Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love. Beverly Barton

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СКАЧАТЬ the door and turned on several lamps while he trudged to the liquor cabinet.

      “Would you like a drink?” he asked.

      “No, thanks, but you go ahead. I’m going to clean all this makeup off my face, sponge off and put on my pajamas.”

      He nodded, then lifted a bottle of whiskey and poured himself half a glass. The liquor sailed down his throat, warming his esophagus on the way down, then hit his belly like a hot coal. He coughed a couple of times, then took another swig. His head ached, his stomach churned and his conscience nagged at him. How was it that a man with good intentions, with his heart in the right place, could cause harm to others? All Miguel had ever wanted was to make life better for the people of his country. Having grown up in poverty, the bastard son of a woman thought of as a whore, seeing daily the plight of people forgotten by their government, he had known, even as a child, that someday he would change things for the better.

      After finishing off his drink and feeling the effects as a warming sensation that settled in his belly and took the edge off his nerves, Miguel sat down on the side of his bed and removed his shoes and socks. Just as he took off his jacket and tie, J.J. emerged from the bathroom. He took one look at her and became instantly aroused. She wore her lavender silk robe, loosely belted at the waist.As she walked across the room, she unintentionally revealed one calf and thigh and he caught a glimpse of the sexy black lace garter belt to which her black silk stockings were attached.

      He swallowed hard.

      The whiskey had helped a little. Sex would help a lot. Nothing relieved a man’s tension better than sex. Fast, furious, hot and wild sex.

      With J.J.

      Miguel closed his eyes and tried to erase the picture of her branded in his mind. But instead, his imagination went to work. He could see her coming toward him, removing her robe and standing in front of him wearing only her stockings, garter belt, bikini panties and bra. When she began stripping, removing her bra first, Miguel opened his eyes and cursed softly.

      J.J. was nowhere in sight. She had disappeared into the walk-in closet. Miguel sighed heavily, then stood, removed his shirt and added it to the haphazard pile of clothing he had tossed on the floor. What he needed was another drink.

      Lifting his arms over his head, he stretched his taut muscles. He thought he heard a soft gasp and when he lowered his arms and glanced over his shoulder, he saw J.J., in a pair of ivory satin pajamas, standing several feet away, staring at him. She came toward him, her hands outstretched.

      “What should I do with these?” she asked, holding out the diamond earrings and necklace she had worn to Anton’s party.

      “Put them wherever you want,” he told her. “You’ll be wearing them again in the days ahead.” He glanced down at the engagement ring he’d given her. “Don’t take that ring off. Keep it on day and night. It is a bad omen for a woman to remove her engagement ring before the wedding.”

      J.J. simply nodded. No arguments. No reminders that their engagement was not real and that there would never be a wedding. She turned quickly and went back into the closet. While she was gone, Miguel poured himself another drink. If he couldn’t get laid, he’d get drunk. A stupid thing to do, maybe. But right now, for a few hours, he did not want to be a pillar of strength, the savior of Mocorito. All he wanted was to stop thinking, stop worrying, to cease to feel anything.

      When she returned to the bedroom, J.J. paused several feet away from him and cleared her throat. With the second glass of whiskey in his hand, he turned to her.

      “Is there something you want?” he asked.

      “Isn’t that your second drink?”

      “Yes, it is.”

      “Do you think you should be drinking so much?”

      “Yes, I think I should.”

      “Miguel…” She took several tentative steps in his direction.

      He held up a restraining hand. “No, do not.”

      “Do not what?”

      “Do not come any closer.”

      At first she didn’t say anything, just stood there and stared at him. Then she turned around and walked over to his bed. His heartbeat accelerated. She turned down the covers. His sex hardened painfully. She reached out and grabbed one of the feather pillows. His mind screamed. Damn, damn, damn!

      “You should go to bed and try to sleep,” she told him as she went to the armoire, opened it and removed a cotton blanket. “But if you would like to talk—”

      “I believe we have already said all there is to say, have we not?” He brought the glass to his lips and downed a sizable amount of whiskey. He coughed, then blew out a hot breath.

      “Miguel, please don’t drink any more.”

      He grinned. “Do you have another remedy that will work better than liquor?”

      She frowned. “On top of all your other problems, if you drink much more, you will wake up with a horrible headache.”

      “I already have a headache,” he told her. “As a matter of fact, I have two headaches.”

      She stared at him, her frown deepening. “I think you’ve already had too much to drink.”

      Bossy American female! If she had no intention of giving him what he really needed, then to hell with her. He didn’t need her. Didn’t want her. Could do just fine without her.

      Liar!

      In an act of childish defiance, Miguel lifted the liquor bottle and filled the glass to the rim, then he saluted her with the glass and took another hefty swig.

      She whirled around and marched over to the chaise lounge, placed the pillow at the top, then lay down and pulled the cotton blanket up to her neck.

      Ignore her, he told himself. She has dismissed you completely.

      With the glass held tightly in his slightly unsteady hand, Miguel opened the French doors and walked out onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard. The breeze was cooler than usual, a hint of rain in the air. A million and one thoughts raced through his mind, swirling about, tormenting him, driving him mad. He threw the glass over the balcony. Whiskey flew in every direction, some splattering on his naked chest. The glass hit the rocks below and shattered into pieces.

      Miguel clutched the wrought-iron railing, then closed his eyes and prayed. He asked for guidance, for the ability to choose the correct path. And he begged for an hour or two of relief. If only he could stop thinking, stop worrying, stop caring so damn much.

      He felt her presence behind him before he heard her soft footsteps or smelled the faint, lingering scent of her perfume. Why could she not leave him alone? Did she not know that her presence alone was driving him mad?

      Her small hand touched his back. He tensed, every muscle in his body going stiff. As stiff as his sex.

      “Miguel?”

      He turned and faced her, but before she could say or do anything, he grabbed her, yanked her into his arms and kissed her. His mouth took hers with СКАЧАТЬ