by Phoebe Conn
Santos sat back in his chair and took a sip of wine. “You must have had some amazing experiences in prison. Why don’t you tell us a few?”
“That was uncalled for,” Maggie stressed, disappointed he’d ask such a rude question.
“No, really,” Ana insisted. “I’d love to hear about it. The rest of us will never know life behind bars.”
Rafael didn’t look up from his plate. “I worked in the prison hospital and took care of men who’d been beaten, stabbed and gang raped. Those stories aren’t appropriate for the dinner table.”
Ana paled slightly, while Santos dipped his head to hide his smirk. “You’ll have to tell us another time.”
“I can’t think of any time such sad stories would be entertaining,” Maggie argued. “Which designer has the best collection for the fall, Ana?”
Ana seized upon the question and gave an animated response that lasted through the rest of the meal. Fox hung on her every word. Maggie tried to listen and was grateful her brother had finally shut up. The dessert was a crema catalana, a rich egg custard, chilled icy cold and topped with grilled sugar.
“This is so good,” Maggie exclaimed.
“You haven’t had this?” Ana asked.
“No, this is my first trip to Spain. Mexican food is more common in America than Spanish.”
“You’ll have to come back often,” Santos suggested.
Rafael laid his hand on her thigh, and she chose her words with care. “Yes, I’d love to.” She waited for Rafael to add his hopes that she would, but he remained silent by her side, and she managed only a tremulous smile.
Chapter Twelve
As soon as they entered her room, Maggie handed Rafael the money. “Please count that to make certain it’s what you paid Ana.”
He quickly thumbed through it. “It’s all here. When did you get it?”
“When you stepped into the den with Santos to talk about tomorrow. She didn’t care who paid her, and she took the two extra pairs of shoes for her friends who dance. She admitted checking the sizes of my clothes and shoes after Santos convinced her to stay. She said all models know what size each other wears, and she did it simply out of habit. She didn’t know I wasn’t going shopping with her until she came back outside, so I think she was simply snooping. She’s a stunning woman, but I don’t trust her.”
“Neither do I, but maybe she’s afraid Santos is too fond of you.”
From Ana’s tearful warning about her brother, she knew it to be a possibility. “Well, at least you’ve been repaid.”
“Which was unnecessary. Maybe I’ll leave it on your dresser.”
“Then I’ll leave it on yours.” As the light darkened in his gaze, she wondered if he’d ever worked as an escort. He had the dashing good looks to attract wealthy women and the physical talent to satisfy them. She wouldn’t ask the obvious question, because some mysteries were best unsolved.
“Did you and Santos agree about tomorrow?”
“Yes, we want to get it over with early in the morning. Ana knows how to use the video camera, and we’ll watch the video to make certain it’s acceptable before we leave so we won’t have wasted our time here.”
She thought they’d put their time to extraordinarily good use, and that stung. They were talking about two different things, but still, it hurt. “What will you do if it isn’t good?”
“We’ll do it again with another bull. I want every chance to convince Miguel I’m ready to fight on Sunday.”
“In that beautiful black suit.” She wondered if a matador was ever buried in his suit of lights. Would her father want to be?
“Yes, that’s what it’s for. Now come into my room. I want you to sleep in my bed.”
Rather than follow him through the connecting bathroom, where her lace panties and bra were hanging to dry, she went out into the hall and knocked at his door.
He opened it wide, and his dark eyes lit with amusement. “Yes, may I help you?”
She twisted slightly to swing her full skirt. “I don’t know, can you?”
He pulled her into his room and lifted her off her feet in a welcoming hug. “Sit with me on the balcony and tell me about your life.” He took her hand to lead the way to the padded wicker chairs that matched those on the porch below. He waited for her to sit and pulled his chair close so he could still hold her hand. “You’re looking for Augustín’s memoir. What will be in yours?”
She crossed her legs and bounced her foot. “You’d definitely deserve more than a footnote, but up until now, my life’s been so predictable it wouldn’t make for entertaining reading.”
