Fierce Pride (35 page)

He smothered a delighted chuckle in her hair. “Yes, but I haven’t done it, and this isn’t the day to try.”

She laughed with him. “It was just a question, not a request.”

“Fine, but now I won’t be able to get it out of my mind.”

She leaned forward to ruffle her mount’s mane. “Maybe we could practice later without the horse.”

He gave her a quick squeeze. “Do you really like it here?”

“This is a beautiful ranch. Who wouldn’t love it?”

“It’s not too rustic for you?”

“Not if you’re here.” It was difficult to imagine Ann Santillan lounging on the front porch, but she wouldn’t remind him of her by inquiring about the model’s habits. They rode in a wide circle around the house and vegetable garden and returned to the corral, where Jesus waited for them.

“Thank you, Santos. I’d almost forgotten how much fun riding is.”

“You’re my guest, and I want you to be entertained.”

With Jesus holding the bay’s reins, she climbed onto the top rail and jumped down out of the corral. Santos took care to move more slowly. “What’s next? Do you have horseshoes to toss?” she asked.

“Over by the bunkhouse, but I leave them for the men. Let’s go out on the front porch and work on the book. I brought my laptop. I tried writing about my life for a whole hour once and gave up. I doubt I’ll be able to do any better now.”

He’d left the laptop on the table by the front door and Libby carried it outside and removed it from the canvas case. “Do you want to talk and have me type, or would you rather do both?”

“It would help if you’d type. First, I need to get my thoughts in some sort of order. I didn’t know my mother, and her parents left here after she died, so I’ve no memory of them either. I could have Cazares trace them. If they’re still alive, they might have photos of her, and she was my father’s first love.”

“Mrs. Lujan is such a sweet woman, I’ll bet she kept in touch with them. Shall I ask her to join us?”

He debated a long moment. “I suppose whatever she’ll contribute can’t be any worse than what I already know.”

Libby took that for a yes, left and then returned to the porch with Anita Lujan. Santos had to talk the housekeeper into sitting down with them. “Anything you could tell me about my mother would be a help. I want to write something about my father, and I need to begin with when I was born.”

The housekeeper folded her hands in her lap and looked away to gather her thoughts. “Rosa was very beautiful, petite, with long, black hair that floated on the breeze when she ran. She and your father loved to play tag through the garden, and they were always running somewhere when they were little, or racing their ponies. They went to school together in Zaragoza. Your father was a couple of years older, but Rosa was the better student.

“They used to do their homework together on the dining room table and spent more time laughing than studying. When your father entered high school, your grandmother announced Rosa was an unwelcome distraction and separated them whenever she could. She couldn’t see how much they loved each other. She sent your father to college in Arizona hoping he’d like American girls better. You know the rest.”

“I do, but what happened to Rosa’s parents? Did they leave after she died?”

Mrs. Lujan sighed unhappily. “Your grandmother never spoke of them?”

“Never, but she always regarded me as a bastard and unworthy of her attention, and Augustin wasn’t a loving grandfather either. You and my father raised me.”

She reached over to touch his knee “It was a joy. Rosa’s mother worked in the kitchen, and her father was one of the hands. When Rosa killed herself, they blamed your grandmother for sending Miguel away. They adored you, but when they wanted to raise you, Augustin threatened a court battle for custody, and there was no way they could fight the Aragon wealth. Augustin paid them off, and they returned to their home, some little town near Zaragoza. I saved photos of you but never heard from them and couldn’t send them. I’m sorry this is such a sad story. They were so heartbroken after losing their only child and you, I doubt they lived long in their new home.”

“That’s a pathetic opening for a book,” Santos responded. He checked the laptop, and Libby had written it all down. “Do you remember their names?”

“Rosa’s mother was Mercedes and her father Eduardo. Lalo, we called him.”

“Thank you, Anita. I may not be able to write anything worth reading, but I knew you’d remember everything.”

The housekeeper left her chair. “There is one other thing. I saw your father with many women, but he never had the same love in his eyes as when he had been with your mother. Something died in him when he lost her, and I’ve always blamed your grandmother for sending him away.”

The housekeeper returned to the house, and Santos sighed unhappily. “I don’t think I can do this. What the public loved about my father isn’t what I know of him. Maybe he would have been a different man if my mother hadn’t died. He was a magnificent matador, and that’s how he should be remembered.”

“Can you write the book from that perspective?”

“Yes. There are records, written accounts of his fights and photos. Sylvia can organize it. I’ll put a family tree at the end of the book showing his marriages and children. All I need now is to know whether or not to add Victoria Rubio’s son.”

Victoria sounded as though she resembled Rosa, and she was certain Santos had recognized it too. “Maggie could still work with you.”

Santos pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “I’ll talk to Juan. The publisher wanted the family story, but too much of it is sad, and I can’t write it, so there may not be a book after all.”

