Fierce Passion (46 page)

He stepped close to press her palm to his chest. “Are you finished?”

She’d struggled for every word and sighed as she nodded. They would know each other forever, but she wanted to be so much more than the mother of his child.

He pulled her into his arms. “You’re the only woman who’s ever touched my heart. Can you feel it beating? I can’t tell you the exact moment I fell in love, but I wouldn’t use it for an excuse when I let you believe we were married. You’d have dismissed it as a pathetic ploy.”

She raised her hand to slip her fingers through his glossy black hair. “You couldn’t be pathetic if you tried. I fell in love with you when all you knew was my first name. It was so nice not to question your motives when you wanted to be with me.”

He kissed her brow. “I let my father blow it apart, but you came after me.”

“Because I didn’t care about looking pathetic—but let’s not keep track of our mistakes. I made them too. Let’s cultivate the art of forgiveness.”

He crossed to his desk and removed a small velvet box. “I planned to propose tomorrow. The restaurant has a beautiful view of the city and live musicians who play love songs until midnight. It would have been a perfect setting, but I can’t wait. I miss you too much when we’re apart, and you make every hour we’re together a glimpse of paradise. I know I can be the man you deserve. Will you marry me?” He opened the box to show off a sparkling diamond solitaire.

It was a gorgeous ring, and his silvery gaze glowed with love. She rested her hands on his and took a deep breath. “This is really about you and me and not just the baby?”

“You and me,” he assured her. “I want us to be a real family whether we have one baby or half a dozen. My father set such a poor example. I promise I’ll do everything right and make you proud to be my wife.” He hugged her and whispered in her ear, “The next time you offer hot sex, I won’t leave. Will you please say yes so we won’t be late for the movie?”

He’d already shown her how wonderful a husband he could be, and such a loving man would be the very best of fathers. She didn’t care at all about going to the movies. “Won’t it be playing tomorrow?”

“Sure, but please don’t keep me waiting that long for your answer.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and placed a sloppy kiss in his ear. “Yes, I love you dearly, and I’ll marry you. We’ll make the best family ever.”

Thrilled, he picked her up and turned with her in his arms. “Let’s plan your dream wedding with the designer gown and your mother and stepfather and all your friends and my mother and the artist. Whatever you want to do, I’ll be fine with it. I just want you to be happy.”

“Let’s wait until I’m able to walk down the aisle without needing crutches. But for now, there is one little thing.”

He set her down and slipped the dazzling ring on her finger. “I’m almost afraid to ask what it is.”

“You needn’t worry. I was only wondering if you had any of the frosting left.”

He responded with a wicked grin. “I do.” He gathered her into his arms and muffled his laughter in her cascading curls.

About the Author

Always a passionate lover of books, this New York Times bestselling author first answered a call to write in 1980 and swiftly embarked on her own mythic journey. With more than seven million copies in print of her historical, contemporary and futuristic books written under her own name as well as her pseudonym, Cinnamon Burke, she is as enthusiastic as ever about writing.

A native Californian, Phoebe attended the University of Arizona and California State University at Los Angeles where she earned a BA in Art History and an MA in Education. Her books have won Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Awards and a nomination for Storyteller of the Year. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, Novelists Inc., PEN, AWritersWork.com and Backlistebooks.com.

She is the proud mother of two grown sons and two adorable grandchildren, who love to have her read to them. She loves to hear from fans. Please contact her through her web site:
www.phoebeconn.com
or her e-mail:
[email protected]

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Their affair is the main attraction…and the distraction a killer has waited for.

Fierce Love

© 2012 Phoebe Conn

Magdalena Aragon never thought she’d answer the summons of a father she’s never known. The world-famous, many-times-married matador has provided everything she needs—except his time. There’s only one reason she packs her bags for Spain: what her psychologist calls “closure.”

In spite of herself, she’s drawn in by her father’s charm, irresistible despite his desperate illness. Then there’s his handsome protégé, a rising star in a sport she hates, yet he sets her passions on fire.

With a past as shadowy as his Gypsy heritage, Rafael Mondragon has always had to fight for what he wants. His freedom, his dream to become a star in the bull ring, and now his mentor’s daughter, who stirs his every dark desire.

Certain she won’t be staying long, Maggie escapes from the craziness of her newly discovered, fractured family to indulge in a red-hot fling. After all, Rafael is the last man she could ever love. Her heart has other ideas.

The heat from their affair captures the attention of the wrong people—the tabloids, and someone who has a twisted sense of honor. By the time Rafael realizes Maggie is the real target, it could be too late to save her.

Warning: Hot sex, dangerous secrets, men who challenge death for sport.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Fierce Love:

Maggie had often felt like an outsider in her own family, but she’d had a pampered childhood and had always been loved. She could easily imagine Santos running through the streets barefoot, his hair too long, and in need of a bath. They were back on the freeway before she relaxed. “Barcelona is a beautiful city. The air here sparkles with energy. Except for the water, the terrain closely resembles Arizona. It’s easy to see why the Conquistadores were at home in America’s southwest.”

“You live in Arizona?”

“Yes, in Tucson.”

“It’s close to the border with Mexico, isn’t it? I could come visit you when I fight there.”

Her first thought was to invite him to speak on her high school’s career day. She was certain no matador had ever been part of the program. “Yes, I suppose you could. Do you have a crew who travels with you?”

“No, I have to carry my own luggage and hire men to work in the ring.”

