Fierce Love Read online

  He grinned at her. “Did you notice I didn’t ask Rafael if he could read?”

  “Am I supposed to be grateful? You’re too handsome a man to lose your front teeth.”

  “I’m not worried, but I didn’t want to make you angry. You’re awfully cute when you are, but I’m restraining myself.”

  “Thank you, whatever the reason.”

  She replaced the album and took out the next one. It was heavier than the first, and she hoped it held more clues to the family. “Tell me something, Santos, did you erase the video because Rafael looked too good?”

  He pulled his feet off the desk, and his boots hit the floor with a loud thump. “Don’t kid yourself, he’s not that good. He’s got balls, I’ll give him that, but his technique is rough, not as polished as it should be. He can pass for a matador as he struts into an arena wearing a suit of lights, but he can’t prove it once he’s there. If they loved him in Mexico, it’s because the people there couldn’t see the difference.”

  “And you’re a man with brilliant technique?”

  “Our father had it, and Augustín too. I’m nearly there. Mondragon will never achieve it.”

  She didn’t care how sloppy Rafael’s technique might be. She just wanted him to stay alive. “Augustín was supposedly working on a memoir. Have you ever heard anything about it, or know where it might be?”

  “I stayed out of his way. He could have been knitting Christmas stockings, and I wouldn’t have known. What does Mrs. Lujan say?”

  “She thought it was in the tin box. I’m afraid Carmen might have burned it.”

  He nodded. “We’ll have to ask her about it just to see her squirm.” He raised his voice to a rasping soprano: “A memoir? Why no, I know nothing about it.”

  Maggie laughed with him and went back outside to sit with Rafael. “I’m hoping to have better luck with this album.”

  “At least you know they’re family. I don’t have any pictures of anyone, not even my sister.”

  It was made as an offhand comment, but, touched, Maggie reached for his hand. He moved with such pride and confidence, but for an instant he’d let his façade slip, and she’d glimpsed the pain underneath. He’d reject any word of sympathy, so she offered something far better. “I keep thinking about dessert.”

  “Let me carry that album upstairs for you.”

  “Would you please?”

  They walked up the stairs with the quiet steps they’d use to sneak past a sentry and carefully closed the door to Maggie’s room and locked it. Rafael set the album on the dresser and laid Augustín’s journal on top. Before he could turn around, Maggie wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight.

  “I swear you’re as solid as a tree,” she exclaimed.

  “Is that comforting?”

  “Yes, it is.” She released him and stepped back. As he turned toward her, the sunlight streaming through the window turned his deep tan gold. She licked her lips as he unbuttoned his shirt and laid it over the chair. She pulled her knit top over her head, and he stepped close to unhook her bra. All his gestures had an easy grace, and she doubted Santos’s assessment of his skill in a bullring could be accurate when there was nothing rough or clumsy about him. She kicked off her sandals and shed her jeans, but left on her lace panties.

  “Let me make love to you this time,” she murmured.

  He closed his eyes briefly to savor the possibility. “You promise not to get too wild.”

  “I’ll restrain myself.” She pulled down the white comforter and flipped the top sheet out of their way. “I don’t think this bed is long enough for you. Why don’t you sit on the side?”

  He took the room’s single chair to pull off his boots and socks and stood to peel off his jeans. He pulled a condom from the pocket. “I don’t remember going to sleep last night. Will you wake me if I fall asleep?”

  She laughed, certain he wouldn’t even yawn. “No. You sleep through this, you’ve missed your chance.”

  “I’ve never slept with a teacher. You’re used to getting your way, aren’t you?”

  She stood back while he sat down on the bed then stepped between his outstretched legs. “So are you.” She framed his face with her hands and kissed his lips lightly before tracing their shape with her tongue. He had a perfect mouth, with a full lower lip made for kissing.

  He slid his arms around her waist to pull her close and pressed his hard cock against her belly. She didn’t need to think but just feel his heat. Lost in him, she swayed against him, rubbing side to side. Going up on her toes, she teased the length of him with the soft lace of her panties. His breathing quickened, and she reached for a pillow to cushion her knees.

