Captive Heart by Patti Beckman Read Free Book Online Page B

relationship. Perhaps Miguel wanted so much for his employer, his
patron
, to fit the idealized image, that his imagination colored the truth. Maybe Del Toro did occasionally visit his mining operations to see that they were run properly. Perhaps he had donated a small percentage of the profits from the mines—money he would never miss—to build a school and a clinic in the town in order to keep his employees content to work under unhealthful, underpaid conditions. From these few facts, Miguel had imagined a lovely story about Del Toro that had nothing to do with the real man, the ruthless man.
    There was also the possibility that Miguel had lied just to get JoNell's attention. He obviously couldn't stand to be ignored. Perhaps when he saw JoNell's interest perk up, he had decided that taking her into his confidence about a "secret" side to his employer's nature was a good way to hold her attention and give himself some importance.
    Of course there was a third possibility. She wouldn't put it past Del Toro to have Miguel trained to deliver a glowing characterization of his employer to any young women guests. It could be part of the Latin Casanova's methods to undermine a woman's defenses.
    Frustration grew in her. Whether the story was a fanciful fabrication designed by Miguel for attention, whether Del Toro had instructed Miguel to lie, or whether the story actually had some truth in it, JoNell would never find out. She had assured Miguel that she would not reveal to Del Toro what Miguel had said, and she was always true to her word.
    With an impatient toss of her head, she determined to put the matter out of her mind. Whether Jorge Del Toro was a saint or a sinner, or a little of each, did not really concern her. She was no more than a minor irritation to him—an upstart American woman he had to put up with for a few days to get his flying lessons. With movie starlets, South American socialites and the beautiful Consuelo Garcia at his feet, he would hardly have any romantic interest in a girl from a middle-class American family—a girl who wore tennis shoes, jump suits and tied her hair in braids!
    At the thought of Consuelo Garcia, JoNell felt a wave of compassion for the exquisitely lovely, pale girl. She must be deeply in love with Del Toro, and probably, in his way, he loved her. But what torture the poor girl was going to have to endure all her life, married to a conceited, arrogant Casanova who made a game of breaking women's hearts!

    The plane was ready to taxi to the runway. JoNell sat unnervingly close to Jorge Del Toro in the tight quarters of the small airplane's cockpit. Not since she was a teenager on her first solo flight had she been so nervous in an airplane. Was it because she was in a strange country on a mission she disliked—or because she suddenly felt unsure of herself in the presence of so handsome a man?
    This morning when she had assured Uncle Edgar that she was immune to the charm of jet set playboys, she had forgotten how overwhelming was the presence of this particular playboy. The cockpit fairly sizzled with an electric charge surrounding him.
    Slender white fingers gripped the stick. "Like this," a thin voice instructed.
    Powerful fingers of burnished bronze imitated the delicate fingers on the twin yolk collar. But the bronze knuckles turned almost white.
    "Don't grip it so tightly," the thin voice admonished. "Try to be more relaxed."
Lower and fuller
, she ordered her voice.
You sound like a frightened high school girl on her first date
.
    Slit green eyes searched large brown eyes, and JoNell felt a quiver in her throat. A shadow of a frown crossed Del Toro's handsome features, his nostrils flared perceptively, and his dark hair looked almost blue-black against his face which had paled a couple of shades lighter. He moistened his lips which had become dry.
    He's as nervous as I am
, JoNell suddenly realized, and the realization gave her courage. Even though his nervousness was of a