Fierce Love

by Phoebe Conn

  “He talks too much. Now I believe I hear Antonio at the door. Will you excuse us please?”

  “Certainly.” She left the table a second time, quickly crossed the room and opened the door for the physician. He was of medium height with thick silver hair. He smiled as though he knew her, but then slipped by her with barely a nod.

  Hoping for time to walk on the beach, she’d dressed in cropped jeans and a lavender cotton shirt over a black bikini. As she left the house through the kitchen door, she found Rafael Mondragon leaning against the patio wall. Even with his hair slicked back and dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, he looked as dangerous as he had the previous evening.

  She’d threatened to knee him and wouldn’t apologize how. After the way he’d looked at her, what could he have expected? Quite naturally, she hesitated to approach him. “My father’s with his doctor. Perhaps he’ll have time to see you later.”

  Rafael straightened up and moved to block the path to the beach. “I came to see you, not him. Where did you learn to dance so well?”

  She thought it odd he hadn’t asked the question last night. “Answer a question for me first. What did you expect when you invited me to dance? Were you hoping to embarrass me?”

  His brows knit in confusion. “No, not at all. I would have made you look good even if you couldn’t dance a step.”

  “Really?” She doubted it. “I began taking dance lessons when I was small. My mother hoped it would give me confidence and grace.”

  Rafael took a step toward her. “Ballet, perhaps, but not flamenco. You dance with a Gypsy’s fire, and there are no lessons for that.”

  “I’m half Spanish,” she reminded him.

  “You don’t understand.” Rafael cursed under his breath.

  He appeared to be sincerely pained, which struck her as odd. “How is a Gypsy different from anyone else?”

  Rafael jammed his hands into his pockets. “We’re colorful outcasts, wanderers. You couldn’t possibly understand what it means to be completely alone.”

  He’d dismissed her as rudely as he had on their first meeting, and she was doubly annoyed. “Is being obnoxious also part of your marvelous Gypsy heritage?”

  “Don’t laugh at me,” he whispered hoarsely, his gaze narrowed to a dark threat.

  “I’m not laughing,” she swore. “I don’t understand why you disliked me on sight. Perhaps your hostility serves you well in a bullring, but it’s inappropriate here. You’ve no idea if I’ve ever been lonely or not. Now, please step out of the way, and I’ll go on down to the beach.”

  He moved aside, but when she passed him, he followed. “I don’t dislike you,” he murmured softly.

  “Really? You were convincing.”

  As they crossed the sand toward the water, he caught up with her in a single long stride. “It’s true I’m not fond of all women the way your father is. Do you like all men?”

  “No, not every male on the planet. I do like a few, though.” She couldn’t help herself and laughed. “Please, I’m not laughing at you; this is just a silly conversation.”

  “No one ever calls me silly.” Before he could suppress it, a slight smile quirked the corner of his mouth.

  It was such an endearing expression and as surprising as the grin he’d worn while dancing with the two women. “No one dares!” she insisted.

  He laughed and didn’t hide it. “You don’t care if I spend time with your father?”

  “No, why should I?”

  “It means he’ll have less time for you.”

  “It’s his choice, not ours.”

  He nodded but didn’t appear totally convinced. “How long will you be here?”

  Before she could answer, Santos came running up from the damp sand at the shore. “Magdalena, the twins are hoping for dance lessons. They’re up the beach a way. You’ll find them easily.”

  Rafael’s expression had fallen into his usual hostile sneer, and Maggie wondered if she’d really seen him smile or only imagined it. She turned to look back at her father’s house, but there was no one standing out on his balcony. She understood why Santos would be so protective and why Rafael would fight for Miguel’s attention. She knew better than to get between them. “All right. I’ll find the girls, and we’ll plan some lessons.” She strode off along the damp sand by the shore.

  “Wait,” Rafael called. “We should dance together again.”

