“I haven’t been here thirty minutes and already we seem to be at odds over the ground rules. And I had so hoped that your being educated in the United States would have prepared you to deal with a woman as an equal. I will play the subservient female in public, but in private, I am in command. Take it or leave it, Señor Ramirez.”
He surveyed her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. “Your ego is bigger than you are.”
“Don’t let my size fool you. You know the old saying, don’t you?” She grinned mockingly.
He lifted an inquisitive eyebrow.
“Dynamite comes in small packages,” she said.
“In your case, I do not doubt it for a moment.” And he did not doubt that under the right circumstances, his little American bodyguard would be as hot as a firecracker in bed. In his bed. He would truly enjoy setting her off and seeing the sparks fly.
“Then we understand each other? I’m the boss.”
“If you need to think of yourself in those terms, then by all means, do so,” he told her.
“Are we at an impasse?”
“If by that you mean it is apparent that neither of us is willing to back down from our position, then yes, Señorita Blair, we are definitely at an impasse.”
She heaved a deep sigh, apparently as aggravated with him as he was with her. “We’re in a no-win situation. I suppose you realize that. We’re stuck with each other, whether we like it or not. There is no way another female agent can come in and pose as your fiancée now.”
“Ah, yes, my fiancée. Who gave you permission to announce yourself as my fiancée?”
“I was told that you were willing to pass me off as your fiancée, if the circumstances warranted it.” She shrugged. “I felt it was necessary. There’s no way I’m going to pretend to be your mistress for weeks on end. Not here in this male-dominated country where mistresses are second-class citizens.”
He could not deny the truth of her statement. Mistresses were treated as second-class citizens, a fact he knew only too well. His sweet, caring mother had been treated like dirt beneath the feet of the ladies and gentlemen of Mocorito because she had borne her lover’s child out of wedlock.
“I had assumed that being anAmerican woman, you would not mind being thought of as my mistress, but apparently I was wrong.”
“You were dead wrong.”
He studied her closely, forcing himself to break away from those hypnotic violet eyes. She wore a simple dress of some non-wrinkling fabric in a shade of cream, a complimentary shade to her pale olive complexion. The garment was not too tight, but it draped her body like a well-fitting glove. Until this moment he had not truly taken in her appearance, other than to note that she was beautiful, in a sexy, earthy way. Her short black hair curled about her face in soft waves, enticing a man to run his fingers through the silky locks. Her lips were full and painted hot pink, bringing to mind a set of other moist feminine lips. His body reacted in a natural way, warning him that arousal was imminent.
He glanced away, took a deep breath and then turned his back on her. He could not allow himself to continue reacting to her in such a carnal way. “Unless my life is in danger, in public you will be the demure, adoring fiancée. Any disagreements we will keep private, between the two of us. Agreed?”
“I suppose I can live with those terms,” she told him, her lips twitching in a barely restrained smile.
“Agreed?” he demanded harshly.
“Agreed, agreed.”
He glowered at her. “I will tell my guests that you were tired and wished to have dinner in your room tonight. They will understand.”
She laughed.
Damn the woman.
“I take it that I’m being dismissed and sent off to the attic for being a bad girl?”
“Your room is far from an attic. It is the master suite. Ramona will bring you a dinner tray and unpack your suitcases and attend to any of your needs. If you require a personal maid while you are here, I will provide you with one.”
“You’re giving me the master suite? How kind of you to give up your personal quarters—”
“I give up nothing,” he told her. “As my fiancée, you will share my suite and my bed. Since you are an American and assumed not to be a virgin, it will be expected.”
“Hold up just a minute there, ‘el presidente.’ Sharing your suite is okay. As your bodyguard, I will need to be close to you, but—”
“Feel free to sleep on the floor, if you wish, as long as none of the servants are aware that you are doing so.”
Tilting her chin so that she could look him directly in the eyes, she said, “Believe me, sleeping on the floor will be preferable to sharing your bed.”
A scrapper to the bitter end, Miguel thought. Such passion. “You, Señorita Blair, are in a minority. Most of the women I’ve known would much prefer to share my bed.”
“You’ll find that I’m not like most women.”
“I have already discovered that fact.”
She gave him a sharp nod. “Very well. I’ll go quietly upstairs to our room for the evening, but beginning tomorrow morning, I’ll be stuck to your side like glue, twenty-four-seven.”
He bowed graciously, then smiled at her. “I look forward to every moment. Now, if you will excuse me, I’ll send Ramona to see you to our room, then she’ll bring your dinner up on a tray. And I’ll see that Paco takes care of your and Mr. Shea’s luggage.”
“Perhaps you should call us Dom and Jennifer, even in private,” she told him. “It will help you become accustomed to our names. After all, you wouldn’t want to slip up and call your cousin Mr. Shea or your beloved fiancée, Ms. Blair.”
“Point taken…Jennifer. Or would you prefer that I call you querida?”
“You choose, depending on your mood.”
If he called her what his present mood dictated, his grandmother would come down from heaven and wash his mouth out with soap, as she had done when he was a child and had dared to use foul language in her presence.
With Señorita Blair—Jennifer—ensconced in his suite upstairs and his “cousin” Dom regaling his friends with a completely fictitious story of how Miguel had contacted him on his most recent trip to Miami, Miguel breathed a sigh of relief as he rejoined the others in the dining room.
“You’ve missed dessert,” Dolores told him, then eyed him inquiringly. “Or perhaps you consider time alone with your future wife sweeter than any of Ramona’s delicious pastries?”
“Well put, little sister,” Miguel said, but his gaze connected with Zita’s. Her expression told him that she was displeased, that she had come here tonight expecting this to be the first evening of many they would share. He could hardly tell her that
