by Phoebe Conn
“He couldn’t keep up,” Libby replied. She smiled at Rafael. “I hear you’re going to medical school. Will you fight bulls on the weekends?”
“No. I was lucky enough to be offered a full scholarship, and I’ve fought my last bull. I’ll take you to see Santos on Sunday. He’s very good, if not his father’s equal.”
“Thank you. Are you coming, Maggie?”
“No, I’d root for the bull, and I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”
Julian, the chef’s shaggy-haired helper, brought Libby a glass of iced tea on a silver tray. She thanked him and waited until he’d returned to the kitchen to speak. “How many servants are there?”
Maggie counted on her fingers. “There’s Mrs. Lopez and a couple of maids; the chef and his two helpers; Manuel, who takes care of the cars and sees to the grounds. I think that’s it.”
“Only seven?” Libby asked, clearly amazed. “We never had more than a cleaning lady who came in once a week.”
“There’s no comparison between our family and Miguel Aragon’s household, so don’t try and make one,” Maggie cautioned. “This is a completely different world.”
From what she’d seen, Libby had to agree. She took a long sip of her tea. There was a lemon slice in the bottom of the glass and a sprig of mint at the top. It tasted very good in addition to looking like a menu illustration. She set it aside on the glass-topped table. “Are you going to live here after you’re married?”
“No,” Rafael answered. “My apartment is closer to the university.”
“What about your teaching job, Maggie?” Libby asked.
“I’ve already resigned. I do need to sell my condo in Tucson and pick up my things, but it can wait.”
“You ought to lease the condo,” Libby advised. “You two might want to live in Arizona someday.”
“Spain will be our home,” Rafael replied, and Maggie offered no argument.
Growing increasingly wary, Libby picked up her tea and stood. “Maybe I will take a nap.” She was impressed when Rafael stood as she left them, but her sister had turned her life upside down for the man, and whether or not he had fine manners, it just didn’t feel right.
Relief swept through Santos when he discovered Libby wasn’t sitting out on the patio when he arrived. “Libby was ahead of me. Did she make it home?”
“Yes,” Maggie answered. “She did, but she mumbled something about your not being able to keep up.”
“We must have misunderstood her,” Rafael offered with a sly grin.
Santos wiped his face on the bottom of his T-shirt. “No, she runs like a gazelle, with no effort at all. She also asked questions I didn’t want to answer. I must have insulted her.”
“Questions about me?” Rafael asked.
Santos nodded. “I need a shower. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Rafael waited until they were again alone. “I ought to tell Libby the truth before one of the tabloids prints it.”
“She took French in school, not Spanish.”
“So you’re hoping the fact I’ve served time for murder might slip her notice?”
She reached for his hand this time. “It’s the least interesting thing about you. Why not?”
He leaned forward and brought her hand to his lips. “Are you hoping your parents and sisters will accept me as the man you love without wanting to know more about me?”
Her chin rose to a stubborn tilt. “It ought to be enough.”
He stood. “It won’t be, but we should tell the truth rather than convenient lies. Let’s begin with your sister.”
“All right, if you’ll come back for dinner tonight.”
“What’s Tomas serving?”
She regarded him with an openly appreciative glance. The warmth of the day didn’t matter. He always looked cool and better looking than any man had a right to be. “Do you really care?”
He answered with a slow, deep kiss. “No. I’ll see you later.”
Maggie closed her eyes and sighed softly. She was certain every couple had a few secrets, and she intended to keep hers. Relaxed, she daydreamed of the life she’d have with Rafael until Libby joined her.
“I didn’t bring my laptop. Is there any way to check e-mail here?”
“Yes, there’s an Internet connection in the den. I’ve used Santos’s laptop a time or two. It’s on the desk.”
“He might not appreciate my using it.”
“He won’t mind. He doesn’t use it often. His fan mail goes to his website, where a virtual assistant in his agent’s office handles it.”