“Are they difficult to find?”

“No, but good ones are. Have you ever been to a bullfight?”

“No, I’ve read a lot about them, but I’ve never wanted to go.”

“Your father has films he could show you. He was among the very best.”

“So I’ve heard, but bullfighting is too violent for my tastes.”

“But it’s a very beautiful violence,” he argued. “You might learn to appreciate it.”

“I’d be more likely to sprout wings and fly home.”

He dropped his voice to a more sympathetic tone. “You should be more open to new experiences.”

“Does that line work on other women?”

“With me as the experience? I’m too busy to chase women. I want to know you; that’s a different thing.”

If her father weren’t Miguel Aragon, they’d never have met, and she couldn’t help but feel her father was a huge factor in his interest. “Thank you.”

When they reached her father’s home, he walked her up to the front door and leaned down to kiss her. It was another mere token of a kiss, as brief as the one when they’d danced. She knew he could do better, but turned away to reach for the doorknob and found the door locked.

“Oh no, I didn’t think to ask for a key and I hate to wake Mrs. Lopez.”

“Do you have a cell phone to call Santos or the twins?”

“I didn’t bring it with me, and I don’t know their numbers. Let’s go around to the back. Maybe they left the kitchen door open for me.”

He took her hand in a soft clasp. “I’ll stay with you if you can’t get in. We could sleep on the beach, and you’d be able to sneak back into the house when the kitchen help arrives in the morning. No one would have to know you’d been out all night.”

The evening was pleasantly warm, but sleeping on the beach with him for company couldn’t possibly be as innocent as he made it sound. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

He tried the back door. “It’s locked too.” He stepped back to look up at the second floor, but no lights were showing. “Maybe Santos isn’t home yet. We could wait for him here.”

She moved farther back to also search the dark balconies. The shutters that closed them off from the sea at night were all shut. “The twins said they’d wait up for me. Maybe they’re watching a movie downstairs. I’ve not been through the whole house, so I’m not sure where to look. There should be a nurse on duty. Maybe she’ll come into the kitchen.”

“So the house is full of people?” he asked.

She swallowed hard but still felt as though she’d been deliberately shut out. It brought a familiar ache, and she shook it off. “It could be, but I’d rather not wake my grandmother or Cirilda.”

“Or Santos?” he added softly.

“Are matadors ever friends?”

He looked out toward the sea. “We must take care of ourselves first. That doesn’t leave much time for friends. Although I have jumped into an arena a time or two to distract a bull when another matador has slipped and fallen.”

“I’m sure no one doubts your bravery.”

“Of course they do. Every time I fight, I must prove it all over again. Fans keep screaming for more and more. The trick is not to listen.”

“Is that something my father taught you?”

“Yes, he taught me everything I know. He’s the reason I love bullfighting. You should have seen him.”

Clearly Rafael was an adrenaline junkie who lived for increasingly dangerous thrills. Her father had survived, even if others hadn’t. Some women were drawn to daredevils of every sort, but she wasn’t among them.

A glass-topped patio table and chairs, a chaise and padded stools were clustered together on the patio. He gestured toward the chaise. “We should make ourselves comfortable.”

“Someone will turn up sooner or later. I’d rather walk on the beach.” She kicked off her shoes.

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

She sighed. “No. Bullfighting has been popular for centuries in Spain. You’ve grown up loving it, and I can understand the need some people have for excitement.”

“But you don’t approve?”

“How you choose to live your life is no concern of mine. Are you trying to start a fight?”

“Why would I do that?”

She’d learned a great deal from Craig and gave one of the psychologist’s explanations. “Some people are used to being surrounded by turmoil, and whenever it’s absent, they create it themselves.”

He looked puzzled. “You’ve met men who’d rather fight than dance?”

“A few, but I didn’t know them long.”

“They disappointed you?”

“No, I didn’t give them the chance.” She looked up at the house. “This is a wonderfully strange home, isn’t it?”

He moved close. “Not everyone admires Gaudí.”

“I do. No one has ever seen the world the way he did.”

He leaned down to slide a curl off her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “How do you see the world?”

With him standing so close, her thoughts were on him rather than philosophy. “I don’t know. That’s one of the reasons I came here, to make sense of everything.”

“In a week?”

“Why not? Maybe a week is enough, or it could take me a lifetime.”

“Then you needn’t do it all tonight. Let’s go on down to the water. It’s a shame everyone can’t live on the edge of the sea.”

“Some people prefer the mountains.”

“Do you?”

His frequent questions surprised her. Most men talked only about themselves. He was too smart to do so, apparently, but she still didn’t trust him. Unused to being a celebrity’s daughter, she was beginning to sympathize with public figures’ children and how difficult their lives truly must be. They’d never know who were truly their friends or where the answer to an innocent question might appear for the world to see or read.

“I could watch the sea all day,” she confided softly. “Mountains provide lovely scenery and views, but the sea’s never static.”

“I’d rather dance.” He raised her hand to turn her in a slow twirl. “It’s difficult to dance in sand, though.”

She laughed with him. While she never wanted to see it, she bet his grace served him well in the bullring. When he pulled her close, she moved easily into his arms. His kiss was another light brush across her lips, tender and sweet, leaving her with an unfamiliar ache for more. She wondered if he were closer to being a gentle soul rather than a swaggering matador. Regardless, he was a very desirable man. She grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him back.