Fierce Pride (2 page)

“Not today, I’d rather stay out on the patio with Rafael.” She paused at the door. “Santos has a thing for blondes. Make him behave like a brother.”

“Will do,” Libby promised. Maggie was the one with the hot Spanish blood, while hers was usually as cool as a Stockholm winter. She pulled on white shorts, a blue tank top and her running shoes. She cast a brief glance toward the mirror in the bathroom and thought her wispy braid would do. She left her room and found Santos waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. He looked as good in shorts and a T-shirt with Barcelona’s football club, or soccer team’s, crest as he had in the tailored chauffeur’s uniform. She forced herself to think of him as a brother and returned his smile.

They jogged along the shore until they were well past the house. She turned toward him and jogged backward. “Why don’t you like Rafael?”

He stopped, but she jogged in place. “Can’t you stand still?”

She came to an abrupt halt. “If I have to, but don’t stall. I need ammunition to save my sister from a disastrous marriage.”

“I thought you’d come to help with the wedding.”

“I did, but not in the way Maggie expects. Look, our mother stayed married to Miguel Aragon just long enough to get pregnant. I don’t want Maggie to make the same mistake.”

His expression turned dark, and his voice held a threatening depth. “Have you forgotten Miguel was also my father? He had a half-dozen kids we know of, so let’s leave him and his multiple marriages and affairs out of this.”

Surprised by the sudden shift in his mood, she took a cautious backward step. “I’m sorry. I just caught your dislike for Rafael and thought you’d be an ally.”

“I will be, but I won’t break my promise to Maggie.”

She rested her hands on her hips. “Are things so bad she had to swear you to secrecy?”

“Yes. Now let’s run.”

Even after a long plane trip, she was so full of energy she easily matched his stride and could have kept on running when he stopped. When he bent over to rest his hands on his knees, she noticed an elastic bandage on his right calf. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you into running farther than you wanted to. Why didn’t you mention you’d hurt your leg?”

“No, it’s fine. It’s a cut that’s almost healed, but this is my second run for the day.” He took a deep breath and straightened up. “You wanted to hear about Rafael. He grew up a street kid, a Gypsy who probably stole more than he ever paid for. He idolized my father and begged him for advice. When my father grew too ill to leave the house, he still welcomed Rafael’s visits and shared his expertise. Rafael toured bullrings in Mexico last winter and has fought here in Barcelona, but now he plans to attend medical school.”

“What? Maggie hasn’t mentioned it. Isn’t that a wild change of career for a matador?”

“Indeed, but he has a cool head in an emergency, I’ll give him that. I just don’t think Maggie, or any of us, knows enough about him.”

She took a step closer and lowered her voice. “Should we hire a detective?”

“I did, but he didn’t discover anything we didn’t already know.”

“So you don’t like him, and I think he’s pushing Maggie into a hasty marriage she might soon regret. Is that all we’ve got to work with?”

He shrugged. “I know it isn’t much. Ask him to talk about himself, and he’ll probably tell you what Maggie would rather you didn’t know.”

“Fine, I’ll do it at dinner.”

Cooling down, they started back to the house, and he walked with a slight limp. “Do you always just jump right in?” he asked.

“Life is short. I don’t see the point in brooding over things. I just get them done.”

“What are you studying in school?”

“Kinesiology. I’ve taken an extra course every semester so I’ll graduate this winter. I hope to coach women’s sports. I’ll probably have to begin as a high school coach to gain experience before moving up to college teams. I’m already working as a personal trainer on the side.”

“Maggie and I have thirteen-year-old twin sisters who model. Have you ever considered modeling? You’ve got the shape designers love.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m tall and built like a coat hanger, but I can’t hold still long enough to pose.”

Santos halted abruptly. “I didn’t compare you to a coat hanger.”

Libby slowed down. “No, but you were thinking it.”

“No, I wasn’t,” he protested sharply.