Libby’s eyes widened. “His website? Come with me. I want to see it.” She watched Maggie rise slowly from her chair and instantly suspected something was very wrong. “Are you sick? Do you have some deadly disease that’s forcing you to marry so soon?”
Maggie shook her head. “No, I’m perfectly healthy.” She hesitated a moment, and then pulled up her sleeves to show the new scars on her wrists. “My grandmother drugged me and slit my wrists, hoping I’d bleed to death before anyone found me.”
“She did what!” Libby shrieked.
Tomas looked out the kitchen door. “Señorita?”
“We’re fine, Tomas,” Maggie assured him, and the chef shrugged and returned to his kitchen.
“Rafael and Santos can tell the story better than I can, so let’s wait until tonight to talk about it.”
Libby rested her hands on her hips. “I don’t think so, and begin at the beginning.”
Although Rafael was intent upon revealing the truth, Maggie regretted broaching the subject. She returned to her chair and focused on the sea. “I suppose the story begins when our mother met Miguel Aragon.”
Libby pulled a chair around to face her. “Fine, begin there.”
Maggie needed a moment to organize her thoughts. She could only guess what had happened when her mother and father had met, but her grandmother Carmen’s hatred must have begun at that precise moment.
Rather than a suit, as his grandmother had insisted, Santos wore a pale blue silk shirt and gray slacks to dinner. Rafael’s clothes were equally fine, but he preferred black. Maggie wore a long terra-cotta skirt that brushed her ankles with a matching long-sleeved scooped-neck top. Libby’s blue mini-dress had a pretty swirling pattern, but all Santos saw were miles of gorgeous well-toned legs. He had swallowed only sip of a superb cream of broccoli soup when Libby spoke.
“Do you mind if I use your laptop while I’m here? I want to answer e-mail. I don’t plan to compose a thesis on it.”
She’d wound her hair into a knot atop her head and left a few tendrils brushing her neck. She had such beautiful hair he had to fight a primal impulse to rip out the pins and swim in it. “Use it as often as you like.”
“Thank you. Will it spoil your appetite if I ask you about the night Maggie got cut up while we eat?”
Santos set his spoon on his plate and drew in a deep breath. “I swear I can hear Carmen forbidding the topic as most unsuitable for the table.”
“Their grandmother belongs in the category of ‘one who must not be named’,” Rafael added.
“Let’s wait until later,” Maggie urged. “Barcelona is filled with all sorts of wonderful places worth seeing. We ought to make a list.”
“I understand. Attempted murder is off-limits.” Libby swallowed a spoonful of the delicious soup. “I want to see everything, not just the tourist sights.”
“We should take you to the Bailaora café for the flamenco,” Rafael suggested.
“Your sister is a wonderful dancer,” Santos added. “Do you dance flamenco too?”
“Maggie and I don’t have similar tastes. She’s a terrific big sister, but quiet, while I’m into sports and usually too loud. I’ll make it a point to lower my voice so I don’t frighten your countrymen.”
She had no idea how sexy she sounded, but Santos didn’t care what she said. “I’ll remind you,” he offered with a wide grin, and Maggie kicked him under the table. “Hey, I’m tryi
ng to be a good host.”
“You’re trying too hard,” Maggie warned.
Libby laughed. “You two are so funny. Have you hired a photographer for the wedding? We should have photos of you and Santos together.”
“Daddy can handle the photos,” Maggie replied. “Ana Santillan took gorgeous photos of Santos and me at the ranch. Her work is better than many professional photographers.”
Santos snorted. “Ana Santillan ought to stay in front of the camera.”
“The Ana Santillan, the supermodel?” Libby asked.
“Yes,” Rafael answered. “Santos knows many exciting women.”
“Knew,” Santos emphasized. “Ana and I are no longer friends. Now let’s talk about flamenco and how beautifully Maggie dances.”
“My favorite topic,” Rafael added.
Santos winked at Libby. He couldn’t dance a step of flamenco, but he hoped he’d be able to take her to clubs where they could dance together. As lively as she was, she had to be a great dancer. He forced himself not to imagine her gorgeous body naked in his bed, but it was definitely a challenge.