  She knelt between his legs to rub her cheek against his thigh and caught a faint hint of his cologne. Thinking of how he’d marked her, she sucked her own print on his thigh. She needed two hands to grip his thick cock and licked away the drop of moisture at the tip. The head felt silk-soft in her mouth. She looked up at him as she circled the rim with a slow lick, followed by gentle sucking. She strengthened her grip to pulse with his breaths and then slid her hands up and down to stroke him in time with her tender lapping. When she cupped his balls and took him deep, he caught her around the waist to break the link and lifted her astride his lap.

  Thrilled by how easy he was to love, she helped him roll down the condom, then pulled her panties aside to guide him and eased down his length with shallow dips. Eager for her kisses, he sucked her tongue, and she twisted her hips to take his shaft deep. Wrapped around him, she rocked against him and tightened her inner muscles to stroke him toward madness or the bliss of release. It was the most delicious sense of power to bring him that joy. She could leap with him into a wave of glorious sensation and know he’d catch her.

  With a deep-throated groan, he stood to lay her on the bed. Still joined, he slid his arms under her legs to ease her knees to her breasts and open her fully. His hair fell into his eyes as he watched his cock surge into her. Slowing, he withdrew to the tip, slid his thumb through her slippery wetness and rubbed her clit in time with his strokes. When she came, he leaned down her to capture her joyful cry in a silencing kiss and lost himself deep within her.

  Completely sated, Maggie heard a car pull up and dreamily wondered who it was. When the doors slammed, she opened one eye. The sun was setting, the golden light had dimmed, and she was alone in the bed. She heard the shower, but was too lazily content to join Rafael in it. She rolled off the side of the bed to look out the window. Fox and Ana were back and she was carrying a garment bag while he had several shoeboxes.

  Maggie went back to bed, pulled the sheet up over her breasts and hoped those things were for Ana, because even if they had bought her a dress, she wouldn’t be able to dance tonight. She doubted she could even walk. Even if she could take a few steps, she’d never make it down the stairs. She smothered a giggle in her pillow. Rafael could probably leap into the air and click his heels, while she preferred to float in a blissful haze that called for nothing more strenuous than breathing. He was an amazing lover and deserved a more complimentary description. Maybe she’d have to invent one when her mind drifted back to her body. If it ever did.

  Rafael left the shower and came into her room with a towel wrapped low on his hips. “It’s five o’clock. As soon as I’m dressed, I’ll go downstairs and ask what time dinner is.”

  She snuggled deeper into the mattress. “Just bring me something I can sip through a straw.”

  He sat down on the side of her bed and ran his hand up her arm. “Have I worn you out again? I’m flattered, of course, but we should eat dinner with the others.”

  Maggie yawned, rolled on her side and propped her head on her hand. “Are you working some sort of a Gypsy love spell?”

  “Would I admit it if I were?”

  His amused gaze told the whole story. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. Just tell me if there is such a thing.”

  He combed her hair through his fingers. “Yes and n
o. My grandmother supported us by selling all sorts of magic potions, which were herb-scented water in fancy little bottles with cork stoppers. Some must have worked, and if anyone complained that theirs didn’t, she’d sell them a stronger version for twice the price.”

  “Which was again nothing more than herb-scented water?”

  “Yes, she didn’t want to poison anyone. Gypsies may take advantage of people to survive, but we aren’t evil.”

  She burrowed into her pillow. “That’s a comfort.”

  A smile twitched in the corner of his mouth. How open he’d become from the man she’d first met. It might still be an act, but if so, it was a damn good one. Her motives weren’t pure either. She’d be going home soon and could remember him as a romantic adventure, if not so much more. She hauled herself into a sitting position and leaned back against the headboard.

  “I’ll make the effort to join everyone for dinner. When you ask about the time, will you please see if Ana bought me a dress or shoes? I’d rather put them on now than have to change into them later.”