Libby laughed. He was so handsome a frown didn’t diminish his looks. His lean, muscular build didn’t hurt his cause either. She reluctantly recalled Maggie’s advice. “It’s fun having a brother. I always wanted one.”

He caught her arm and turned her toward him. “I’m Maggie’s brother, not yours.”

Startled by the fire in his eyes, she jerked free and sprinted away. She hadn’t meant to provoke him, but if that were an example of his hot Spanish temperament, it no longer mattered how attractive he was. She’d seen enough to last her until she flew home.

The curved balconies on the Aragon’s beach house dripped with magenta bougainvillea, making it impossible to miss. Maggie and Rafael were seated on the patio, and Libby walked up from the shore to join them.

Maggie leaned forward to look down the beach. “Where’s Santos?”

“He couldn’t keep up,” Libby replied. She smiled at Rafael. “I hear you’re going to medical school. Will you fight bulls on the weekends?”

“No. I was lucky enough to be offered a full scholarship, and I’ve fought my last bull. I’ll take you to see Santos on Sunday. He’s very good, if not his father’s equal.”

“Thank you. Are you coming, Maggie?”

“No, I’d root for the bull, and I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”

Julian, the chef’s shaggy-haired helper, brought Libby a glass of iced tea on a silver tray. She thanked him and waited until he’d returned to the kitchen to speak. “How many servants are there?”

Maggie counted on her fingers. “There’s Mrs. Lopez and a couple of maids; the chef and his two helpers; Manuel, who takes care of the cars and sees to the grounds. I think that’s it.”

“Only seven?” Libby asked, clearly amazed. “We never had more than a cleaning lady who came in once a week.”

“There’s no comparison between our family and Miguel Aragon’s household, so don’t try and make one,” Maggie cautioned. “This is a completely different world.”

From what she’d seen, Libby had to agree. She took a long sip of her tea. There was a lemon slice in the bottom of the glass and a sprig of mint at the top. It tasted very good in addition to looking like a menu illustration. She set it aside on the glass-topped table. “Are you going to live here after you’re married?”

“No,” Rafael answered. “My apartment is closer to the university.”

“What about your teaching job, Maggie?” Libby asked.

“I’ve already resigned. I do need to sell my condo in Tucson and pick up my things, but it can wait.”

“You ought to lease the condo,” Libby advised. “You two might want to live in Arizona someday.”

“Spain will be our home,” Rafael replied, and Maggie offered no argument.

Growing increasingly wary, Libby picked up her tea and stood. “Maybe I will take a nap.” She was impressed when Rafael stood as she left them, but her sister had turned her life upside down for the man, and whether or not he had fine manners, it just didn’t feel right.

Relief swept through Santos when he discovered Libby wasn’t sitting out on the patio when he arrived. “Libby was ahead of me. Did she make it home?”

“Yes,” Maggie answered. “She did, but she mumbled something about your not being able to keep up.”

“We must have misunderstood her,” Rafael offered with a sly grin.

Santos wiped his face on the bottom of his T-shirt. “No, she runs like a gazelle, with no effort at all. She also asked questions I didn’t want to answer. I must have insulted her.”

“Questions about me?” Rafael asked.

Santos nodded. “I need a shower. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Rafael waited until they were again alone. “I ought to tell Libby the truth before one of the tabloids prints it.”

“She took French in school, not Spanish.”

“So you’re hoping the fact I’ve served time for murder might slip her notice?”

She reached for his hand this time. “It’s the least interesting thing about you. Why not?”

He leaned forward and brought her hand to his lips. “Are you hoping your parents and sisters will accept me as the man you love without wanting to know more about me?”

Her chin rose to a stubborn tilt. “It ought to be enough.”

He stood. “It won’t be, but we should tell the truth rather than convenient lies. Let’s begin with your sister.”

“All right, if you’ll come back for dinner tonight.”

“What’s Tomas serving?”