The Bailaora café was located on a dark, narrow street. Santos took Libby’s hand so she wouldn’t trip on the cobblestones. “This isn’t the best part of town. Stay close.”
“We came for the dancing,” Maggie replied, “and we’re safe with Rafael.”
“You have more confidence in him than I do,” Santos murmured.
Rafael pushed open the door of the small café, and the owner, Felipe Muñoz, hurried to greet him. “Matador, welcome. How good to see you here again, and you’ve brought your beautiful lady. Will you dance for us tonight?”
“We’d rather see your dancers. I’m sure you recognize Santos Aragon out of the ring.”
Felipe stared wide-eyed. “Santos Aragon!” He turned toward the crowded room. “Everyone, what an occasion!”
The café’s regular patrons leaped to their feet and cheered, “Santos, Santos!”
Astonished, Libby gripped her sister’s arm. “Does everyone treat him like a rock star?”
“A handsome matador has fans wherever he goes,” Maggie replied. “We won’t be noticed.”
“Is that what happened with Ana Santillan? She couldn’t stand sharing the spotlight?”
“No, she sold photos of the family to the tabloids, and Santos regarded it as a betrayal.”
“I see. He’d rather not date a paparazzo.”
“With cell phones, everyone’s a paparazzo now.”
Libby looked around and found half a dozen men and a couple of women using their cell phones to take photos of Rafael and Santos. She’d always dated attractive men, but never famous ones, and she didn’t understand how Maggie could stand being pushed aside. When they were shown to a table near the low stage, Santos took her hand and flashed his charming grin, but despite his warm attention, she felt completely out of place. With her height, she might be mistaken for a model if Santos usually dated them. She struck a more graceful pose and let everyone wonder who she might be. After a few sips of Ribeiro, a bubbly Spanish wine, she relaxed enough to stop obsessing over the situation and enjoy the dancers.
The first woman wore a black dress with big white polka dots. Her dark hair was slicked back in a chignon and her fingertips painted as bright a red as her lips. She danced with a crisp step and was clearly a crowd favorite. Libby leaned close to assure Maggie she was a far better dancer.
“She is, isn’t she?” Rafael agreed. “Do you want to dance with me?”
“The way I dance,” Libby replied, “I’d damage your reputation.”
Rafael laughed. “Impossible, I have none to lose.”
Santos ran his fingertips up Libby’s back with a slow, affectionate touch. She longed to lean against him like a grateful cat. Maggie had warned her he chewed up women and spit them out, but they must have had a great time while they were with him. She’d checked his website that afternoon and found him shown in his full matador regalia. He looked so much like the portrait of his father in the den, she began to worry her mother would be reminded of a time she’d rather not recall.
She enjoyed Santos’s gentle touch, craved it more than she wished to, but she wouldn’t encourage him. She moved her chair closer to her sister’s and sent him a warning glance. He winked at her. He might be useful in her plan to send Maggie home single, but no matter how tempting asking for more would be, that was all she wanted from him. Eventually, she might even convince herself.
A couple danced next. They flirted with the crowd as well as each other and were applauded at length when they took their bows. “They were cute, but weren’t they missing something?” Libby asked.
Rafael nodded. “They lack passion. Flamenco should be aflame with desire.”
“Show us,” Santos urged.
“Not without Magdalena.”
Maggie sat forward. “What if I simply stood and ignored your efforts to impress me?”
Rafael rose and offered his hand. Felipe Muñoz hushed the crowd, and the guitarist strummed a flourish. Maggie asked if anyone had a fan, and the café owner quickly produced one of black lace. She opened the sexy prop, peered over the edge and took Rafael’s hand to step up on the low stage. Once there, she kept her back turned toward him as he began a slow, taunting beat with his heels. He moved close, and she stepped away. He circled her, but she kept her back toward him. The crowd began to call encouragement to him, but Maggie kept a graceful distance until the last note of the dance. Then she fell into Rafael’s arms and kissed him soundly.
