Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love: Ramirez's Woman / Her Royal Bodyguard / Protecting the Princess

“My mother is rich. My stepfather is rich. Me, I’m just an ordinary woman who works for a living.”

Moments turned to minutes as they waited. And waited. And waited. After a good ten minutes had passed, a tall attractive man, with thick salt-and-pepper hair and a thin, dark moustache, appeared and greeted them. J.J. guessed his age to be somewhere around forty. Mentally reviewing the photos she’d been shown of the people closest to Ramirez, she realized that this was Roberto Aznar.

“You have arrived a day early.”Aznar seemed genuinely agitated.

“I hope that won’t be a problem.”

“No. No problem. I’m sure the servants can prepare your rooms tonight. I’ll ask Ramona to see that your bags are taken upstairs and if you’d like to freshen up—”

“We’d like to see Miguel,” Dom said.

“Yes, well…you see, he has guests. He’s giving a small dinner party for—”

“Wonderful.” J.J. sighed. “I’m starving. You know how airline food is. Like cardboard, even in first class. Please, be a dear and lead us to the dining room.” J.J. slipped her arm through Roberto’s, much to his astonishment. “Besides, I know Miguel will be thrilled to see us. I’m sure he’s missed me as much as I’ve missed him.”

Dom followed as Roberto led J.J. down the hall and into the dining room. The table sat twenty, but this evening the guests were placed at the far end of the table, the two men and two women flanking the head of the table where Miguel Ramirez presided.

When Roberto entered, bringing J.J. with him and Dom coming in behind them, Ramirez rose from his chair.

Impressive, J.J. thought. The man’s photographs didn’t do him justice. He was one-hundred-percent male, from his wide shoulders to his lean hips and long legs. He was handsome without being pretty. His bronze skin was a shade darker than Dom’s, but he had the same blue-black hair, only his was cut conservatively short and neatly styled. But it was his unique golden-brown eyes that captured J.J.’s attention. Large, expressive eyes, the color of dusty topaz.

“Your cousin Dom has arrived a day early,” Roberto said. “And look who he has brought with him.”

Ramirez hesitated for a moment as he studied J.J. Then he smiled, scooted back his chair and walked hurriedly around the table and straight to her. He opened his arms in an expression of welcome, then reached down and grasped both of her hands in his.

“Querida, it is so good to see you again.” He kissed first one hand and then the other. “Please, come in and let me introduce you to everyone.”

They stood there in the dining room, just beyond the threshold and stared at each other, his gaze locked on her face. J.J.’s heart skipped a beat. Uh-oh, that wasn’t a good sign. As a general rule, most men didn’t have this effect on her, but when one did, that meant she was in trouble. She had hoped the man she would be protecting wouldn’t set off a frenzy of crazed butterflies in her belly. So much for hoping. The little buggers were doing a Saint Vitus dance in her stomach right now.

He led J.J. farther into the room, then paused while the others stared at her.

A very pregnant, black-haired woman glanced from J.J. to Miguel. “Who are these people?”

Dom spoke up first. “I’m Miguel’s cousin, Domingo Shea, from Miami.”

“And this is Jennifer.” Miguel’s voice embraced her name. “She is—”

“I am Miguel’s fiancée,” J.J. said, deciding on the spur of the moment that she did not intend to spend the next month being treated like a mistress. Then she turned and looked Miguel right in the eyes, daring him to contradict her. “That is, if your proposal is still good and you still want me.” She batted her eyelashes.

His eyes widened in surprise, but, barely missing a beat, he replied. “Of course, I still want you, querida. More than ever.”

Chapter 2

The lady was not what he’d been expecting. No six-foot Viking goddess. No cool, sophisticated Grace Kelly blonde. Not even a hard-as-nails, pro-wrestler-type female with a killer look in her eyes. No, Jennifer Blair was none of those things. What she was was a petite, raven-haired beauty with an hourglass figure and the most striking blue-violet eyes Miguel had ever seen.And the way she’d taken charge of the moment—accepting a fictitious marriage proposal in front of an audience—told him she expected to run the show. Call him old-fashioned, call him a macho pig, but he preferred his women to defer to him in all things. And that included his female bodyguard. Miguel chuckled to himself as he held the lady’s small, delicate hands. She didn’t look as if she could swat a fly, let alone protect a man more than twice her size.

