave her upper arms a gentle squeeze. “We cannot have Ramona or the other girls thinking we have had a lover’s quarrel on your first night here, can we?”

J.J. swallowed. “No, we certainly do not want that.”

She pulled away from him and hurried to the closet. Before closing the door, she peeked back into the bedroom. Miguel folded the blanket and placed it in the intricately carved walnut cabinet on the far side of the room, then he picked up the pillow and tossed it onto his bed.

Stop wasting time staring at the man, she told herself. If he knew he had her rattled, she’d lose the upper hand with him. And that was something she couldn’t allow to happen. Let a man like Miguel—like her father and all macho chauvinists—know they had any kind of hold over you and they would use it against you. She’d learned that the only way to deal with such a man was to show him that not only did he not intimidate her, but that his blatant masculinity had no effect on her whatsoever. Let the airheaded, silly women who needed a big, strong man to lean on feed those men’s huge egos.

After closing the door, J.J. sorted through her choice of clothes. Damn, she had no idea what was on today’s agenda and since she was not officially acting as Miguel’s bodyguard, she could hardly wear her standard outfit of slacks, button-down shirt and jacket. Oh, no, on this assignment, she had to dress as if she were the candidate’s fiancée and she’d have to carry her weapon—which Miguel was supposed to furnish—in a handbag. How inconvenient was that? The extra time it would take her to open the bag and get her hands on the gun could mean the difference between life and death for her or for Miguel.

What insanity! That a man’s ego might cost him his life didn’t make sense to her. That had been one of the things she’d never understood about her father. And no matter how much she had adored him—idolized him, really—she’d been forced to face a hard truth. Rudd Blair was one of those men to whom the birth of a female child was a disappointment.

J.J. cracked the door and peered out into the bedroom. Her gaze settled on Miguel’s wide shoulders. Forcing herself not to do a quick survey, she cleared her throat and called to him.

“What is on today’s agenda? How should I dress?”

Keeping his back to her, he replied, “We will attend a sort of pep rally this morning at the Nationalist headquarters, then I have a television interview at noon, followed by lunch with a group of supporters at the country club. Domingo will go with us for the rally, but then he will return here. This afternoon, I will be followed by a news crew as I tour St. Augustine’s pediatric ward. We will end the day with a dinner held in my honor at the home of one of my most famous and influential supporters, Anton Casimiro. Of course we will return here to change before going to dinner.”

“The Anton Casimiro, the famous opera tenor fromArgentina?”

“Yes, that Anton Casimiro.”

“I had no idea he was living in Mocorito.”

“He keeps a penthouse in downtown Nava,” Miguel told her. “Anton’s mother was born here in Nava and he has cousins in the city.”

“Oh.” Switching gears, returning to her original concerns about how to dress for the day, she asked, “Then will a simple suit be appropriate for today?”

“Yes, I should think that would be quite appropriate.”

J.J. closed the door and rummaged through her clothes, each outfit covered with a protective plastic bag. She had packed shoes and purses in another suitcase and jewelry in a smaller overnight case. The clothes she had chosen for this assignment reflected her mother Lenore’s tastes. Simple elegance. Understated, yet fashionable.

With all the necessary paraphernalia in hand, she trekked back into the bedroom and felt a great sense of relief when she found the room empty. The door to the sitting area was closed, so she assumed Miguel had done the gentlemanly thing and given her some privacy.

She’d taken a shower last night, so a quick sponge bath this morning should suffice. And being blessed with curly hair, which she kept cut fairly short, all she needed to do was brush the curls into place. Although she often didn’t wear any makeup, today she would. Lipstick. Blush. A bit of eye shadow. Just enough, but not too much. Makeup should always look natural, or so her mother had told her numerous times.