“Were you a happy child with a room painted pink and dozens of dolls?”
“No, I was the studious type with more books than toys. I was into nature, and my room was a pale green.”
He brushed his thumb across her palm. “I preferred books to my fellow inmates’ company and read every volume in the prison library. The prison doctor liked me and brought me bags of more books to read. Did you have nice friends, little girls as pretty as you?”
“I did have friends,” she assured him, without describing them as a cluster of brainy girls the popular crowd shunned. “I have two younger half sisters, and belonged to Girl Scouts, so I was seldom alone either at school or home.”
“Tell me a secret,” he whispered invitingly.
“I don’t know what it is you want to hear. I never met a Gypsy in Minneapolis, so my life was quite uneventful compared to now.”
“Then why would you want to go home?”
He had such a marvelous voice, and sitting together at night, he sounded even more seductive. For a moment, she forgot the question. “I own a nice condo and have a job I love. I never meant to stay here.”
“But you didn’t know what you’d find, so you could change your plans.”
She bit her lip rather than laugh. “Rafael, we met on Saturday, and it’s only Tuesday night. If you never plan more than a week ahead, why should I?”
With an easy lift, he scooped her up, carried her into his bed and dropped her in the center. He grabbed her foot and unbuckled her shoe. “You’re right. There’s only tonight, and I ought to concentrate on giving you something memorable for your memoir.”
She laughed and leaned back on her elbows. “You could try, I suppose.”
He bit her big toe but not hard enough to hurt. “Only try?”
She regarded him with an enigmatic smile. “You thrive on a challenge, don’t you?”
He unbuckled her other shoe, then pulled her off the bed and turned her toward her room. “Go hang up your new dress before I rip it off you.”
Not afraid of his teasing threat, she took her time sashaying out. She really liked him, yet she couldn’t help but hope her father deemed him unready for an Alternativa. The smaller the bulls he had to face, the better. She hung her dress in the closet and put on the lace-trimmed nightgown she’d brought along. The apricot shade lent her hair an auburn sheen, and the short length showed off her long legs. She always bought sexy lingerie, even if most of her dates weren’t lucky enough to see it.
She came back to his room, and he was still wearing his pants and standing out on the balcony. She rubbed her hand across his bare back. The warmth of his skin always felt so good. “This is such an isolated spot.”
“Yes, but the stars are bright away from the city. Most things have two sides.”
“A plus and a minus? Maybe. There’s no downside to being handsome, is there? Have any agents approached you to model or be in films?”
He took her hand to return to his room. “What sort of films?”
She kissed away his questioning smirk. “Not those kind. Real films with good stories.”
“I’m no Javier Bardem.”
She crawled up on his bed. “I don’t know; you have a wide variety of expressions and a wonderful deep voice. I think you’d be good in whatever role you played.”
He unzipped his pants and tossed them over the chair. “I
’m already good at what I do.”
“You’re certainly good at everything I’ve seen.”
He turned off the lamp, but the starlight shown in the open balcony door. “May I quote you in a review?”
“As long as you’re not using it to impress other woman.”
“Why would I need other women?” He rolled up her nightie to buzz teasing kisses in her navel.
She laughed and clamped her hand over her mouth. “Maybe you ought to close the balcony door.”
“Where’s Santos’s room?”
“I don’t know, but wouldn’t his open onto the balcony too? There’s Fox to consider as well. He’d crawl along the balcony to overhear whatever he could.”
He paused, weighing the idea. “I could probably act both our parts and give them something to dream about.”
“Don’t you dare!”
He went to the balcony door, but just as he reached it, Santos and Ana stepped out onto the far end of the balcony. “Just a minute,” he whispered.
Ana grabbed the rail and Santos came up behind her. “Do you want your own room?”
“I can’t decide. I hope you noticed Magdalena never takes her eyes off Rafael. He fascinates her, and when they danced, I swear they shot sparks.”