  She glanced back and was struck by what a handsome pair the men were. Santos had been out for a run and wore shorts and a sweaty T-shirt, while Rafael was neatly dressed, but they were tall, lean and too handsome to go unnoticed no matter how large the crowd. Perhaps they were too much alike to be friends, but Santos was her brother, and she felt she ought to side with him.

  “Maybe,” she replied and kept walking.

  Antonio put away his stethoscope and closed his leather bag. “There’s been no change.”

  “Should I interpret that sorry announcement as good news?” Miguel buttoned his pajama top and reached for the glass of water at his bedside.

  “No, it’s merely the status quo, a holding pattern, if you will. You’re still well enough to benefit from transplant surgery, but every day you delay…”

  Miguel waved off his warning. “I have my reasons to wait, but many would say I’ve lived too long as it is.”

  “Your ex-wives, perhaps, but not your children. Your American daughter has only just met you.”

  “Yes, and I wanted to meet her, but I should send her home before she becomes too attached. It’s the least I can do for her.”

  Antonio sighed. “She ought to go with a few fond memories.”

  Miguel shrugged. “Probably, but it’s kinder just to let her go.”

  Maggie found the twins constructing a mammoth sand castle and jogged toward them. They were dressed in florescent lime and tangerine bikinis and baggy yellow sweatshirts. Ready to play on the beach, they wore no makeup and were twice as pretty as they’d been last night. A young man was shoveling sand while the girls provided a running commentary of directions.

  “Maggie!” Perry called. “Come meet Fox. He’s dying to meet you, aren’t you, Fox?”

  David Hyde-Fox was as blond as the twins but green-eyed. Edging toward six feet, he wore long navy blue trunks and a torn Oxford sweatshirt stenciled with the university’s skyline. He paused to rest his arm against his shovel handle and regarded Maggie with clear disdain. “Yet another sister. This is indeed a pleasure.” He spoke with the distinctive accent of the British upper class, as though he’d eaten breakfast with the queen that very morning.

  Maggie smiled. “I’m happy to meet you too, but it’s disconcerting to suddenly have a whole new set of relatives.”

  “We aren’t related,” he reminded her crossly.

  Maggie saw no point in arguing a boy who’d been adopted by her father was a brother, no matter how heatedly he denied it. “What are you building?” she asked instead.

  “The Bastille,” the twins announced.

  “The Taj Mahal,” Fox claimed loudly.

  “I admire your ambition,” Maggie responded, “but why not create your own fantasy structure rather than copy one that already exists?”

  Fox sneered. “What’s the challenge in that?”

  “Relying on your own imagination rather than history is the greater challenge by far,” she said. “It’s also a lot more fun.” She waited for Fox to continue arguing, but his attention had shifted down the beach. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Rafael Mondragon twenty feet away.

  “Do you know him?” she whispered to the girls.

  “Of course,” Perry replied. “He’s one of father’s friends, but he treats us as little kids.”

  That was certainly a point in his favor. Maggie stepped aside so Rafael could join their circle. He nodded to her and called the girls and Fox by their names. His manner was relaxed, as though they often met each other on the beach.

  Connie propped her hands on her hips. “What do y
ou think, Señor Mondragon; which is the greater challenge, copying something or making something new?”

  He glanced at Maggie. “Should I take sides?”

  “Just offer an honest opinion,” she asked.

  “As if a Gypsy could,” Fox muttered under his breath.

  Maggie was shocked Fox would use such a disgraceful insult. Unfortunately, they weren’t in her classroom where she had the authority to handle prejudice quickly. “That was incredibly rude,” she cautioned.

  Rafael raised his hand before she could continue. “He just wants me to twist off his head and kick it into the sea.”

  Perry and Connie laughed as though it were the funniest joke they had ever heard, while Fox managed only a distracted shrug. “Maybe I’ve had too much sun. I’m going to the house.”

  He handed the shovel to Perry, and Maggie watched him go, while the twins kept their eyes on Rafael. “I’m sorry even if he isn’t,” she said. “We’d just met, and…”

  “He’s always awful,” Connie insisted. “It doesn’t matter what we say or do. He must have been born that way. He’s proud of the fact we aren’t related by blood, and so are we.”