  “You’re a very practical woman.”

  She raised her chin in a stubborn tilt. “It’s not a flaw.”

  He leaned in to kiss her, then stood. “Now look who’s picking fights. One of us ought to be practical.”

  “And what are you?”

  His dark gaze swept over her. “Merely a Gypsy dancer, and we’re an unpredictable and impractical lot.” He stamped his heels and returned to his room through the convenient bathroom doorway.

  If he were working some sort of Gypsy magic, she bet it was with his cologne. Maybe it was based on an ancient Gypsy formula. That it was made for her father didn’t matter. It was a scent that attracted women, and maybe neither man really needed it with their looks and charm, but it sure didn’t hurt their cause.

  “Rafael, did you have any relatives named Simone?”

  He came to the doorway wearing a pair of dress pants. “That’s a French name. My mother’s name was Carlotta, and my grandmother was Delores. My sister was Maria Lourdes, and we called her MaLou. I’ve never met a Simone.”

  “Good. Augustín has a drawing of a woman named Simone in the back of his second journal. If your mother liked wealthy men, she might have known him.”

  “No, he would have known my grandmother. What were you thinking, that I might be your father’s half brother? Would that make me your half uncle? If there is such a thing. You can tell from looking at me that I’m not an Aragon.”

  She remained in bed and stretched lazily. “True. I was just thinking of beautiful Gypsies, not linking our families. Although it is a scary thought.”

  “I wouldn’t tell,” he assured her and continued getting dressed.

  Maggie waited until he’d gone downstairs to make up the bed, shower and shampoo her hair. She was blowing it dry when he returned carrying three shoeboxes and a gorgeous dress. It was a deep blood red with a scoop neck, close-fitted sleeves and a full-tiered skirt. She slipped it on over her head and stamped her bare feet as she turned.

  “This is the most beautiful dress. I won’t let Ana pay for it. Did she tell you what it cost?”

  “Yes, and I paid her. Here are the shoes. She bought several pairs to be certain you’d have the correct size.”

  “Wait a minute; you won’t pay for my clothes.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s not like the castanets. You don’t have to pay for my affection with lavish gifts. Did Ana give you the receipt?”

  “No, I didn’t plan to deduct the expense on my taxes.”

  His gaze narrowed when he was annoyed, as he was fast becoming, but she was adamant. “What if I gave you a gorgeous new traje de luces. Would you accept it?”

  “No, but they cost thousands. Your dress wasn’t that much.”

  “Then perhaps that was a poor example, but you don’t want expensive gifts either. Does that make sense?”

  “No, neither of us has to buy the other’s love, so what difference does it make who pays for what?”

  She’d said affections, not love, and his question threw her off-balance. “Let’s not debate the issue. I’ll handle the matter with Ana.”

  “But she’s already been paid.”

  “She can pay you back when I pay her.”

  He scoffed at that prospect. “What makes you think she would?”

  “What makes you think she wouldn’t?”

  He kissed her to stop their disagreement before it became tiresome. “I swear you have a Gypsy’s passion, but save it for later.”

  He was out the door before she caught her breath. Amazingly energized, she looked down at her bare feet and thought with the new shoes, she might be able to dance with Rafael after all. It had all begun with that first dance at the Caves. Or it could have begun years earlier when she’d first taken flamenco lessons. She didn’t really believe in fate, but she’d so easily danced into Rafael’s arms. She turned to give her new dress a dramatic swirl. She’d been such a serious person in Tucson, but here in Spain, she was someone new. Maybe the person she was meant to be all along.

  Ana had supplied three pairs of dance shoes, and one was her size, the others close. Either the woman had an incredible eye, or she’d checked the shoes Maggie had left in her room.

  There were taps on the heels and toes. Narrow straps crossed the instep so a dancer could stamp and kick without tossing an errant shoe into the audience. She danced into the bathroom to add another coat of mascara and was glad she’d packed her new castanets.

