Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love: Ramirez's Woman / Her Royal Bodyguard / Protecting the Princess. BEVERLY BARTON
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toward her, he brought his mouth to her ear and whispered, “I hate the ballet.”
She smiled, then moved her head, inadvertently brushing her cheek against his lips. A jolt of sexual energy shot through him. Perhaps she had intended to arouse him? The little tease. She would flirt with him in a place where he could do little about it. But later…ah, yes, later.
They held hands until the end of the performance, then she pulled free and applauded along with the rest of the audience. Miguel clapped half-heartedly and smiled when the house lights came up and Aunt Josephina, who sat to his right, patted him on the arm and asked how he’d enjoyed the performance.
“Very much,” he lied. “As always.”
Her broad grin told him that on some occasions, it was not a sin to lie. Especially when the lie spared a kind old woman’s feelings.
As the foursome made their way out of the Nava Civic Center, Miguel spoke to numerous people, but did his best to avoid being waylaid by anyone who would demand more than a moment of his time. This evening was not about politics; it was about relaxation and camaraderie with friends.
Once outside, while they waited for their limousine—only one in a long line of limos—Jennifer pulled the purple shawl that matched her gown up and around her shoulders.
“Are you cold?” Miguel put his arm around her shoulders and brought her up against him.
“No, not really. But the wind is a bit chilly.”
“We should not have to wait long. I believe our car is fourth in line.”
“Do you really hate the ballet?” she asked in a hushed whisper as she leaned her head closer.
He glanced over at Aunt Josephina, who was chattering away with the couple behind them. And although Juan appeared to be listening to the conversation, Miguel knew his friend’s mind had wandered off somewhere. He’d seen that look in Juan’s eyes before and it usually meant he was thinking of a woman.
“Yes,” Miguel admitted. “I fear that I have very plebeian tastes in entertainment. I prefer soccer games and bullfights and horse races. And watching movies. I especially like the old American gangster movies with Edward G. Robinson and James Cagney.”
“I’m not surprised that you like sports, even something as bloody as a bullfight, but I never pegged you for an old-movie buff. I used to watch those old gangster movies with my dad when I was a little girl.”
The smile vanished from her face, replaced by a wistful, bittersweet expression. Why did thinking of her father make her sad? he wondered. “Your father is still alive, is he not?”
Her smile returned, but it was a sarcastic smirk. “Oh, yes, General Rudd Blair is very much alive and quite well. His life couldn’t be better. He recently remarried, for the second time since his divorce from my mother.And to a woman only five years older than I am. Or at least that’s what I hear. But what makes his life truly worth living is the fact that my eighteen-year-old half-brother has just graduated from military school and even though I don’t know for sure, my bet is that he’s already been accepted at West Point.”
“You do not have a close relationship with your father now?”
“Close? No, not for years and years.” Probably without even realizing it, she changed from Spanish to English when she said, “Well, actually, we were probably never close, except in my mind.”
“Was this rift between the two of you your choice or his?” Miguel asked, in English, then thought perhaps he should not probe deeper into a subject that might be painful for her.
“I’d say it was mutual. He never did have much use for me because I was just a girl. But I wised up. I finally realized that no matter what I did—even joining the army straight out of college—I would never be the one thing he wanted most.”
Miguel kept silent, having no need to ask what her father had wanted most. What a foolish man this General Rudd Blair must be to not appreciate having a daughter such as Jennifer.
“He had a son and that’s all he ever wanted. As far as he was concerned, my mother and I were simply mistakes in his past.”
“Idiota!”
“Yes, you’re right, he is an idiot.” Jennifer laughed, the sound genuine.
Miguel loved her laughter. He would very much like to fill her life with such joy that she would laugh often and live well. She needed the right man to show her what a priceless treasure she was, a man capable of loving his daughters as much as his sons and taking as much pride in them, also.
“Is that your car, Miguel?” Aunt Josephina asked.
“Yes, I believe it is,” he replied. “Are we all ready for a fabulous meal at Maria Bonita?”
“You will simply adore Maria Bonita,” Juan told Jennifer. “It is one of my favorite restaurants, perhaps my very favorite.”
Carlos pulled the limo to the curb, hopped out and opened the back door. After everyone else was safely inside and out of earshot, Miguel pulled Carlos aside and asked, “You did not leave the car unattended, did you? Not even for a few minutes?”
“No, Señor Ramirez, I have stayed with the car every moment.”
“When we arrive at Maria Bonita, I will stay with the car while you take a break, if you would like.”
“Thank you. All I require is a few moments, sir.”
“You understand why I—”
“Yes, yes. Someone could tamper with the car—the engine, the gas tank or even place a bomb. I understand and I stay vigilant at all times.”
The wharfs along the coast of Colima were dotted with numerous bars. Seedy, dangerous hellholes from the looks of them. What better place to meet an agent working undercover without anyone recognizing either of you or giving a damn who you were. The minute Dom entered Pepe’s, loud music and even louder customer clatter engulfed him. As he moved deeper into this filthy den of iniquity, searching for Vic Noble, the stench of body odor and the haze of cigarette and cigar smoke assailed him. After searching for several minutes, he spotted Vic at a back corner table, a scantily clad señorita standing at his side, rubbing his shoulder and giving him a glimpse of her ample breasts as she leaned over him.
“Mind if I join you?” Dom asked in English.
Vic shoved the bosomy woman aside and gestured to the wooden chair across the table from him. The dismissed lady grumbled loudly in Spanish, most of her words a combination of curses, as she walked away to seek other prey.
Dom sat. He eyed the half-filled shot glass in front of Vic. “Tequila?”
“Want one?”
“Nope.”
“Pierce is at the bar now, getting a bottle for the three of us.”
“Will Pierce is sitting in on this meeting?”
Vic nodded. “Our government is going to want to know what I found out.”
“And what would that be?”
“Wait for Pierce,” Vic said. “But I’ll tell you right now that once the big boys in D.C. hear about this, they will move heaven and earth to get Ramirez elected.”
Pierce made his way through a bevy of client-seeking prostitutes and a couple of staggering drunks, barely managing to keep hold of the bottle of tequila and the two shot glasses he held.
When he reached their table, he slammed the bottle and glasses down, then yanked out a chair beside Vic, turned it backward and straddled the seat with his long legs. “Lovely place you chose for our meeting.”
“Thanks,” Vic said. “I thought the two of you would appreciate the decor and the atmosphere.”
“So, what’s this important