events. While she’d been soaking in the tub, she had deliberately erased all thoughts from her mind, concentrating on total relaxation. If the blown tire and the fiasco with the snakes were any indication of how tonight’s dinner party would play out, then she had to be prepared for just about anything. It appeared that Miguel’s enemies were trying a new tactic.
Perhaps the first assassination attempt had been solely to frighten him into withdrawing from the race—which it hadn’t— and now they were showing him they could get to anyone at anytime, could easily harm his friends and family. That was the most reasonable explanation for what had happened today. But what if they also knew Miguel now had a bodyguard, posing as his fiancée? There would be no way they could prove such an accusation, even if they knew it for a fact. And if they knew the truth about J.J., that meant someone very close to Miguel had leaked the information. She felt certain that if she mentioned her suspicions to Miguel, he would defend Emilio and Roberto with every breath in him. Being a loyal man himself—and she instinctively felt this—Miguel would trust his two closest friends, would never question their allegiance to him. But she would and did question their loyalty. After all, it was her job, wasn’t it, to distrust everyone associated with Miguel?
“Jennifer?” Miguel called to her from the bedroom.
Her heart lurched halfway out of her chest. Damn, she had to stop reacting like an idiot every time he got near her.
“I’m in the dressing room, choosing something to wear to tonight’s dinner party.”
“Before you choose, come out here, please. I have something for you, something that may help you make a final decision about your attire for Anton’s party.”
Taking a deep, get-hold-of-yourself-girl breath, J.J. tightened the belt on her robe, opened the dressing-room door and walked into the bedroom. Miguel had removed his jacket and tie and undone the first three buttons of his shirt, thus revealing a peek of the dark curling hair on his chest. She was so engrossed in his handsome face, his charming smile and his to-die-for body that at first she didn’t notice the jeweler’s case he held in his hand.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“A gift from Nava Jewelers,” he replied. “An engagement gift for you.”
“You—you bought me a gift?” She froze half a room away from him, unable to make her feet move any farther.
“It would be expected,” he told her.
“When did you have time to—”
“I telephoned them this morning and placed a specific order.” He held out the large jeweler’s case.”
Move feet, damn you, move! Taking slow, deliberate steps, she made her way across the room and when she neared him, she held out her hands and accepted the gift. When she opened the case, she noted that there were three smaller cases nestled inside, one obviously a ring box. Her heart did a nervous pitter-patter. Several years ago, she had sworn to herself that if she ever did find a man she wanted to marry, she would tell him that if he wore a wedding band, she would, but that she did not want a fancy engagement ring. She’d been engaged once, had worn her fiancé’s one-carat diamond solitary for several months before coming to her senses and breaking things off with the man her mother had chosen for her.
J.J. flipped open the lid on the ring box. Her mouth gaped as she gasped silently. Oh, my God! The center jewel was an oval-cut amethyst, at least four carats, and was surrounded by small half-carat diamonds. A ring that size should have been gaudy and ostentatious . But it wasn’t. It was exquisite, like a ring belonging to a princess.
“Miguel, this is…”
“You don’t like it?”
She glanced up at him. “No, I mean yes, of course, I like it. It’s exquisite.”
“It will be expected,” he told her by way of an explanation.
“Yes, certainly. I understand.”
“Here, let me help you.” He reached out and removed the ring from its velvet bed. While she held the large case in her right hand, he took her left hand, held it up and slipped the ring on her third finger. “Ah, a perfect fit. And the perfect ring for you. If only there was a touch more blue in the gem, it would match your beautiful eyes.”
Oh, please, don’t say something like that to me. She might not be a silly, gullible woman, easily influenced by flattery, but she was discovering that she wasn’t completely immune to Miguel’s Latin charm.
“That’s a good line,” she told him. “Very convincing. It’s something you must tell people when they aah and ooh over the ring.”
“Yes, you are correct. If I repeat that line, everyone will be convinced that I adore you.” He snapped open the lids on the other two boxes within the jeweler’s case. “The necklace and earrings are an engagement present. Everyone will expect to see you wearing them tonight and for every special occasion from now until our wedding.”
The earrings and necklace were diamonds. Breathtakingly beautiful diamonds, the settings simple and classic.
“I am told that diamonds, like pearls, go with anything a woman chooses to wear,” he said.
“Yes, you’re right. That’s exactly what my mother always said. A woman can wear pearls or diamonds with a designer gown or with a pair of blue jeans.”
“Later, when you are dressed for the evening—” His eyes raked over her silk robe, lingering on her pebble-hard nipples “—if you need my help with the catch on the necklace, let me know.” His gaze locked with hers.
A tingling sensation spiraled out from her central core and radiated through her body. No wonder the man was such a successful politician. He possessed an overabundance of charisma.
“I…yes, thank you.”
They stood there and stared at each other for what seemed like endless minutes. Finally Miguel broke the silence.
“Ramona has unpacked and put away your things satisfactorily?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. Yes, thank you.”
“Will you require a maid to help you prepare for this evening?”
“Huh?”
He smiled, apparently amused with her puzzlement.
“An unnecessary question, I’m sure. I cannot imagine you would want someone to assist you in dressing.”
“Oh, no. You’re right about that.” She chuckled softly. “Even my mother doesn’t have a lady’s maid.”
“Most of the younger women in Mocorito do not use lady’s maids, either, only the older ladies, such as my father’s wife and her kind.”
J.J. caught just a hint of resentment in his voice, a subtle trace of ridicule. “You’re not old-fashioned about everything, are you?”
He eyed her questioningly. “You consider me old-fashioned?” He shook his head. “The people of Mocorito think of me as a very modern man, even a liberal to some degree.”
“You—a liberal?”