Before she stripped, she made sure the door was locked, then she bathed, brushed her teeth and put on her underwear. She hated pantyhose with a passion, so when forced to wear a dress or suit, she preferred wearing a garter belt and stockings. Yesterday she’d worn pantyhose on the flight from Atlanta to Caracas on the Dundee jet and from Caracas to Nava on a commercial flight. After peeling them off and tossing them away, she’d been doubly glad that she’d packed a couple of garter belts and a dozen pair of stockings in various shades to wear for the rest of the time she was in Mocorito.

Although she’d heard that men loved to see women in garter belts and stockings, she had never chosen to perform in that particular attire for any man. She wore them to please herself, not to satisfy some drooling male who treated women as nothing more than sex objects.

Out of the blue, an unwanted image flashed through her mind. Miguel in his pajama bottoms sitting in his bed, his back propped against the elaborately carved headboard, watching her as she removed her clothes, down to her bra, panties, garter belt and stockings. A foreboding shudder rippled up her spine. It would be a cold day in hell before she’d strip for any man, and that included Miguel Ramirez!

“Dr. Esteban, I am not sure what to do.” Juan’s nurse, Carmen, caught him between patients. “Señorita Fernandez insists on seeing you. She is waiting in your private office.”

“When did she arrive?”

“About five minutes ago, Carmen replied. “I told her you were very busy this morning and in the middle of doing rounds here at the hospital, but she said she would wait however long it takes.”

Juan patted Carmen’s back. “I will see her now. It must be important or she would not have come here to the hospital so early this morning.”

As they walked together down the corridor toward the elevator, Carmen caught him by the arm to slow his pace. He paused and looked at her questioningly. Carmen had been with him since he finished his residency here at St. Augustine’s and became a member of the staff. She was round and plump, with gray hair and expressive hazel-brown eyes that often revealed the emotions stirring in her compassionate heart.

“It is not my place to advise you in personal matters, but…” Carmen lowered her voice as they entered the elevator. Once the doors closed and they were alone, she continued. “Señorita Fernandez belongs to a very powerful family and if her brother were to find out that—”

“I don’t need you to warn me,” Juan said. “Aunt Josephina spoke to me only last night about the dangers of becoming involved with Seina.”

“Did you listen to your aunt? No, you did not. If you had taken heed to her warning, you would have told me to explain to the señorita that you could not see her today.”

The elevator doors opened on the ground floor where Juan’s office was located. He held the door for Carmen, then together they walked down the corridor. When they neared his private office, he paused and turned to her.

“Go to the cafeteria and bring back some coffee for us…in about fifteen minutes,” Juan told her.

“It is not wise for you to be alone with her.”

“Please, do as I ask.”

Huffing indignantly, she glowered at him. “I will return in fifteen minutes. And I will not knock on the door.” She didn’t look back as she walked away hurriedly.

Juan heaved a deep sigh as he grasped the doorknob. No one needed to tell him the foolishness of being in love with Seina Fernandez. He knew that there could be no future for them. Even if she were not engaged to another man, one chosen by her family, Seina and he could never marry. Not unless she broke all ties to her family and gave up her inheritance. He was not a poor man, but he could never give her the kind of lifestyle into which she had been born.

Garnering his courage, praying for the strength to do what was right for Seina, he opened the door and entered his private office. The moment she saw him, she sprung from her chair and rushed toward him. Despite his best efforts to remain aloof, he found himself opening his arms to her and holding her with gentle strength as she wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder.

“Mother has made plans for my engagement party,” Seina said. “In three weeks. She and Lorenzo’s mother have set the date for our wedding. It will be six months from the night our families officially announce our engagement.”

“You knew this day would come.” Juan tightened his hold on her.

She lifted her head and stared pleadingly at him with her huge black eyes. “We must find a way to be together. I do not love Lorenzo. I love you. I want to be your wife. Please, Juan, please, do not tell me that marrying another man is what is best for me. You cannot want me to be Lorenzo’s wife.”

Juan grasped her shoulders and held her away from him. “I die inside thinking of him touching you, kissing you, making love to you.”