Libby clapped as enthusiastically as the café’s other patrons, while Santos gazed at the floor. “You suggested they dance,” she reminded him.
“Obviously a mistake,” he replied regretfully.
Libby agreed. Maggie and Rafael danced so beautifully together, it wouldn’t be as easy as she’d hoped to separate them. With a scholarship for medical school, Rafael had to be intelligent as well as good-looking. Maggie was half Spaniard, so they couldn’t criticize his place of birth. He appeared to be close to her sister’s age, so he wasn’t too old or too young for her. Still, there had to be something damning in the man’s background, but whatever it was, Maggie obviously didn’t care.
Or maybe she didn’t know. Libby moved closer to Santos and whispered in his ear, “We need another detective.”
Chapter Two
When they returned to the beach house, Maggie led them into the den. “There’s a liquor cabinet filled with all sorts of delicious liqueurs. Isn’t Bailey’s Irish Cream your favorite?”
“Yes, I’d love some,” Libby answered.
Santos poured some for her and Maggie in beautiful hand-blown glasses. “Rafael?”
“Nothing, thank you.” He waited until everyone was sipping their drink and took the chair opposite Libby. He waited for her to swallow. “I spent six years in prison for killing the man who raped my sister.” He caught her glass as it slipped from her hand.
“I know it isn’t something I should include on my résumé, but I won’t hide it either. I plan to tell your parents, but Maggie would rather I didn’t.”
Libby stared at him wide-eyed. “How did you kill him?” she asked before she could stop herself.
“In a knife fight, but he started it when I confronted him. I got cut up too, and my sister later died of a drug overdose, so the story doesn’t have a happy ending. What do you think your parents will say?”
Libby looked to Maggie. “Do you remember how many questions Daddy used to ask before he’d let us go out with a boy? I’m twenty-one, and when I’m home, he still asks about my dates. He won’t like this at all. I wonder if he’s Googled Rafael.”
Maggie slumped into the corner of the sofa. “I should have thought of it. Is there any hope the information he’d find there is all in Spanish?”
“Let’s look.” Santos opened his laptop and went to Google. “There’s your website and a few references as a matador. I don’t see anything in English.”
Rafael handed Libby her glass. “All I have on the website is my schedule and a few photos. There’s no biography. That doesn’t mean one doesn’t exist somewhere, though, but I should tell your father the truth before he discovers it on his own.” He stood. “I don’t want to spoil the evening. I’m going home.”
Maggie set her drink aside and walked him to the front door. “If my parents won’t welcome you into the family, I’ll marry you without their blessing.”
Rafael raised his hands to frame her face and kissed her gently. “I can’t ask that of you.”
“It isn’t your choice, it’s mine. Whether you’re El Gitano or a medical student, you’re the man I love. Now let’s go to your place tonight.”
A slow smile slid across his mouth. “What do you have in mind?”
“You know damn well what I have in mind.” She kept hold of his hand but stepped back to look into the den. “I’ll see you in the morning, Libby. We need to shop for your dress and Patricia’s.”
“Fine,” Libby answered. It took her a moment to realize her sister had left with Rafael. She’d thought he’d looked dangerous when she’d first seen him, but it unnerved her to learn he’d killed a man and served prison time. She gulped the rest of her Bailey’s and the last of Maggie’s.
“Would you like me to pour you another?” Santos asked.
He’d been awfully agreeable tonight, which she found far more appealing than his hostile glare on the beach, but she refused to like it too much. “No, thanks, one is usually my limit. I feel sick. I ought to call my parents and tell them not to come.”
He eased down beside her on the couch. “If you do, you’ll be blamed for whatever happens. Let Maggie handle it, and you two will remain close.”
Libby understood his reasoning, but she felt torn. “She’s five years older and always behaved like a second mother to Patricia and me. But how could she have gotten involved with a murdering matador?”
Santos raised a brow. “He was defending himself. If he’d had a better attorney, he probably wouldn’t have gone to prison.”