Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love. Beverly Barton

is something amusing about Señorita Evans?”

      “No, not really. It’s just that she and our boss, Sawyer McNamara, have this ongoing feud and have had for as long as I’ve worked at the Dundee Agency. They cannot be in the same room together for more than two minutes without arguing.”

      “They have never been lovers?” Miguel asked.

      “No. At least not as far as anyone knows. They were both FBI agents before they came to work for Dundee. We figure something must have happened between them way back when.”

      “Way back when?”

      “Back when they worked for the Bureau. Two people don’t dislike each other that much without a reason.”

      “You disliked me before you even met me, did you not?” Miguel walked toward her and looked down at the chaise lounge where she sat. Without even asking her, he sat down beside her.

      She sucked in a deep breath, wishing there was room on the chaise for her to scoot away from him, so that his arm wouldn’t brush up against hers.

      “I drew some conclusions from the information I was given about you,” she admitted.

      “Was the information accurate?”

      “Yes, it seems to have been.”

      “And were your conclusions also accurate?”

      “Partially.”

      “Only partially? What have you discovered that tells you you misjudged me?”

      “Fishing for compliments?”

      He threw up his hands expressively. “Another silly Americanism.”

      “You are the old-fashioned, macho type. But I don’t believe you separate women into only two categories—lady or whore.”

      “You forget there are also the nuns,” he said.

      She smiled. “Yes, of course. I’d forgotten about the nuns.”

      “What else?” he asked, as eagerly as a child.

      “You genuinely care about people. Not just your family and friends, but everyone in Mocorito. The things you say come from your heart. They’re not just rhetoric, not just campaign psychobabble.”

      “Psychobabble?”

      “Another Americanism,” she told him.

      “Ah.”

      “You didn’t like me when Dom and I first arrived. Were you wrong about me?”

      “Partially.”

      She laughed.

      “You are every bit the strong, independent woman I believed you to be, but you are not a man-hater. There is a softer, very feminine side to you.” He lifted his hand to her face and cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “For the right man, you would make the perfect wife.”

      J.J.’s heartbeat accelerated. Not again. Don’t overreact to a simple compliment. He wasn’t implying that he is Mr. Right.

      “Do you enjoy the ballet?” Miguel asked.

      “Huh?” Slightly startled when he changed the subject so quickly, she shook her head.

      “Juan and Aunt Josephina have asked us to join them tonight at the ballet and for dinner afterward. I accepted on our behalf. That meets with your approval?”

      “As your fiancée, yes, that meets with my approval,” J.J. said. “However, as your bodyguard, I have to tell you that from now on, do not make any plans without checking with me first.”

      The corners of Miguel’s sensuous mouth lifted in a hint of a smile. “That man—your future husband—he will have his hands filled keeping you in line.”

      J.J. laughed. “He will have his hands full keeping me in line,” she corrected him.

      His gaze traveled over her intimately, pausing on her breasts. “Yes, he will have his hands full.”

      An undeniable current of awareness passed between them, the sexual tension vibrating like a live wire.

      J.J. jumped up off the chaise. “I need to find something appropriate to wear to the ballet.”

      “An evening gown,” Miguel told her. “And be sure to wear the diamond necklace and earrings.”

      “I have only two evening gowns,” J.J. said. “One is purple and one is teal. Would you like to choose which one I should wear?”

      “Wear the purple one.”

      “Are you sure? Don’t you want to see the gowns?”

      “Teal is a dark bluish green, yes?”

      “Yes.”

      “It is not the color for you. Wear the purple one. It will complement your beautiful violet eyes and flawless skin.” When she just stood there smiling at him like an idiot, he said, “I should give you some privacy while you bathe and prepare for this evening.”

      When he headed toward the door, she called, “Miguel?”

      “Yes?”

      “Who else knows—other than Juan and his aunt—that we will be attending the ballet tonight?”

      “Who else? Emilio, Roberto, Ramona and of course, Carlos. Why do you ask?” He shook his head. “No, do not think it. Not one of them would betray me. They are loyal to me and to the Nationalist Party.”

      “Then nothing bad should happen tonight, should it? Your enemies don’t know where you will be this evening, therefore they can hardly plan a strike of some kind against you.”

      “I will not live my life in fear. And I will not distrust people who have always been loyal to me.”

      Miguel did not sound entirely certain in his convictions.