“Oh, Juan…”

He shook her gently. “But I will not allow you to lose everything to be with me. In time you would come to hate me.”

“I would never—”

He shook her again, then released her. They stood there staring at each other. Tears gathered in Seina’s eyes. Juan swallowed the emotions threatening to choke him.

“I should never have allowed this to happen. That first time, when you came to see me as a patient and we felt an instant attraction, I should have sent you to another doctor that very day.”

“But you didn’t because you felt as I did. You knew we were meant to be together.”

He shook his head. “We are not together and we never can be.”

“You want me. I know you do.” Tension etched frown lines in her lovely face.

“I would never dishonor you.” Juan looked at the floor, knowing he dared not look at her. She was temptation personified.

“Then you are willing to send me to another man still a virgin, knowing he will take from me what I long to give you.”

Juan’s stomach muscles clenched into knots. “You must not say such things.”

“I say only what is in my heart. If…if I cannot be with you, my life is not worth living.”

He snapped his head up and looked directly into her eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Querida…”

“I shall kill myself.”

“No, Seina, you must not say such a thing. You must not even think it.”

Suddenly the door opened and, unannounced, Carmen walked in carrying two cups. “I apologize for interrupting you, Dr. Esteban, but I knew you would want your coffee before returning upstairs to finish your rounds.”

Juan glared at his nurse. “Please, place the coffee on my desk. Señorita Fernandez and I have not completed our—”

“No, no, I do not want to keep you from caring for your patients,” Seina said.

“Thank you for being so understanding, señorita.” Carmen placed the coffee on the desk. “If you would like, I can see you out. Do you have a car waiting or did you drive yourself?”

With her gaze downcast, Seina replied shyly, “I do not drive. A friend brought me. She is waiting for me in the parking lot.”

“Seina…Señorita Fernandez…” Juan looked at her longingly. He knew it was best for both of them if she left, if they never saw each other again. But a man in love seldom chose what was in his best interests. “We will speak again.”

“When?” she asked hopefully.

“Soon.”

Gala Hernandez waited in the parking lot of St. Augustine’s Hospital for her dearest friend. When Seina had telephoned her early this morning and pleaded with her to drive her here to see Dr. Esteban, she had done everything she could to dissuade Seina. Not only was her friend’s secret relationship with the doctor dangerous for Seina, but it also put Gala in a no-win situation. She had made some foolish mistakes several years ago and had it not been for Diego, Seina’s older brother, intervening on her behalf with the police, she would now be serving time in prison for drug use. Diego had not only protected her, he had sent her through a rehabilitation program and kept the whole thing in strictest confidence. And not once since then had Diego ever asked anything of her—until a few weeks ago.

“I know that Seina is slipping around seeing Juan Esteban,” Diego had told Gala. “I will, of course, put a stop to that relationship, when the time is right. But for now, it may be of use to me. To us.”

“I don’t understand. I thought that if you found out, you’d be furious.”

“I am displeased, but I trust you to keep me informed of what is happening with my sister and Dr. Esteban. If you think she is on the verge of sleeping with this man—”

“Seina is still a virgin. I swear she is.”

“Good. I know that you two share everything. She tells you what she is feeling, what she is doing. You know more about her than either I or our mother, and that is why I want you to report to me every time she sees Esteban. I want to know every word she says about him. I want to know what they talk about, who they discuss.”

“You think they discuss Miguel Ramirez?”

“It is possible. Especially if you were to encourage Seina to ask Esteban about his good friend. Encourage her to learn more about her half-brother. She is curious about him, and she has said that she believes we should get to know him. I’m afraid my little sister has a soft heart. Use your powers of persuasion to gain whatever information you can.”