“Sparks? Are you complaining we lack heat or passion?”
Rafael closed the door and locked it. “Ana isn’t happy with your brother. If she leaves tonight, can you film me in the morning?”
“I’ve never used a video camera, but I suppose I could try. Although that would force me to watch you face a bull, which I’d rather avoid. Maybe Fox could do it. He’d really get into it.”
He stretched out beside her. “Or Refugio, or any of the men who work here?”
“Or Mrs. Lujan; anyone but me, please.”
“As long as you watch me now.”
He kissed her before she could point out the room was too dark to make him out clearly. He tasted like peppermint toothpaste, and so did she. His skin was smooth, the muscles shifting with life beneath her fingertips, and she loved his hair. She grabbed hold of his jet-black mane and pressed herself against him. “Wait a minute.” She eased up to pull off her nightgown, then, like a devoted cat, rubbed her bare breasts against his chest.
“You’re worth five stars at least,” she murmured against his lips.
“Is five stars the most for a review?”
“Usually. You want to try for six?”
He laughed against her breast and pressed her hand against his hip bone. “I could tattoo it here with your name.”
She slipped free of his grasp to stroke him lower. “Then another woman would want her name here. You’d better stop before you begin.”
He sucked her right nipple until she squirmed beneath him. “All right, it will be our secret,” he agreed.
“Ah, a secret to reveal in my memoir,” she murmured, but she’d have a great deal more to say about him, and she wouldn’t need ink to remember every detail.
“Aren’t you worried about what I’ll say about you in mine?” he asked.
Women usually outlived men, but it wasn’t something she wished to point out in his case. “No, you’re a gentleman, and you’d never say anything unkind.”
“Santos wouldn’t agree.”
“Who cares what he thinks?” She kissed him until she couldn’t gather two thoughts in sequence. “It’s so easy to lose myself in you.” His heady scent, light touch and sweet taste drew her close, and she slid her hand over his flat belly. “I bet you have a great many secrets.”
After a long pause, he admitted reluctantly, “They’re too dangerous to tell.” He gave her earlobe a last nibble and donned a condom. He turned back to stretch out between her legs, and she grabbed hold of his arms. He dipped into her sweet welcoming wetness, withdrew to stroke the length of her cleft, teasing her, then melting into her again before withdrawing. She bucked to catch him on his next deep thrust, and he flexed within her and rolled his hips.
She sighed and raised her arms above her head. “I’m so glad I don’t have to go home tonight.”
“You should have stayed with me last night.”
She purred softly rather than admit how eager she’d been to leave. He eased into her with a quick stroke and then slowed his pace. He felt so good inside her, stretching her and then seeking a home deep. The familiar joy grew in waves, drawing her, leading her, compelling her into a searing heat that scorched her clear through. When he caught his own pleasure with a hoarse gasp, she pulled him down into her arms.
She rubbed her knee along his leg. “That’s my kind of starburst.”
“Maybe a bursting star tattoo?”
“Absolutely not.” She giggled at the thought. “You’ve far too handsome a body to cover it with tattooed cartoons.”
They fell asleep in a tangle of arms and legs, woke to make love again, and slept until an energetic rooster crowed to greet the dawn.
Maggie got up first and found her nightgown tossed to the far side of the room. She went into the bathroom and tried unsuccessfully to wash the incriminating blush from her cheeks. She showered quickly, dried off and peeked into Rafael’s room. “Even if I can’t bear to watch, I wish you good luck this morning.”
He sat up in bed and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “I don’t think we need to get up this early.”
“Well, I’m up anyway.” She went into her room and pulled on the jeans she’d worn yesterday and was relieved to find she’d brought several knit shirts so she had a choice. She hadn’t really unpacked, so just zipped up her bag and left her new dress on its hanger. She looked out the window. “Ana’s Porsche is still here.”
