Fierce Love Read online

  He leaned down to kiss her cheek. “The ranch is our real home. You’ll see. I won’t be home tonight, but if you go out again with Mondragon…”

  “I know. I’ll be careful.” Just how careful, she couldn’t promise. She checked her watch. Craig would be home now and probably not yet asleep. She took her cell phone out on the beach and called.

  “Hello,” he murmured through a muffled yawn.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Maggie? Is that you? Where are you?”

  She described her father’s home as an astonishing homage to Antonio Gaudí’s work. “You were right. My father sent for me because he’s ill. I’ll tell you about everyone I’ve met when I come home.”

  “I didn’t think you were still speaking to me.”

  “You’re the one who walked out.”

  “True, which was probably a mistake.”

  Maggie doubted it. “I just wanted you to know I’m thinking of you.”

  “When are you coming home?”

  “Sunday, unless I run off with a handsome matador.”

  “What?”

  “Good-bye.” He’d think she was kidding, but even in that brief exchange, she knew all she’d ever want from him was the friendship they’d already shared. Rafael, however, sparked far more than friendly interest. She wasn’t the type to fall prey to her own emotions, and it wasn’t that she couldn’t tell him no. She just might not want to. That was what frightened her.

  She found a note from the twins on her bed. They’d left their home address and cell phone numbers so she could call them. They promised to practice their dancing and hoped she’d look for them in all the fashion magazines. She put the note in the leather-bound journal she’d bought, but now that she had it in her hand, she couldn’t decide how to record her trip. She didn’t want a dry list of places she’d visited, but while the twins were easy to describe, her comments on her grandmother and aunt wouldn’t be complimentary. Her father deserved thoughtful entries, and Santos, whom she liked better each day, did too.

  She took a pen and walked down the beach to find a place to sit and make notes only she would read, but her thoughts turned quickly to Rafael. Even if he weren’t a full matador de toros, she wondered if there had been posters for his fights in Mexico. If strangers recognized him on the beach, there probably had been.

  “Why can’t I forget the man?” she moaned. Craig had been wrong, and she wasn’t missing any important parts of herself. She simply hadn’t been the right woman for him. She made a few notes of her initial impressions of her newfound family and wrote Rafael’s name in the back of her journal to make him a separate subject in himself. She let the breeze whip her hair and wished she had something pretty to wear that night. The muted tones she wore for school just wouldn’t do here.

  Rafael brought her a small present tied with a big bow. “You don’t have to buy me gifts,” she exclaimed.

  “I’m a Gypsy; maybe I stole it.”

  “That’s not funny.” She got into his car and held the brightly wrapped present in her lap.

  “I’m sorry if my jokes don’t amuse you, but I’m not poor. I can afford to buy women presents. Now open yours and thank me.”

  She had a good idea how he’d like to be thanked. She pulled off the bow and wrapping paper and found a pair of castanets. “Thank you!” She slipped the cord on one over her right thumb and tapped a quick rhythm. “I’ll be a much better dancer with my own castanets. Now I’ll have to give you something.”

  He smiled. “I’d not refuse a gift, but there’s no hurry. The place we’re going tonight is larger than Bailaora, but unfortunately the dancers aren’t nearly as good. I promise not to mention your father’s name and maybe you’ll want to stay longer.”

  Just seeing him again coiled a delicious excitement around her heart. Embarrassed to have developed such a weakness for him, she dismissed it as a silly infatuation. That was convenient, if not truthful. “Will you dance with me again?”

  “Of course. You’ll need to try out the new castanets.”

  “No, I just want to dance with you.” He leaned close to kiss her, and she raised her hand to his cheek to prolong it. He was always clean-shaven, as though he carried an electric razor in his car to look good regardless of the time of day. His lips were soft. He tasted so good and smelled like a god. Now that she knew his scent, it wasn’t overwhelming at all, merely enticing, like everything else about him.

