Fierce Love (7 page)

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 somewhere 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.

She quickly dried her tears on the back of her hand and straightened up. “I’m sorry. I thought I could visit Miguel without making a fool of myself. You must be Magdalena.”

“Yes. Would you like to come downstairs and have something to drink? Miss…?”

“No, but thank you. I’m Ana Santillan, one of your father’s former favorites. There are so many of us, I’m surprised we haven’t worn out the carpet with our visits. Forgive me; I shouldn’t have said that.”

Maggie recognized her now. “You’re even prettier than you are on magazine covers. Please don’t apologize. I know my father hasn’t led an exemplary life.”

“Oh, but he has, only it hasn’t been the type of example most would admire.” She shifted her tooled leather bag on her shoulder. “Be careful with Santos. He’s falling in love with you.”

Maggie was too stunned to reply and watched silently as Ana hurried toward the back staircase. She’d only arrived yesterday, so what could Santos possibly have said to give Ana such a ridiculous notion, and when had he done it? Did her father pass along his girlfriends to Santos when he tired of them? Even worse, until he’d fallen ill, did they share the same women? Surely fathers didn’t become involved in a ménage a trois with their sons. Unfortunately, with Miguel, she couldn’t be certain.

Santos didn’t appear for dinner, but Fox joined them. He was dressed in a gray suit with a red tie, but his scowl marred his handsome appearance. He sat beside Maggie, spoke not a word and remained focused on his plate for the entire meal. One of the twins studied him rather than eat and Maggie assumed she must be Connie. Maggie didn’t feel much like eating, either, but the cook had produced a delicious roast, and she needed protein for courage.

Her grandmother ignored Fox but repeatedly cautioned the twins to watch their posture. Cirilda spoke at length on a charming English play she’d seen with friends that afternoon. “We were lucky to find tickets available at the last minute,” she explained and smirked proudly.

Maggie rested her fork across her plate. Apparently her aunt lacked the manners to include her, but she was relieved not to have to spend any more time than she absolutely must with her. “I love the theater,” she offered.

“Do you?” Cirilda remarked. “I doubt I’ll be going to another production any time soon.”

“How unfortunate,” Fox muttered under his breath. “I’m finished, Señora Aragon; may I be excused?”

“Of course. You’ve added so little to the evening, you’ll not be missed.”

The twins looked at Maggie, their eyes wide. Maggie shook her head to warn off a revolt. Cirilda’s fork scraped her plate. Maggie hadn’t heard how her grandfather had died, but it wouldn’t surprise her to learn he’d leapt from the roof rather than stay married to Carmen.

She checked her watch frequently. Spaniards dined later than she was used to, and it was nearly eleven before her grandmother left the table to signal the end of the meal, leaving her only a few minutes to freshen up before Rafael arrived.

She dashed upstairs to brush her teeth, and the twins were right on her heels. “You ought to wear perfume,” Connie urged. “Then if you get all sweaty dancing, you’ll still smell good.”

“I don’t usually wear perfume,” Maggie responded. Her teeth were sparkling white, and that would have to be enough.

“I’ll get you some!” Perry cried, and she dashed next door to their room and returned with a tiny atomizer and sprayed the scent over Maggie’s hair before she could stop her.