  When she came downstairs, the others were seated in the living room. The furniture was large and comfortable, and woven rugs in rich browns and reds covered the hardwood floor. While they’d all changed their clothes for dinner, she felt overdressed.

  “Oh, that’s perfect,” Ana exclaimed. She’d been sitting on the arm of Santos’s chair, and she leaped up to walk to her. She wore a short, sky-blue dress that matched her eyes and a new pair of platform heels in a wild combination of animal prints. “Will you dance for us? There must be someone on the ranch who can play the guitar.”

  Santos had stood when Maggie entered the room, and he opened the large wooden cabinet against the wall. “We’ve plenty of guitar music here on albums and a turntable that still works.”

  “A turntable, like DJs have?” Fox asked, and he observed Santos closely to learn how to use it.

  Rafael, standing by the window, sent Maggie a questioning glance. “You look very beautiful, but if you’d rather not dance, we don’t have to.”

  Santos looked over his shoulder. “She doesn’t need you, Mondragon.”

  “Wait,” Ana interjected. “I have my camera, so let me take some photos first.” She swung a straight-backed chair around. “Why don’t you sit down here, Magdalena, and Fox, will you bring that other chair for Santos? I want you seated back-to-back but looking over your shoulders at me.”

  Fox was so eager to please her he nearly threw the chair into place. Maggie sat down, adjusted the drape of her skirt and waited for Santos to join her. “Please make a copy for me. I’d like to show everyone at home. I want a photo with you too, Fox. Maybe you could take one of Rafael and me while we’re dancing.”

  “Now we have a whole photography studio,” Santos muttered under his breath, but he took his chair.

  “Hush,” Ana said. “We want these to be good.” Taking her time, she worked from several angles and adjusted their poses accordingly. “Now, why don’t you stand right here with Fox, Magdalena? The landscape painting will make a nice background.”

  Fox had dressed in clean sports clothes for dinner and spiked his hair the way he liked it. He shuffled his feet as though he were reluctant to pose, but he managed a smile for Ana. She took several photos, then turned to Rafael. “I want you two dancing. Flamenco is a starburst of energy, and you shouldn’t be posed standing still.”

  “A starburst,” Rafael murmured. “Another challenge.”

  Fox pulled the furniture out of th
e way and rolled up a rug to give them a dance floor. Rafael nodded to Santos to start the music, then waited for Maggie to set the pace with her footsteps and castanets.

  Santos clapped the rhythm, and Fox joined in while Ana peered through her camera lens seeking perfect shots as Maggie and Rafael danced with their usual intensity and grace. “Yes, that’s it,” she called. “Pretend I’m not here.”

  With Rafael bumping her hip whenever he caught the chance, Maggie found it a simple matter to ignore Ana. The room could have been crowded with ranch hands, and she’d still have seen only Rafael. He certainly stood in the center of his life with a bravado most men would envy. She knew her part in the dance, but her life was spinning like a top, with a constantly shifting center.

  When the music ended, Rafael dipped her for an affectionate kiss, then hugged her to his side. She was surprised by the applause, but Refugio and his helpers in the kitchen had come out to watch. Mrs. Lujan, in a dark dress for the evening, stood in the dining room doorway, applauding enthusiastically. Fox was beside Ana, looking at her camera, but Santos’s angry frown made his hostile reaction to their dancing plain.

  “We are ready to serve dinner,” Mrs. Lujan announced.

  Maggie was so hungry she could barely wait to be served. Fox sat on one side of her and Rafael on the other, while Santos and Ana again sat opposite them. Just as in the beach house, the chair at the head of the table was left empty. She reached under the table to squeeze Rafael’s knee, and he covered her hand. They had only that evening and another day to get through there, and while he hadn’t been friendly with Santos, he hadn’t gone out of his way to insult him again. She’d thank him later for that, if it continued.

  There was a clear mushroom soup served before a well-seasoned rib roast, rare the way she like it. There were fresh green beans with sliced almonds and rice flavored with saffron. She chewed slowly so she wouldn’t be finished well before the others. When Fox asked for more, she relaxed.