  Rafael took the shovel from Perry and moved to the other side of the sand heap they’d begun. “What are you building?”

  “Hogwarts,” Perry suddenly decided. “Do you know how it looks?”

  Maggie recognized the panicked disappointment in his eyes and waved her arm. “High walls, steep roofs, towers. It’ll be a challenge, but I’m sure you girls could do it.”

  Inspired, the twins dropped to their knees and began patting the sand into shape. Maggie turned her back to them and spoke softly. “I don’t believe you walked out here to play in the sand.”

  “No. Tonight I’d like to take you to Bailaora, a place with the best flamenco dancing in Barcelona. Tourists never even hear of it.”

  “Can we go too?” Connie asked.

  “No,” he announced firmly. “My invitation is for Magdalena. Pretty children should be at home in their beds late at night.”

  Perry made a face. “No one will know we’re underage if you don’t tell them.”

  “I won’t take you along, so there’ll be no reason for anyone to lie,” he scolded. “I’m an excellent tour guide as well as a fine dancer,” he assured Maggie.

  Santos had said their father welcomed Rafael’s visits, but Maggie didn’t feel comfortable standing beside him on the beach. It wasn’t simply his height and obvious strength that warned her away; it was the sheer intensity of his manner. Some might call it charisma, but she searched for another word to describe his strong effect on her.

  “Thank you, but I came here to spend time with my father, and I’ve only been here one day,” she answered. “Could we go another time?”

  He studied her expression a long moment. “I understand when a woman says no, she means it.”

  “Does a woman ever tell you no?” Perry teased.

  “Not often.” He flashed a quick grin.

  It softened his features, but Maggie hadn’t come to Spain to have a fling with a matador, of all people. A quick, hot fling, she revised silently. And yet, no matter how unlike her, the prospect held a surprising appeal. Craig had urged her to come to Spain not only to meet her father, but also to find a missing part of herself. Maybe she ought to take a risk for a change, for her own good. She swallowed hard.

  “I’ll be here only a week,” she announced, the decision made in an instant. “I don’t want to miss a chance to see some real flamenco. Could we go tonight after my father has gone to bed?”

  Rafael’s dark eyes widened in surprise, and he nodded. “I’ll come by at eleven. That should give you enough time to visit with him.”

  “I’ll see you then,” she replied. He told the twins good-bye, handed her the shovel and walked away with the same easy grace he’d shown as a dancer.

  “You’ve got to tell us everything,” Perry whispered.

  The twins’ eyes glowed with mischief. Obviously they were expecting a lurid account of a sizzling evening. Maggie laughed. “He invited me to see some flamenco, that’s all.”

  “You may have just met Rafael,” Connie offered, “but he’s like all men, and dancing isn’t what he really wants. You have to know that.”

  Maggie drew in a deep breath, but with their father as an example, it was no wonder the girls believed so little of men. “You mustn’t dismiss men so quickly,” she cautioned. “They often have a surprising depth, just as women do.”

  The girls rolled their eyes in disbelief, and Maggie didn’t waste another word. “All right, what are we going to do? Build Hogwarts or practice flamenco?”

  Perry brushed off her hands. “We were only out here because Connie has a crush on Fox.”

  “I do not!” Connie cried. “He’s too conceited to care about anyone but himself!”

  “Hold that thought,” Maggie replied. “It’s the perfect mood for flamenco. That disdain has to be in your every step and turn.” The twins skipped over the sand toward the house, and Maggie envied them their light-hearted enthusiasm.

  The housekeeper, Teresa Lopez, was barely five feet tall, slim as a reed, and her pinched features held a birdlike sharpness. She wore black as though she’d been born in it and was clearly accustomed to being obeyed. She met Maggie outside her room. “The maid’s job is to make your bed and straighten your belongings. You must cease doing her work for her.”