She regarded him with an openly appreciative glance. The warmth of the day didn’t matter. He always looked cool and better looking than any man had a right to be. “Do you really care?”

He answered with a slow, deep kiss. “No. I’ll see you later.”

Maggie closed her eyes and sighed softly. She was certain every couple had a few secrets, and she intended to keep hers. Relaxed, she daydreamed of the life she’d have with Rafael until Libby joined her.

“I didn’t bring my laptop. Is there any way to check e-mail here?”

“Yes, there’s an Internet connection in the den. I’ve used Santos’s laptop a time or two. It’s on the desk.”

“He might not appreciate my using it.”

“He won’t mind. He doesn’t use it often. His fan mail goes to his website, where a virtual assistant in his agent’s office handles it.”

Libby’s eyes widened. “His website? Come with me. I want to see it.” She watched Maggie rise slowly from her chair and instantly suspected something was very wrong. “Are you sick? Do you have some deadly disease that’s forcing you to marry so soon?”

Maggie shook her head. “No, I’m perfectly healthy.” She hesitated a moment, and then pulled up her sleeves to show the new scars on her wrists. “My grandmother drugged me and slit my wrists, hoping I’d bleed to death before anyone found me.”

“She did what!” Libby shrieked.

Tomas looked out the kitchen door. “Señorita?”

“We’re fine, Tomas,” Maggie assured him, and the chef shrugged and returned to his kitchen.

“Rafael and Santos can tell the story better than I can, so let’s wait until tonight to talk about it.”

Libby rested her hands on her hips. “I don’t think so, and begin at the beginning.”

Although Rafael was intent upon revealing the truth, Maggie regretted broaching the subject. She returned to her chair and focused on the sea. “I suppose the story begins when our mother met Miguel Aragon.”

Libby pulled a chair around to face her. “Fine, begin there.”

Maggie needed a moment to organize her thoughts. She could only guess what had happened when her mother and father had met, but her grandmother Carmen’s hatred must have begun at that precise moment.

Rather than a suit, as his grandmother had insisted, Santos wore a pale blue silk shirt and gray slacks to dinner. Rafael’s clothes were equally fine, but he preferred black. Maggie wore a long terra-cotta skirt that brushed her ankles with a matching long-sleeved scooped-neck top. Libby’s blue mini-dress had a pretty swirling pattern, but all Santos saw were miles of gorgeous well-toned legs. He had swallowed only sip of a superb cream of broccoli soup when Libby spoke.

“Do you mind if I use your laptop while I’m here? I want to answer e-mail. I don’t plan to compose a thesis on it.”

She’d wound her hair into a knot atop her head and left a few tendrils brushing her neck. She had such beautiful hair he had to fight a primal impulse to rip out the pins and swim in it. “Use it as often as you like.”

“Thank you. Will it spoil your appetite if I ask you about the night Maggie got cut up while we eat?”

Santos set his spoon on his plate and drew in a deep breath. “I swear I can hear Carmen forbidding the topic as most unsuitable for the table.”

“Their grandmother belongs in the category of ‘one who must not be named’,” Rafael added.

“Let’s wait until later,” Maggie urged. “Barcelona is filled with all sorts of wonderful places worth seeing. We ought to make a list.”

“I understand. Attempted murder is off-limits.” Libby swallowed a spoonful of the delicious soup. “I want to see everything, not just the tourist sights.”

“We should take you to the Bailaora café for the flamenco,” Rafael suggested.

“Your sister is a wonderful dancer,” Santos added. “Do you dance flamenco too?”

“Maggie and I don’t have similar tastes. She’s a terrific big sister, but quiet, while I’m into sports and usually too loud. I’ll make it a point to lower my voice so I don’t frighten your countrymen.”

She had no idea how sexy she sounded, but Santos didn’t care what she said. “I’ll remind you,” he offered with a wide grin, and Maggie kicked him under the table. “Hey, I’m trying to be a good host.”

“You’re trying too hard,” Maggie warned.