Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love

by Beverly Barton

  Whatever you do, do not touch her.

  Leaning over, he picked up the cotton blanket, spread it out and laid it over her from bare feet to slender neck. She stirred and mumbled the moment the blanket came into contact with her skin. Her eyelashes fluttered.

  He held his breath, praying she wouldn’t wake and find him standing over her. When she curled up in the blanket and sighed contentedly, he backed away from her, then practically ran to his bed. After crawling in and drawing the covers up over his chest, he lay there and stared up at the ceiling.

  In the distance he heard St. Angela’s church bell announce one o’clock. It was already early morning and he had an incredibly busy day ahead. Instead of lying here with an erection thinking of Jennifer Blair, he should be sleeping. He would need his rest for the hectic schedule facing him, not only tomorrow, but in the weeks to come.

  After tossing and turning for what seemed like forever, he sat up in bed, unbuttoned his pajama top and removed it. Lying back down, he settled against the cool, soft sheets. He liked the feel of his naked skin against the luxurious cotton. But despite being more comfortable half-naked, he remained awake, longing for sleep that wouldn’t come. Sometime after he heard the church bells strike twice, Miguel finally dozed off to sleep, his last thought of the woman lying only a few feet from him.

  She woke before dawn and needed to go to the bathroom, but she didn’t want to traipse across the bedroom and risk waking Miguel. She lay there until she couldn’t wait a minute longer, then she tossed back the cotton blanket, slipped off the chaise and stood up on her bare feet. Tiptoeing across the room, she cast a quick glance at the large body lying sprawled in the middle of the king-size bed.

  Ignore him. Pretend he isn’t there.

  She rushed to the bathroom, closed the door as quietly as possible, then, without turning on a light, she felt her way to the commode. Afterward, she washed and dried her hands in the dark, feeling for the soap and the towel and finding them without knocking anything over and causing a disturbance.

  As she made her way back across the room, she found herself walking toward the bed instead of the chaise. She stood at the side of the bed and looked at Miguel, his body clearly visible in the moonlight. He lay flat on his back, his arms sprawled out on either side of his body and one leg bent at the knee. His chest was muscular and sprinkled with curly black hair that tapered into a thin line and disappeared into his pajama bottoms. Those black-satin bottoms rode low on his hips, low enough to reveal his navel. His long arms were large and well-muscled. He possessed the body of a man in his prime.

  J.J. sucked in a deep breath, then released it slowly. Everything feminine within her reacted to all that was masculine in him.

  This wouldn’t do. No, sirree. She never—ever—got involved with a client, no matter what. But she had never been instantly attracted to a client—no, make that any man—the way she was to Miguel Ramirez. It didn’t make sense to her. He was far from the first gorgeous man she’d ever met. And he wasn’t the first whose blatant machismo reminded her of her father, whom she had adored as a young girl. Whatever it was about this man that attracted her so, she had to deal with it now and move past it.

  Suddenly, Miguel rolled over onto his side and whispered one word as his big hand caressed the empty space beside him.

  “Querida…”

  She all but ran back to the chaise, snuggled into a ball and wrapped herself in the cotton blanket. Okay, so maybe she’d wait until later today to face her fears and find a way to vanquish them.

  Chapter 4

  J.J. woke with a start. Sunlight flooded the room, telling her that it was well past dawn and that she had overslept. Without thinking, she tossed back the cotton blanket and slid to the edge of the chaise lounge as she sat up and stretched.

  “Good morning,” Miguel said.

  J.J. froze. Oh, God. In her early-morning haze, she had forgotten all about him.

  Daring a glance in the direction of his deep voice, which came from the sitting room, she saw him standing in the doorway. Fully clothed in a lightweight charcoal-gray pinstriped suit, pale gray shirt and burgundy tie, he looked like a successful businessman—or a political candidate dressed for success. And here she was, his bodyguard, wearing a flimsy fluff of lavender silk that clung to every curve and bared way too much flesh. Reaching behind her in as nonchalant a way as possible, she felt around on the back of the chaise for her matching robe. It wasn’t there. Damn, it was probably lying on the floor.

  “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.