Unlike his younger sister, Diego Fernandez did not have a soft heart. Handsome, charming and powerful, he could be a good friend. Unless you opposed him. Then he was ruthless. He hated his half-brother and would do anything to keep him from winning the presidency. She didn’t know for sure, but she suspected that he was somehow involved in the recent assassination attempt on Miguel Ramirez’s life.

The morning sun grew warmer by the minute. Even with the top down on her small sports car, Gala had begun to perspire. Seina had promised her she would be gone only a brief time, but she’d already been inside the hospital for nearly thirty minutes.

As she kept watch on the side entrance to the hospital, Gala’s cell phone rang. She knew before answering who the caller was.

“Hello.”

“Is she still with Dr. Esteban?” Diego asked.

“Yes.”

“I want a report the moment you take her home.”

“Very well.”

“And I have an assignment for you.”

“What sort of assignment?” Gala asked, her stomach tightening with apprehension. She could not refuse Diego. Her life was in his hands. He could, even now, see that she went to prison. If that happened, not only would her life be ruined, but her parents would be brokenhearted and disgraced.

“There is a luncheon at the Nava country club this afternoon in honor of Miguel Ramirez. I want you to attend. I’ve arranged for your name to be on the guest list.”

“But everyone knows that Seina and I are close friends.”

“Yes, I know. You will, however, publicly disagree with our family’s politics. And you can even imply that my sister secretly supports her half-brother, although she cannot publicly commit to him.”

“What purpose will this—”

“You are a beautiful woman, Gala. Ingratiate yourself to whatever man you can within the Ramirez camp, perhaps even Ramirez himself. I want you trailing the Nationalist candidate. Become a camp follower. Keep your eyes and ears open. I am especially interested in any information about Ramirez’s new fiancée, Señorita Blair.”

“You ask too much, Diego. It is bad enough that you have made me betray my best friend, but now you want me to work as a spy for the Federalists.”

“Of course, you have a choice.”

Gala swallowed the fear lodged in her throat. “I will do as you ask.”

“Good. You have made the right choice. I am good to my friends, as you already know.”

“I have to go now. I see Seina,” she lied.

“Ask her about her visit with Esteban, then take her home. If she gives you any interesting information, call me. Otherwise, show up at the country club at one-thirty, then I will contact you this evening.”

Miguel shook hands with everyone on staff at the television station directly following his fifteen-minute interview on the noon news. Afterward, with his fake fiancée at his side, he spoke at length to the huge audience crammed into the small auditorium at the station. He noticed the way she not only kept watch over him, but continuously surveyed the area around them. Everyone seemed as interested in meeting Jennifer as they were in him. But who could blame them? The woman even intrigued him.

The television station was owned by a member of the Nationalist Party who provided Miguel with a weekly interview as well as numerous free one-minute ads that ran often during each twenty-four-hour period. When the reporter doing the interview had asked about Miguel’s fiancée, he had been given little choice but to bring her on camera and introduce her to the people of Mocorito. His lovely Jennifer had surprised him. The ease with which she appeared on camera, a warm smile in place and her hand clasping his the whole time, told him that she had done this type of thing before today. She was what the Americans referred to as “a natural.”

When asked how she felt about her future husband being a candidate for president, she had replied without missing a beat, “I am very proud of Miguel and support him without reservation. I will do everything within my power to help him become el presidente because I know in my heart how much he loves Mocorito and all the people of this wonderful country.”

“Thank you, J.J. I am a fortunate man to have found such a loving and caring helpmate,” he had said as he’d gazed lovingly at her.

He had deliberately referred to her as J.J., the nickname that Domingo Shea had told him everyone close to her used. For half a second, she’d reacted, her eyebrows lifting ever so slightly, but then she had simply smiled and continued looking at him as if he were the sun and moon and stars to her.

If he had not known better, he would have believed every sweet word out of her mouth. The lady had been quite convincing, all that he could have asked for in a fiancée. Not only had she shown her support by word and deed, she had presented herself as a fashionable yet conservatively dressed lady. The simple purple suit she wore was accented with pearl earrings and necklace. Her shoes and handbag were a rich, dark purple leather. Everything about her whispered aristocratic sophistication. Understated and elegant.

