by Phoebe Conn
Libby ripped the pins from her hair and let it spill over her shoulders. “Whose side are you on?”
Santos sucked in a deep breath and reached over to twirl a golden curl around his finger. “I want what’s best for Maggie. Rafael has to be the one to break her heart, not us.”
His deep voice made his advice doubly convincing. Libby watched him move close and could have turned away. Doing what was smart had lost its appeal. Maybe it was curiosity, or the shock of learning Rafael had been in prison had left her too confused to object. She leaned in to savor his kiss. He smelled so good, tasted like fine brandy and kissed her softly, tenderly, as though he adored her. She was soon seated on his lap with her arms wrapped around his neck. She’d kissed plenty of men, and none had ever been this good. None had been Latin lovers either. Maybe it was in their genes.
He slid his fingers through her hair and teased her with lazy kisses. She couldn’t stand men who jammed their tongue down her throat, but Santos merely flicked his tongue in her mouth. He ran a hand down her leg in a smooth slide, and his lazy touch felt as good as his kisses. His hair was thick, soft as silk and curled over her fingers.
If Rafael were as good at this as Santos, it was no wonder Maggie had fallen for him so fast.
She leaned back and caught a glimpse of the magnificent painting of Miguel sailing his cape over a charging bull. It dominated the room and was a stark reminder she was in a foreign world, where she’d only meant to be a tourist. She fought to get a hold of herself. When she wanted so much more, it was a struggle. “I’m concerned about Maggie, but I need to take care of myself too,” she announced too loudly. She slid off his lap and straightened her dress over her thighs. “You’re awfully good, but we need to concentrate on our mission.”
Santos regarded her with a confused gaze. “What mission?”
She had to swallow hard so her voice wouldn’t shake. “Convincing our sister not to marry Rafael.”
Santos shoved off the couch. His shirt was unbuttoned and pulled out of his pants. “I’ll try, as long as you promise to remember we’re not related.”
His voice was low and emphatic, but he’d been too charming tonight for her to turn wary again. She also knew enough about men’s fragile egos not to laugh. “You made that point earlier, and we just proved it. What time do you want to go sailing?”
He walked her to the bottom of the front stairs. “Is six thirty too early for you?”
“No. They say the best way to beat jet lag is to adjust your schedule to the local time. I’ll meet you on the patio.”
She was already upstairs when she began to wonder if any of the servants lived in. If not, then she and Santos were alone in a very large, strange and dark house. Finally she understood how it felt to be swept off her feet, but she’d caught herself in time, or so she hoped. Closing her door, she locked it with the big, old-fashioned key, keeping herself in as much as keeping him out.
Rafael’s apartment was small, but Maggie had so many cherished memories of the time they’d spent there, she didn’t worry over the fact they really needed to find a larger place. She kicked off her shoes and walked into Rafael’s arms. “Now that we’re alone, please tell me you wouldn’t leave me no matter what my parents say.”
He slid his arms around her waist. “I want to be a gentleman, but you have that dangerous gleam in your eyes.”
“Don’t you dare try and distract me.”
He drew her closer. “I don’t want you to have any regrets. What should I have said?”
“Don’t you know? You could have threatened to find a horse and ride away with me.”
He smothered a deep chuckle in her hair. “I’ve never ridden a horse. How about just tossing you over my shoulder?”
“Rafael, I’m serious.”
He kissed her with the soft slow magic he did so well. “I am being serious. I’d never leave you, unless you sent me away.”
She grabbed hold of his arms to stay on her feet. “That’s better. If my parents pose any objection to our marriage, I’ll just thank them for coming to meet you and wait until we have children to see them again.”
“Children?” He kissed the sweet curve of her jaw. “Isn’t it too soon to begin a family?”
She looped her arms around his neck. “We shouldn’t wait too long.”
He looked around. “All right, but where would we put them?”
“We can find a larger home, and they won’t all arrive at once.”
He tugged her earlobe through his teeth. “How many babies do you want?”
