Authors: Phoebe Conn
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.”
“No, I’m glad you didn’t. I needed the reminder.”
His expression hardened. “How could you forget I’m a matador? Are you sorry you slept with me?”
“No, not at all. You’re wonderful, and I’ll never forget it.”
He shrugged as though mystified. “You want nothing more than tonight’s memories?”
She forced a trembling smile. “Yes, I do, but it’ll only make it so much more difficult to say good-bye.”
“Don’t say it.” He handed her shoes.
He didn’t speak on the drive to her father’s house, and she was too preoccupied to risk conversation. When he walked her up to the front door, she already had the key in her hand, and he left without kissing her good-bye.
It had easily been the most remarkable night of her life, but as she climbed the stairs to her room, she felt torn. She wanted to change her reservation and fly home later that day, where she could surround herself with people who’d pose no threat to her heart or soul. It was a cowardly thought, and perhaps courage was the virtue she’d always lacked.
She was too tired to sleep but scrubbed off Rafael’s scent in the shower. By the time she climbed into bed, it was nearly dawn. When Santos knocked on her door, she doubted she’d closed her eyes.
“I told Father I planned to take you to the ranch, and he wants to see you before we leave.”
She covered a wide yawn. “Give me a minute.” The print of Rafael’s kisses showed clearly on her inner thighs, but she didn’t need any visual reminders of his passionate touch. She pulled on jeans and a black knit top and sandals. Her father’s door was open, and she rapped lightly on the jamb before entering.
Miguel sat at the table on the balcony while Santos stood looking out at the sea. “Come sit with me. Have you eaten?”
The tray with freshly baked rolls and fruit looked untouched, but while she felt hollow, she couldn’t take a bite. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”
“Fine. I want you to go to the ranch with Santos and invite Rafael to go along.”
“You don’t mean it!” Santos exclaimed.
“You heard me. Take the video camera and film him with one of our bulls. If he’s as good as he believes himself to be, I’ll arrange for his Alternativa the next time you fight.”
“You’re trusting me to make an accurate record when I despise him?” Santos asked. “That makes no sense at all.”
“I trust you to show me the truth. I’ll be the one to judge.” He picked up his cell phone. “Do you want to speak with Rafael?” he asked Maggie.
She shook her head because nothing she said would make any sense.
I like you so much, but your life terrifies me
would be absurd no matter how she stated it. It hadn’t mattered when she’d first met him, but it mattered deeply to her now. She listened as her father explained the reason for the call. His side of the conversation went smoothly, so apparently Rafael had agreed to come along.
“He’ll be here shortly. Be civil to him, Santos. This is important to me, and it will take nothing away from you. In fact, a rivalry between you two will swell the crowds at the bullrings from here to Mexico City.”
Maggie shuddered. “Is that your only concern?”
“We’re not fighting bulls for fun,” Santos replied, clearly amused by her question. “Come on, let’s go pack. We’ll be at the ranch for a couple of days at least. I usually go there to train before a fight anyway.”
Maggie left her chair with a clumsy lurch. “When is your next fight?”
“Sunday.”
“This coming Sunday?”
Her father laughed. “I’ve already changed your flight reservation so you’ll be here to see it.”
Maggie felt trapped rather than grateful. “I wish you’d asked me first.”
“You would have said no,” he replied. “Now we don’t have to argue over it. Besides, no one should come to Spain and go home without seeing a bullfight.”
Maggie didn’t care if she was the first. Many people objected to the harsh cruelty to the animals involved, and she agreed, but her deeper concern lay with the men she cared about.
Her father called to them as they reached the door. “Take Fox along. He’s lost here without the twins.”
“I will,” Santos answered. “There’s no reason for him to miss out on the fun.”
“Fun?” Maggie repeated numbly. She entered her room to pack and found the bed again made up. The maid had to lurk down the hall waiting for a chance to clean. She went out on her balcony to breathe in the crisp fresh air, but her life had never been such a disastrous muddle.
Chapter Ten
Santos backed a white Mercedes GLK 350 SUV out of the four-car garage and parked it in the gravel driveway. He got out and opened the rear door for their luggage. “The Hispano-Suiza is for special occasions only. Convince Mondragon to drive his own car so I don’t have to put up with his tedious company the whole way to the ranch.”
“How long a trip is it?” Maggie asked.
Fox was seated on his duffle bag on the edge of the patio playing a video game on his phone. “The ranch is on this side of Zaragoza, so we can make it in an hour and a half, a little less if Santos has a girl waiting for him.”
“You meet your girlfriends at the ranch?” Maggie asked.
“Sure, why not?”
“I thought you went there to train for fights.”
He winked at her. “It’s good to have an appreciative audience.”
“If you say so.” She thought a man in a ring with a bull ought to concentrate on the damn bull, not some pretty girl leaning over the rail. He didn’t need her advice, so she kept still and vowed not to set a foot out of the ranch house. The prospect of a scholarly perusal of her grandfather’s memoir was looking better every minute. She kept her eye on the road out front, waiting for Rafael to arrive. She didn’t even know what she’d packed. Her stomach growled as her body betrayed her by craving food while her emotions were tangled in painful knots.