After the interview ended, he told her in a quiet voice, yet loud enough for everyone around them to hear, “You were perfect.”

“Thank you, Miguel.”

She gazed at him with those incredible blue-violet eyes and he found himself unable to resist the urge to kiss her. Only at the last minute, with Roberto clearing his throat behind them, did Miguel manage to restrain himself and simply brush her cheek with a tiny peck.

“Miguel, my friend,” Mario Lamas, the TV station’s owner clamped his hand down on Miguel’s shoulder. “The phones have been ringing off the hook. Your lady is a huge success. The people love her.” Mario turned to Jennifer, took her hand and kissed it. “You, my dear Señorita Blair, are a definite asset in this election. You must accompany Miguel everywhere from now until election day.”

“I plan to do just that, isn’t that right, querido?” Jennifer slipped her hand into Miguel’s. A subtle yet effective sign of affection.

“Absolutely.” Miguel confirmed her statement.

“I don’t mean to rush you,” Roberto said, “but if we are to arrive at the country club at one-thirty, we must leave now.”

“Yes, yes, go, go,” Mario told them, waving his hands expressively. “And next week, you and your lady will come back here for another interview. Each week until the night before the election, you will speak to the people for an hour. Yes?”

“Yes. Thank you, Mario.”

Miguel shook Mario’s hand before slipping his arm around Jennifer’s waist and, following Roberto, escorting her outside to the waiting limousine. Roberto waited until they were safely ensconced in the back of the limo before he slid inside with them and closed the door.

Knowing what was next on Miguel’s schedule, Carlos shifted into Drive and headed the car away from the downtown television station and onto the main thoroughfare that would take them a few miles out of the city limits to Ebano, a suburb of Nava, where many of the up-and-coming middle-class and upper-middle-class citizens lived. Dolores and Emilio had purchased a home in Ebano only six months ago and Juan Esteban lived there with his aunt in one of the older sections of the area that had been updated in recent years.

Once inside the limousine, Miguel had expected Jennifer to move as far away from him as possible. But she didn’t. She remained at his side, although several inches separated them.

“You put on quite a performance, Señorita Blair,” Roberto said, an odd tone to his voice.

Miguel glowered at him.

“You object, Roberto?” she asked, using his first name, as she would have done had she truly been Miguel’s fiancée. “I would think you would approve of the fine acting job I did. We don’t want the people to suspect that I’m not only a fraud, but that I am Miguel’s bodyguard.”

“I apologize if it appeared I was criticizing,” Roberto said.

“It sounded that way to me, too,” Miguel told him.

“Then I apologize to both of you. I meant it as a compliment, although I admit I was surprised that an American woman, especially one trained as a bodyguard, could so effectively present herself as a lady of breeding.”

Jennifer’s laughter stopped Miguel from chastising his friend. Undoubtedly she found Roberto’s comment amusing.

“You can thank my mother for that aspect of my personality. You see Lenore Ashford Whitney is a lady of breeding and nothing would please her more than to know I am capable of presenting myself as a carbon copy of her when the situation calls for it.”

Miguel studied her closely. Those seductive blue-lavender eyes. That mane of shiny black curls. The pouty pink lips. The oval-shaped face, the tiny nose and the translucent, creamy complexion. If he allowed himself the luxury, he could easily fall under her spell. And if other matters were not far more important in his life, he would set about seducing the beautiful Jennifer.

Suddenly, without any warning, a loud bang reverberated through the limousine. The car bounced, then skidded off the road, onto the shoulder and crashed into the ditch. The wreck happened so quickly that there was no time to think, only to react. As the limo came to a jarring halt, Miguel reached out and grabbed a tumbling J.J. seconds before his left shoulder slammed painfully against the crushed back door.