  “We should probably go,” she whispered.

  “Hmm.” He started his Mercedes, turned on the radio and kept it low. “I’ve heard American women never tell what happens on their vacations.”

  “I’m not on a vacation, but what secrets would I keep?”

  “That Spanish men are handsome but only good enough for a week.”

  She appreciated his sense of humor but shook her head. “Please. Let’s worry about getting through tonight, Rafael.”

  “So I’m not worth a week?”

  She clicked her castanets rather than reply.

  When they reached the club, Rafael kept his word and introduced her only as Magdalena. The crowd was a loud mix of tourists and Spaniards, and she was grateful he asked to be seated at a small, quiet table at the rear of the room.

  “No one will notice us here,” he assured her.

  They were close enough to rub elbows, and she rested her hand on his arm. “Do they have the same wine here?”

  “You only swallowed a sip. Are you sure you liked it?”

  “Yes, very much.”

  He patted her hand and barely looked up to give their order to the waiter. “We can’t see much of the dancers from here, but that’s no loss. The music is good though.”

  Maggie didn’t care if they were the worst dancers ever to perform in public, but she bit her lip rather than confess she’d thought about him all day. Even when she’d tried to clear him from her mind, he slipped into her thoughts. Trespassed, he’d say, like a Gypsy.

  A slender young man approached their table and leaned down to whisper in Rafael’s ear. Rafael gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and stood to speak to him with his back turned toward her to block their conversation. She hadn’t wanted to be introduced, but was curious all the same. She’d taken a single drink of the Ribeiro before Rafael sat down and the man walked away.

  “You don’t need him for a friend,” he explained. “He asks me for money whenever he sees me, but I’m not running a bank.”

  She trusted his opinion, and when the lights went down and the spotlights came on to brighten the stage, she leaned easily against him. It wasn’t that the dancers weren’t particularly good, she decided. They simply played to the audience with winks and quick smiles rather than focus on each other, so their dances lacked any sense of mystery and romance.

  “What do you think?” he whispered.

  “They have the steps but not the fiery spirit,” she replied.

  When the dancers left the stage after several numbers and the audience quieted, he reached for her hand. “They know me here.”

  She slipped on the castanets and followed him to the stage. The guitarist greeted them warmly, introduced Rafael and looked to her for her name. “Magdalena.”

  Rafael requested the tune they’d danced to at the Caves, and she struck a provocative pose. He moved too close, and she edged away as she clicked the castanets and turned in a slow circle to avoid him. They played the same teasing game through the dance with her sliding away from his every advance until he caught her on the final note and kissed her with the heat she’d longed to feel.

  The audience roared their approval and begged for more, but she shook her head and took Rafael’s arm to return to their table. The owner of the club approached them to ask them to perform again later, but Rafael thanked him for the compliment and refused.

  “Whenever you have time in the evening, come dance for us again,” the man begged before walking away.

  Magdalena swallowed the last
drop of her wine, and Rafael refilled her stemmed glass. “We’re better each time we dance,” he said. “Now all you need is the dress and the shoes.”

  “I have them at home.”

  He nodded. “But I won’t be there.”

  She’d once been afraid to look into his dark eyes, but now his affectionate glance lured her close. When she couldn’t bar him from her thoughts, it struck her as a grave mistake to waste even a minute of the week they could spend together. Her imagination provided intriguing possibilities, and she felt an incriminating blush fill her cheeks. “Will you invite me to come home with you again?”

  He studied her expression a long moment. “I don’t bear humiliation well, so only if you’ll say yes.”

  She licked her lips as though unsure of what her answer would be. They danced so well together, the sex would be incredibly good, probably habit forming if she weren’t careful.

  She leaned forward to ask, “Do Gypsies use condoms?”

  He closed his eyes and moaned. “Always.” He was out of his chair and helped her to her feet so quickly she laughed as they raced for the door.