“Querida, let me introduce you to everyone.” Miguel slipped his arm around her tiny waist and led her farther into the room. Without glancing back, he said, “Come along, Dom.”

Dolores glowered at J.J., so much so that he felt his cousin’s hostility as if it were a viable thing. “You asked this woman to marry you and you have told no one here about her? I find that very strange.”

Emilio cleared his throat, then said hastily. “Miguel told me about Miss Blair, but he swore me to secrecy. Otherwise, you know I would have told you.”

“Dolores, don’t be upset with Emilio,” Miguel said, falling hurriedly into the act that he would have to perpetuate for the next few weeks. “I met Jennifer on my trip to Miami. She is a friend of Dom’s and he introduced us. We had a whirlwind romance and I—” The words caught in his throat. Lying about loving a woman was something he’d never done. “We fell in love and I asked her to marry me. But we agreed that she would wait to give me an answer, that we would put some time and distance between us to make sure what we felt was…real love.”

Skewering J.J. with her cynical gaze, Dolores came toward her. Dolores knew Miguel the way a sister knows her brother, so convincing her that he was in love with this American woman would not be easy.

“You have decided that you love Miguel and wish to be his wife?” Dolores asked.

“Yes, that’s right,” J.J. replied, keeping her phony smile in place.

Emilio wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulders and hugged her to him. “Then congratulations are in order, are they not? We should ask Ramona to bring in champagne…er…uh…and sparkling cider for you, my sweet.”

“I did not know we had a cousin in Miami.” Naturally, the ever-skeptical Dolores was not convinced that J.J. and Dom were genuine. His cousin’s feminine instincts had warned her that something wasn’t quite right about the situation, that something was rotten in Nava tonight.

“He is my cousin, not yours.” When Miguel tightened his hold around J.J.’s waist, he realized that his actions had told her that he was tense, that already the lies were bothering him. “He is from the other side of the family. The son of one of Papá Tomas’s cousins.”

“Hmm…” Dolores glanced from Dom to J.J. “Have you had dinner?”

A collective sigh permeated the room. Miguel loosened his tenacious hold about J.J.’s waist. Dolores’s cordiality did not mean she had accepted these strangers on face value, but it did mean she was giving them the benefit of the doubt and would allow them to prove themselves to her.

“As a matter of fact, we haven’t.” Dom went around the room, shaking hands and making nice. When he paused by the chair where the elegant redhead sat, the woman stopped glaring daggers at J.J. and smiled at Dom.

“And who is this enchanting creature?” Dom asked.

Not waiting for a proper introduction, she spoke for herself, “I am Zita Fuentes and am I delighted to make your acquaintance, Señor Shea.” She cut Miguel to the quick with a withering glare.

“If you all will entertain Dom, I need a moment alone with Jennifer.” Not giving anyone a chance to halt him by word or action, Miguel grasped J.J.’s arm and all but dragged her out of the dining room.

Once outside in the hall, she jerked free and stopped dead still. “Do not ever pull that Me-Tarzan-You-Jane routine with me again.”

Totally exasperated with this woman, Miguel groaned. “Lower your voice. Sound carries in this old house, especially in the hallways.”

She looked him square in the eye and said softly, “Then let’s go somewhere more private. We should set up the ground rules for this charade immediately. That way, we’ll both know where we stand and what to expect from the other person.”

“Agreed. Come with me.”

He did not touch her again; instead he allowed her to fall into step beside him as he led her away from the dining room. A few minutes later, he opened the massive double doors to the mahogany-paneled library with bookcases on three sides that reached to the top of the fourteen-foot ceiling.

“Would you care to sit, Ms. Blair?” He indicated one of the two leather chairs flanking the fireplace, in which a warm blaze emitted delicious heat on this unseasonably cool October evening. Here in Mocorito the temperatures seldom dropped below the high sixties.

“I’ll stand.” She tilted her chin defiantly.

Wonderful, Miguel thought. He was dealing with a hotheaded little feminist. How was it possible that a woman could look like a beautiful young Elizabeth Taylor and be a ball-bashing women’s libber? He had encountered numerous women such as this during the years he had spent in the United States, but none had been as lovely as Ms. Blair. And none had been assigned to him as his bodyguard; nor had they played the part of his fiancée for several weeks.

“Suit yourself,” Miguel told her.

“I usually do.”

Miguel huffed.