Rafael responded with a muffled moan. “All right, fine, you stay in bed. I’m going downstairs.” She took the album they’d brought upstairs yesterday afternoon and Augustín’s journal. She placed the journal in the tin box with the other two and hoped Rafael wouldn’t believe she’d been worried he wouldn’t return it. She left the album on the desk.
Refugio was the only one in the kitchen. He was a short man who made up for his thinning hair with a luxurious mustache. He wore a chef’s white jacket but no hat. “Good morning, Señorita. It is another beautiful day.”
It was barely light enough to tell. “I heard the rooster. Do you have chickens here?”
“Of course. There is no need for a rooster without hens. How would you like your eggs?”
There was a delicious cinnamon aroma drifting from the bread baking in the oven. The huge cast-iron stove looked as though it was as old as the house. “Whatever you’re making for everyone else.”
“This is Wednesday, so I scramble them for the men first, and then give any guests we have here their choice.”
“I’ll wait until all the men have eaten. Have you been here a long while, Refugio?”
“Since I was a little boy. My father worked here, and I grew up hoping I could work here too.”
“So you knew Augustín?”
He shrugged. “No one really knew him. He was a quiet man, but the look in his eye could scare a man clear to his soul. He terrified me when I was a boy. Forgive me. I’ve said too much.”
“No, I want to learn about him. Do you know what happened to the memoir he was writing?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t tell. Your grandmother is not one to be crossed.”
She understood. The memoir was gone and probably burned bit by bit. “She and Augustín must have been a charming pair.”
He pulled out a cast iron skillet. “She has never liked it here. Fortunately, the Aragons have always owned other houses. Maybe she is content elsewhere.”
His two young helpers came in the back door and greeted her politely, but their arrival ended Maggie’s hopes to learn more. She went back to the den for the album and carried it out on the front porch. Soon lost in thought, she left it unopened on her lap. She was surprised when Fox was the first one to join her. “You’re up awfully early. How did you sleep?” she asked.
“I didn’t. Santos and Ana are in the room next to mine. She kept threatening to leave, and he should have let her go.”
“Let’s not gossip about them.”
“It’s not gossip if I say they made too much noise for me to sleep. That’s a statement of fact.” He sat down, leaned back and yawned loudly.
“When you get older, you’ll find it becomes easier to be generous with your opinions. It may come as something of a shock.”
“My mother used to remind me to be polite. Miguel doesn’t hear anything I say, so it doesn’t matter. Santos is cool, though.”
She already knew Miguel wasn’t the most attentive of fathers. “Don’t they have rules at your school?”
“Too many to learn,” he complained. He settled into his chair and closed his eyes.
She didn’t pester him with any more questions. Perhaps an attempt to delve deeply into her relatives’ lives was foolish. Craig would say she was impossible to know, so how could she take it upon herself to pry into anyone else’s life? She thought of Augustín’s admonition, to stand in the center of your life. Maybe that was what they were all doing, being their own selfish selves within a cautious circle to exclude everyone else.
She opened the album and turned the pages slowly. Some of the names were still legible, and there were frequent photos taken there at the ranch. Many featured women on horseback, while their men stood beside them holding the reins. Their faces were shaded by their broad-brimmed hats, but they were all smiling as though they lived an idyllic life.
Then a large photograph of a matador appeared. Miguel had said his father and grandfather had been matadors, so the man had to be her great-grandfather rather than Augustín. He was handsome, like all the men in her family, with a wicked grin. There were several pages of him with his wife and son, Augustín, and then a newspaper photograph she quickly discovered was part of an obituary. His name had been Juan Diego Aragon, and he’d been only thirty-six when he’d died in the bullring in Madrid.
Stunned, she slammed the album shut, and Fox opened one eye. “What?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” She was relieved when he went back to sleep. It was no wonder Augustín had been such a cold, taciturn man when he’d probably witnessed his father’s violent death. How could he have gone on to become a matador? Had it been expected of him, or had he done it to restore the splendor of the Aragon name? Apparently he’d retired earlier than most men, but she was surprised he’d entered a bullring at all.