Now that he had left the bullring, she wasn’t terrified she’d have a son who’d run after him, waving a cape. “A couple, maybe three.”
“We’re young. We can wait until I finish med school.”
She reached up to kiss him. “What happened to living in the present?”
“I still want to enjoy the moment, but now we’ll have a future I couldn’t promise you before.”
A ripple of unease slid down her spine. “I don’t want to wait. Babies sleep a lot, and I’ll keep them quiet while you’re studying.”
He hugged her and lifted her off her feet. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. We could be together for fifty years.”
“I hope so too, but this is the time to have babies, not when we’re in our seventies. You’ll probably cover that in med school.”
He swung her around. “Are you making fun of me?”
He was laughing, so clearly he understood her joke, but she was the one who’d nearly died, while he’d walked unharmed from a bullring. She hugged him tight. “I shouldn’t have left Libby home alone with Santos.”
Rafael sighed and put her down. “Do you want to go back?”
“Do you mind?”
“No, but I’m spending the night in your room if we do. Mrs. Lopez isn’t there this late to cluck her tongue at us, and I don’t care if Santos does.”
Maggie stepped back into her shoes. “Fine, let’s go. It doesn’t matter where we sleep, but I’m getting awfully tired.”
“Maggie? I won’t embarrass you in front of your parents.”
“I don’t think you could embarrass me if you tried.”
He pulled her back into his arms. “Is that a dare?”
She relaxed against his solid warmth. “No, merely an observation.”
He smoothed her hair off her face. “I like your sister. She can handle Santos on her own.”
“Yes, she probably can,” she mumbled through a yawn. She’d warned her about Santos, and Libby wasn’t a Spanish girl who’d have his poster on her bedroom wall and already love him. She trusted Libby to do what was right. “You’ve convinced me. Let’s stay here.”
“Are you sure?” He nuzzled her throat with tender kisses.
“Positive.” She convinced him with a loving sigh that drifted into teasing giggles.
He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I’m so sorry there’s no time to honeymoon in the Seychelles before my classes begin.”
“I really don’t care where we go as long as we’re together, and we could pretend we’re staying in the Seychelles. They have CDs with sound effects of big crashing waves, and we could make love without any danger of drowning.”
He traced her lower lip with a fingertip. “The shower would work tonight.”
She unbuttoned his shirt. “I love it when you use your imagination.”
The bathroom was so small they had to strip with little regard for their discarded clothes before they entered. The hot water created a steamy cloud, and once Maggie had rubbed soapsuds over Rafael’s chest to make him slippery, she slid her breasts against him with a teasing purr. He had his back to the showerhead so the water hit his broad shoulders rather than her face. He braced himself against the tile wall, picked her up with an arm around her waist and cradled her bottom with the other.
They really needed a larger shower, but rather than complain, she wound her legs around his hips, guided him in deep and rocked against him. “I’ll never get tire
d of you.” She clamped her inner muscles with a rapid beat to torment him, and he turned to spray the water across her back. Easily taking control, he plunged into her with a forceful rhythm, and then stilled to feed her passion as well as his own. It was an intoxicating pattern, and she came seconds before he lost all sense of restraint. Locked in each other’s arms and slumped against the wall, they were too relaxed to move, and he didn’t put her down until the water turned cold.
“That was more like a waterfall than rolling in the surf,” she murmured between kisses.
“Then we’ll have to keep trying, but my bed will do tonight.” He wrapped her in a towel, picked her up again, walked back to the bed and dropped her right in the middle.
Although shutters covered the balconies at night, Libby could still hear the sea rushing toward the shore. The house was eerily quiet, but she wasn’t sleepy. The bed had a thick mattress and fine Egyptian cotton sheets. The whole room was as beautifully furnished as a five-star hotel. She wore a short cotton sleep shirt decorated with colorful cats. Touching her lips, swollen with Santos’s kisses, she wished she’d brought something sexy. Her experience with men could be described as romantic bouts sans clothes rather than sultry encounters in delectable lingerie, but Santos’s affectionate kisses had pushed her thoughts in a sexier new direction. That she didn’t want to go there was irrelevant.