  Chapter Nine

  Rafael’s apartment was on the way to Miguel’s house, and he held Maggie’s hand the whole way. “If you’re thinking of just using me and tossing me aside, I’ll forgive you,” he promised.

  Charmed by his teasing, she rested her head on his shoulder. “You don’t strike me as a forgiving man.”

  “I’m making an exception for you.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  “Ask me tomorrow.”

  Barcelona was another world compared to home, and she refused to think past tonight. While she couldn’t name the precise moment she’d decided to give in to the passion that flowed so easily between them while they danced, she was now sure she’d be a fool not to take advantage of it. In fact, it had become exactly what she wanted to do. Even if they formed a purely physical bond, it would still be glorious. Brief, she knew, but glorious still.

  He lived in a charming old building with outside stairs to his second-floor apartment. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it was starkly furnished and spotlessly clean. A black leather sofa divided the open living room from his bedroom in the rear. There was a small galley kitchen on one side and a bathroom on the other.

  “Would you like more wine?” he asked.

  She shook her head and reached for the buttons on his shirt. “Do you always wear black?”

  He caught her hands. “Yes, and before you go any further, I should warn you the man I killed also knew how to handle a knife.”

  She took a step back, but she didn’t care if he had scars. “Do you want to turn off the light?” He’d left a single table lamp lit by the sofa and it lent the room a warm glow.

  “No, then I wouldn’t be able to see you, but you might not want to look at me.”

  She thought it couldn’t be possible until he pulled off his shirt to reveal a long scar that angled across his well-defined abs to his left hip. It must have been an awful wound, but the scar scarcely marred his hard-muscled body. She traced the narrow line with her fingertips, then pressed close to kiss the smooth hollow of his shoulder. It would be a waste of breath to warn him to be more careful in the future, but with that awful scar, he looked as though he was lucky to be alive.

  “It doesn’t bother you?” he asked.

  “Everything about you bothers me,” she admitted softly. “The way you look, your voice, the cologne you wear, to say nothing of the way you dance. You’d fascinate any woman.”

  “I didn’t see a line when we came in.” He wove his fingers in her hair to pull her into a lingering kiss.

  “The way you kiss is awfully good too,” she added, without admitting he’d just turned her spine to marshmallow cream. Just touching him warmed her all over, and the heat pooled low in her belly. She’d never liked being confined in another man’s embrace, but she couldn’t get close enough to him. For the first time in her life, she felt as though she were exactly where she truly belonged.

  He leaned away to turn on a CD of soft guitar music and brought her into a slow dance. They huddled close, their feet barely moving. He licked her earlobe and muffled her giggles with deep kisses.

  It felt as though they had forever to make love, and she savored the dance until they were both too dizzy to stand. She led him toward the bed. It was neatly made with a black duvet.

  “I don’t want to ruin your clothes,” he murmured.

  She’d forgotten she was wearing any. She looked down to find the dress she’d worn the first time they’d danced together. “I’ll go home in a bed sheet if I have to.”

  He picked her up in a tight hug. “No, we can do better than that. Let me help you.”

  He slid the zipper down the back of her dress and held her hand so she wouldn’t lose her balance as she stepped out of it and kicked off her shoes. He tossed the dress over the back of the sofa and reached for the hooks on her bra. She’d worn lavender lace lingerie, and her panties soon sailed with her bra to the sofa.

  His glance rolled over her slowly. “You’re as beautiful as I knew you’d be.”

  “Thank you.” She played her fingers down his arm and reached for his belt buckle. “The first time I saw you…”

  He tapped a fingertip against her lips. “I was mad at Santos and rude to you. I’m sorry.”

  “Was that only three days ago?”

  “No, it was in another lifetime.”