“You ought to eat,” Fox prompted. “Not that the food isn’t good at the ranch, but it’s a working cattle ranch, and there’s only so many ways to prepare beef.”
“I’ll get by on bread and water.”
“You’ll like it there,” Santos insisted. “Here’s Mondragon now, so let’s go.”
Uncertain what to expect, she held her breath, but Rafael wore a cocky grin as he approached her. Each time she saw him he got better looking, which had to be impossible. He grabbed her carry-on bag. “Magdalena is coming with me. Do you have the directions?”
Santos had them ready and handed them to Maggie. “You can follow me.”
“I’d rather not,” Rafael replied. He tossed her bag into the backseat and opened her door. He got in on the driver’s side, backed out of the driveway and turned toward the road to the freeway. He reached for her hand and brought her fingers to his lips. “How did you convince your father to back my Alternativa? He fell asleep the last time I asked him.”
So that’s why he’d been smiling. He’d been looking forward to the fight, not to seeing her. He’d just shown his true colors, but when she’d relegated him to a week long fling, she didn’t have any room to complain. Still, she was disappointed and pulled her hand free. She’d be damned if she’d take second place to a bull. “I can’t take the credit. It was his idea to see if you’re ready, not mine.”
He shot her a skeptical glance. “You’re sure?”
“Positive. We’ve just met. He doesn’t ask for my opinions.”
“You must have told him you like me.”
She had mentioned his name. “Of course I like you. I just don’t want to see you in a ring with an enraged bull.”
“So I should make free time for you?”
“If you’re alive to do so. I’m tired and need a nap.” She snuggled down in her seat.
“Do you want me to pull over so you can get into the backseat?”
“No, thank you, I’m fine here.” She peered into the side mirror, but there was no sign of Santos’s SUV. She closed her eyes. The radio was as soft as a lullaby. The car held a faint hint of Rafael’s scent, which ought to have a lethal rating. “What’s the name of your cologne?”
“It’s a custom scent made for your father, and he gave me some. If it has a name, I’ve not heard it. Do you like it?”
“It’s haunting.”
“Could a ghost wear cologne?”
“Probably not, but it’s a memorable scent I’d recognize anywhere. Santos wears it too.” She covered a yawn and sank deeper into her seat. She’d meant to close her eyes for a catnap, but she slept all the way to the ranch. When Rafael touched her shoulder, she sat up with a start and looked around. “I’m sorry not to have been better company.”
His smile slid into a teasing grin. “You’re forgetting I knew why you were so tired. I took it as a compliment.”
“Yes, you should.” She supposed the spring in his step as he circled the car to her door was a compliment for her too. Sex energized him and left her as limp as a jellyfish floating aimlessly in the sea.
The two-story, natural stone house was a warm sandy color and even larger than the Aragon home at the beach. The front door was set back in an arch; a wooden balcony ran the length of the second floor and shaded the wide ground floor porch. The house had the popular red-tile roof, and a large vegetable garden provided the only landscaping.
A stable stood nearby, bunk houses for the men and modest homes for the servants who worked in the house. There were no other structures within miles, but the arena set off by itself held her gaze. It wasn’t as large as a commercial bullring, and there was a single set of wooden bleachers she didn’t want to go near.
“Zaragoza is another half hour away,” Rafael told her. “It’s easy to get back on the freeway if you miss civilization.”
“I don’t expect to be here that long.” She saw a plume of dust in the distance. “Here comes Santos. I’m surprised we beat him.”
“I’m not.” He leaned back against his Mercedes as though he’d been waiting half the day. “Do you think Fox would like to learn how to fight a bull?”
“No, and don’t you dare offer to teach him.”
He lifted a brow as though her warning were absurd. He had a marvelous variety of expressions, most on the darkly disdainful side, but he certainly didn’t bore her with needless conversation. She reached into the backseat for her bag. She’d never met another man with such a fiery physical appeal, and she wished she owned an asbestos jumpsuit, which she supposed would be equally life-threatening. She should have asked her father what her new departure day would be so she could make a chart and cross off the days. Even if she cried the whole flight, there would be the comfort of going home.
“Many women are eager to be with a matador
,
and I have to find one who’d rather I were simply a Gypsy dancer.”
She couldn’t argue with him. “You ought to be flattered I’m not simply dazzled by your whirling cape or tight pants.”
He laughed. “You’ve never seen me fight.”
“No, thank God, but I’d never beg you to quit,” she insisted. “I deserve some credit for that.”
He shook his head. “True, but I wouldn’t listen even if you did.”
She’d known he wouldn’t. She supposed Ana Santillan must have no problem loving a matador since she was working her way through the Aragon line, but Miguel had probably already been retired when she’d met him. Maybe it had been watching Augustín fight that had turned Carmen into such a sullen woman. She wondered how candid her grandfather’s memoir would prove to be and whether her grandmother would even be mentioned.
He pulled her close. “Bullfighting is a young man’s game, and I’m starting late, so my career won’t be nearly as long as your father’s.”
Santos pulled in next to them before she could respond, but one fight would be too many for her to endure and they’d just met. If she loved him, it would be like eating glass. When Fox got out of the SUV and came up beside her, she found a smile for him.