Determined to ignore him, she brushed her hair with furious strokes, climbed into bed and opened the Stephen King novel she’d begun on the plane. Her mind wandered maddeningly, however, and it was very late before she turned out the lights.
When her travel alarm clock buzzed at six a.m., she hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours. She got up, dressed in a clean tank top and shorts, and was surprised to find Tomas in the kitchen with coffee already made. Santos walked in right behind her. He looked as gorgeous as he had last night, apparently without effort. She really wanted to hate him but couldn’t whip up even a hint of dislike when he looked so damn good. Life was totally unfair.
He picked up a Thermos from the counter. “Let’s take coffee. Do you want cream or sugar?”
“Both please.” She noted Santos’s grimace and shrugged. “Maybe we should take two.”
Tomas produced a second Thermos and a canvas bag to carry them, and she fixed her coffee the way she liked it. “Where’s your boat?”
“The marina’s close, but I’ll drive.” He led her out to the garage, where a white Mercedes SUV sat in the driveway. “Have you done much sailing?”
He was polite and yet cool. Libby recognized the cause of his standoffish attitude. She’d inspired it often enough. “Yes, on lakes.” She moved close as he opened the door for her. “Did you really think I’d sleep with you last night?”
“What? No. I don’t need to hit on houseguests.”
She’d braided her hair in a single plait and swung it over her shoulder. “I’m glad to hear it. Then again, houseguests will soon be gone, and you can go on to the next woman on your list with no lingering regrets.”
Santos leaned against his car and crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you deliberately trying to pick a fight?”
“No, just thinking aloud. Did Rafael have a lot of girlfriends before he met Maggie?”
“I’ve no idea. I’ve only seen him around a bullring and when he came to visit my father.”
“Didn’t the detective cover his private life?”
“Let’s talk on the way.” Once they were in his SUV, he waited until they were a couple of blocks from home to begin. “Rafael grew up hustling on the streets. He may have worked here and there, but there’s no record of it. When he left prison, he was set on becoming a matador, and for whatever reason, my father encouraged him.”
Santos swung into the marina’s parking lot and found a space. He cut the engine and turned toward her. “He’s as slippery as smoke, and other than the time he spent in prison, it’s impossible to track his movements.”
“Could he have been a government agent?”
He laughed. “No, before prison he would have been too young. He’s simply a Gypsy. They come and go as they please.”
When they left his car, he keyed in the code for the gate, and she walked beside him along the dock, carrying the canvas bag. The marina was home to both elegant sailboats and sleek cabin cruisers, with the wealth of the owners as deep as the sea.
“Could Rafael have used another name?”
“Maybe. But if he’d had another identity, someone who’d known him would have tattled to the tabloids when he became a matador. Those papers thrive on sleaze. Here’s my boat. She was named La Tetera Azul a couple of owners ago. The Blue Teapot makes no sense to me, but I haven’t thought of a better name.” He pulled off the blue canvas cover, folded it and tossed it into the storage chest on the dock. He handed her a lifejacket and helped her into the boat before rigging the sails.
“Don’t change the name. The Blue Teapot has real potential for a children’s book,” she mused. “One fair day, a matador set sail in the Blue Teapot. There could be a storm, and he’d use his cape for a sail. The artwork could be dazzling.”
“My agent is always seeking new ways to sell my image, but as the hero in a children’s book hadn’t occurred to either of us. Now let’s just sail along the coast and not think about anything other than the sea and breeze.”
Libby understood. He wanted her to shut up. At nineteen feet, La Tetera Azul had two bunks below, but she’d thought he’d own a larger boat. Not a replica of the Cutty Sark, but something more impressive. She supposed he was used to being impressive enough on his own, and he certainly was. No matter what he did, he moved with the same confident swagger as Rafael. Maybe it was a Spanish thing. Whatever it was, both men had an abundance of sex appeal. From what she’d seen of Santos, he could also back it up with performance.