  She understood. Together they’d created somewhere entirely new. When he eased her down on the bed, there was none of the anxiety she’d felt with other men. There was only a deep hunger, as though he were the real reason she’d come to Barcelona. She’d never believed in fate, but as he ripped off his boots and threw his pants aside, he made it clear he intended to be part of hers. With his pride, she’d expected him to be worth seeing in the nude, and she wasn’t disappointed. Long, thick, and rigid, clearly he was ready to partner her in a whole new kind of dance. She wanted the black curls framing his penis wet with her own moisture and squirmed to welcome him.

  He crawled up over her to lave her breasts, sucked on her fingertips and slid down her body to curve his tongue into her navel with a playful tickle. “You taste good,” he murmured against her inner thigh. He sucked to create a vivid heart-shaped print on her fair skin. He left a matching memory of his kiss on her other thigh, then swept his tongue up her cleft.

  She reached for his thick black hair to encourage him, and he slid his hands under her bottom to tilt her toward his mouth. “Give me a pillow.”

  She threw it to him with a careless toss, and he wedged it under her hips to free his hands. He opened her with his thumbs and licked her, circling her clit with a taunting flick. He drew back, and she scooted down to lure him close again. He pressed his mouth against her, rolled his tongue to slide into her and followed with two fingers.

  His tender touch created the most luxurious sensations, and pleasure rose within her in sparkling bubbles. She was soon so limp with desire that when he rose up to turn her on her stomach, she flopped across the pillow with the grace of a rag doll. She glanced over her shoulder to watch him pull on a condom, and he entered her, sliding across her G-spot. Braced on one arm, he found her clit with his free hand and rubbed lightly in time with his thrusts. She responded with a musical sigh, pushed back to meet his next lunge, and fell into a free-falling climax.

  Flooded with heat, her vagina throbbed around him, holding him, caressing him as he delved deep. She came again with a moaning shudder, pulling him down with her until he surrendered with a hoarse cry. Time stilled around them, and the last echo of lingering bliss rolled down her legs to crimp her toes. When he at last moved aside to spare her his weight, he still held her close. She’d never felt so thoroughly loved, and, filled with a delicious ache, she dozed in perfect peace until he kissed her awake.

  “I should have asked what you like,” he said.

  She turned to
kiss him and tasted her own lingering essence on his lips. “That was perfect, a glimpse of heaven.” She combed his hair off his forehead with her fingertips, and he leaned into her hand. She’d expected the fire but not his lush tenderness. It was more than any man had ever given her and heartbreaking their affair would be so brief. “I need to go home.”

  “Why?”

  She couldn’t bear more of his loving and needed a moment to come up with a reason. He’d asked to be invited to the ranch, so she wouldn’t tell him Santos’s plans. How quickly the lies begin. “I’ve been having breakfast with my father. It’s our time together, and I don’t want to miss it.”

  She rolled off the bed before he could stop her, grabbed her clothes and, with deliberate effort, walked gracefully, rather than stagger into the bathroom. She tossed her clothes over the side of the bathtub and splashed her face with water. As she straightened up, she caught the startling reflection of a matador’s traje de luces, or suit of lights, in the mirror above the sink. It was hanging on the back of the door. It was heavily decorated with gold thread, some tailor’s work of art, and black like all of Rafael’s clothes.

  Her first thought was Death had stopped by to shower and left his clothes hanging on the door. A wave of revulsion churned through her, and although she shut her eyes tightly, darkness wouldn’t minimize her anguish. Rafael made love with the same finesse he’d show in a bullring. He’d danced with her, held her hand, kissed her, drawn her closer with every breath. She wasn’t an innocent lamb being led to slaughter. She’d pushed him into bed, but she’d conveniently blocked out the bloody horror of the bullring. How did any woman come to terms with that dance of death?

  He knocked on the door. “Are you all right?”

  She had to swallow hard to find her voice. “Yes.” She yanked on her clothes and wondered if she’d been wearing shoes.

  He was already dressed when she left the bathroom. “That’s a magnificent suit. Is it new?”

  “Yes. It’s for my Alternativa. I should have put it away.”