  Maggie wasn’t certain how many servants worked in the house, but she’d never employed one. “I’m used to taking care of myself,” she replied. “Couldn’t you assign her some other tasks?”

  Mrs. Lopez leaned closer. “Guests do not look after themselves in this house. Is that clear?”

  Maggie paused to consider the fact she would soon be gone and reluctantly nodded. “I didn’t mean to disrupt your household routine.”

  “Good.” She turned and walked away with a crisp military stride.

  Santos had overlooked Mrs. Lopez when he’d described the household, but Maggie thought the woman should definitely be included in his warnings. Of course, he had not one kind word to say about Rafael Mondragon, and she’d chosen to disregard it. That was either an example of her usual streak of independence or one of the worst mistakes she’d ever made. She checked her watch and began counting the hours until she saw him again.

  Chapter Six

  Late that afternoon, Maggie nearly floated in her over-size bathtub, awash in jasmine-scented bubbles. Her earlier bravado had completely deserted her, and while she may have decided to push her own boundaries, Rafael Mondragon had to be the wrong target.

  Whenever her sisters or friends had gushed over some new man, she’d offered coolly logical advice. She counseled restraint during the initial dazzle of an infatuation and preferred to take things slowly. She and Craig had first exchanged greetings in passing in the school halls and then gravitated to the same round table for lunch in the teachers’ lounge. The crowded room was noisy and had never provided a romantic interlude, but from the start she’d been drawn to Craig’s relaxed manner and gentle humor.

  He was an attractive man, but as their friendship progressed, she’d felt ever more strongly that an important ingredient was missing. As in the past, she’d suspected she was the one lacking the vital element rather than Craig, and he’d said so in their last angry conversation.

  Now Rafael had captured her attention as no man ever had, and while she would enjoy dancing with him, the question was how to behave when the music stopped. He couldn’t press her for more than she wished to give and risk alienating her father. But still, agreeing to go out with him had to have been a mistake in the first place. Maybe she should take the twins along, and Fox too, and everyone else she could find in the household willing to go.

  She wiggled her toes. The bathroom’s dolphin fixtures were undoubtedly real gold. The walls were sea-foam green, as was her spacious bedroom. The twins shared the room next door. David Hyde-Fox slept somewher
e down the hall, and she assumed Santos must have a room there too. Santos wouldn’t be pleased she’d accepted Rafael’s invitation, but she hadn’t seen him again that day, so perhaps he wouldn’t have to know. Then again, she wasn’t a teenager sneaking out to meet a boyfriend her parents had forbidden her to see, not that she’d ever done it.

  She was also not so naïve as to believe Rafael’s motives were pure either. He admired her father and could be courting the whole family, for all she knew. She wondered what her grandmother and aunt thought of him. When neither of them had made her feel welcome, she imagined they must look right through Rafael without seeing him. Santos had plenty of reasons for disliking him, and Fox didn’t appear to like anyone. But her father liked Rafael, and this was his home, after all.

  The bathroom’s marble floor was heated and the white towels thicker than birthday-cake frosting. She wondered if the twins noticed or if they’d always lived such a lavish lifestyle with their mother that their father’s home struck them as merely ordinary.

  She kept her towel tightly wrapped while she searched her wardrobe for something appropriate for both dinner and dancing. She’d packed the separates she wore to teach, and while they mixed and matched in numerous combinations, nothing struck her as fancy enough for her grandmother’s taste or dancing. She wouldn’t go shopping for something new when she’d soon leave for home.

  She donned red lingerie for courage and a black sundress with a sheer black jacket. She was dressed, at least, and started down the hall for the front stairs but heard a woman weeping outside her father’s door.

  She rushed to her. “What’s happened?” she whispered, fearing her father might have taken a turn for the worse.

  The young woman was tall and slender with beautiful peach-toned skin and huge green eyes. The soft curls of her honey-blonde hair bounced past her narrow waist. She was dressed in beige pants and a matching tailored top as though she wished to pass by in a caramel blur, but Maggie was sure the remarkable young woman could never escape anyone’s notice.