She smiled sweetly to hide the totally inappropriate direction of her thoughts. He took his place on the port side bench with his hand on the tiller, and she sat quietly opposite him. He handled the boat with a practiced ease to guide them out of the marina into the sea. His gaze remained fixed on the sails and water, while hers settled on him. She’d dated plenty of cute boys, but Santos Aragon was a passionate, good-looking man.
The breeze ruffled his hair, giving him a wild look that was all too attractive. He was definitely too much for her. She caught herself staring and looked away, wishing there were far more to him than movie-star looks. Then again, Maggie had warned her there wasn’t. She could find out for herself, although that wasn’t why she’d come to Spain. She’d try and think of him as a dangerous detour, but he was so damn tempting.
She leaned back to catch the water spray with her fingers. “Do you suppose Rafael knows how to swim?” she asked.
He looked at her askance. “What are you suggesting, that I take him sailing and let him drown?”
“No, of course not. I was merely thinking there might be some limit to his charms.”
“Think in another direction.”
Libby nodded. “Aye, Captain.” The Thermos bottles they’d brought were by her side. She poured coffee for him and some for herself. The cool morning breeze tugged at her braid. Gliding over the water appealed to her sense of adventure. After all, she had a Viking heritage. Of course, it had been the men who’d sailed and the women who’d run the farms while they were away. She wouldn’t have liked being left behind and was grateful she’d been born in the twentieth century, where life held a different type of challenge. She glanced toward him and found him regarding her with a curious gaze.
“What?” she asked.
“I thought you liked sailing, but you look a thousand miles away.”
All in an effort to distract myself from you, she couldn’t dare admit. “It’ll sound silly, but I was daydreaming about Vikings.”
He laughed. “Seafaring gangsters? Is that your type of man?”
“I’ll thank you not to malign my Scandinavian ancestors. I prefer to think of Vikin
gs as explorers and adventurers.”
He responded with a wicked grin. “You like dangerous men? As a matador, wouldn’t I be at the top of your list?”
An incriminating blush heated her cheeks. “I don’t keep lists. Do you?”
“You could inspire me to begin.” His appreciative gaze raked her from head to toe. “Ready to go home?”
Santos turned flirting into an art form, and she nodded rather than give him more ammunition to tease her. When they returned to the marina, she removed her lifejacket and handed it to him. “Thank you. I really do love sailing.”
“You’re welcome. It’s a relief to get away and avoid the world for an hour or two.”
He’d turned serious, and it finally struck her he’d recently lost his father, and she’d not offered a single word of sympathy. Embarrassed, she spoke hurriedly, “I should have offered condolences for your loss. I don’t know how I could have forgotten. I’m not usually so thoughtless.”
He frowned slightly. “Thank you, but you needn’t apologize.”
She picked up the canvas bag. “I want to anyway. Don’t invite me again unless you truly want to.” She waited while he saw to the boat and walked up the dock before he responded, but she wasn’t being coy. She felt as though she’d intruded on his space, and she needed her own.
Tomas offered so many choices for breakfast, Libby felt obligated to have something more than fruit. “A mushroom omelet sounds good, thank you.”
“Make one for me too,” Santos said. He joined her at the patio table.
“Tomas runs the kitchen, and Mrs. Lopez runs the house. They seldom speak to each other. My grandmother was always after Tomas about one thing or another. He was devoted to my father, so he didn’t quit, and my father wouldn’t let her fire him. It’s a relief to have the old witch out of the house.”
“Maggie told me what happened. Are you sure she’s not coming back?”
He shook his head. “No. Her doctor had her committed before she could be charged with attempted murder, but if she were ever to leave the hospital, and it’s a plush private one, she’d be arrested for the crime. No one in the family wants that. Everyone is better off as things are.”