She stood up to stretch while he made the call and left the porch to walk toward the garden. It was huge, not a patch with tomatoes and green beans for a single family. She bet Santos had run through it as a child just as his parents had. There were herbs planted near the house and long rows of squash, beans, lettuce, cabbages even eggplant. The corn was tall and the ears ripening. She saw some strawberries, plucked one and brushed it off with her hands. She’d just taken a bite when Santos walked up behind her. She turned and gave him the last bite.

“These are so good. Do you have fruit trees too?”

“Those belong on a farm, but we ought to plant a few almond trees. They grow well here in Spain and are pretty in the spring when they flower. I’m sorry if Anita depressed you. I should have spoken to her in private.”

“I’m all right even though the story is a sad one, but even if your father lost the love of his life, he had you.”

“And your mother, and Vida, and Marina, and Margaret, and those are only the ones he married. One woman was never enough for him. I don’t know if he was simply weak or completely amoral, and I’d rather not put that in print for the tabloids to pick over.”

“That’s undoubtedly wise. Are you tired, want to take a nap?”

He welcomed the suggestion with a sly grin. “Siestas are very popular in Spain. Go on up to your room, and I’ll find someone to help me up the stairs.”

“You’ve no elevator here?”

He nearly snorted. “This is a working cattle ranch, not a resort.”

She kissed him lightly and went on up to her room. After looking at the chair, she rocked it back and forth. It was as sturdy as it looked. When Santos came into her room, she sat astride it wearing only her bra, panties and an inviting smile.

“If I fall off the chair and wreck my other knee, you’re going to be in big trouble,” he warned. He closed and locked the door, unbuttoned his shirt and unfastened his belt. “Just a minute.” He went into his room and came back with a small radio with a rounded shape that looked as though it had been made in the 1950s. He put it on the dresser, plugged it in and turned it on low. He leaned his crutches against the wall. “I don’t know how wild we might get, but I don’t want anyone to knock on the door and ask if we need saving.”

She licked her lips. “Help!” she whispered. She stood to help him ease off his shoes and socks and ran her hands up his legs. “If we brace the chair against the wall, it won’t fall over no matter how wild you get.”

“I’m not the wild one.” His smirk said otherwise.

“You’ll never convince me of it.” She moved the chair into place. “There’s no one in the house at night, is there?”

“No, what do you have in mind?”

“Just making ourselves at home.” Just as at the beach, she wanted to have sex all over the house to imprint her memory on his. There was more between them than sex, but she hoped it would work. She pulled off his shirt and waited while he shook off his pants. She folded them over her arm and laid them on the desk.

She looked him up and down. From his glossy black hair to his handsome feet, he was one gorgeous man. With wide shoulders, ripped abs, narrow hips and a heavy cock growing hard under her appreciative glance. His right knee was wrapped in an elastic bandage, which didn’t spoil the view. “You have such a great body.”

“Is that a problem?”

“I look for a challenge as a personal trainer. If someone is a hundred pounds overweight, I inspire them to peel off the excess and can see real progress.”

He looked down. “You can plainly see real progress here.”

She laughed. “Yes, and it’s truly impressive.” She was already wet but enjoyed their verbal foreplay too much to rush. “Condoms?”

He pulled open the nightstand drawer and tossed her one. “I want my guests to feel welcome and keep them in every room.”

“Sit. You have wild parties here?”

He made certain the chair was braced against the wall and sat. “Pretending we’re on horseback is the wildest I’ve ever gotten. Stop talking and straddle my lap.”

She rubbed her arms and gave herself a hug but stayed near the bed. “Shouldn’t we imagine we’re riding a barely tamed stallion? Maybe several men have to hold him while we climb on his back. What should he be, a gleaming ebony or pale as the moon?”

He gritted his teeth. “Hell, he’s a black-and-white pinto. Come here.”

“A pinto? I like that. I know you’re a Spaniard, but I could imagine you’re an Indian chief with a war bonnet full of eagle feathers that tickled terribly when they blew across my bare breast.”

“If I have to hop around the room to catch you, I’ll do it!”

He was keeping his voice low, but he looked convincingly adamant. She closed the distance between them and squeezed his cock with a rolling rhythm to make it throb in her hand. He grabbed her waist and held her as she slid a condom down his rigid shaft. “I don’t really need my imagination with you,” she purred. “You’re more than enough.”

She stepped out of her panties and, poised over his lap, she stood on her tiptoes to take him in slowly, teasing every inch of him to a perfect fit. She braced herself on his shoulders and turned her hips, rocking gracefully to seat him deep before taking her place on his thighs. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard the way she loved it. He pulled her lower lip through his teeth, and she coiled his thick black hair through her fingers.

He tore out her braid to spill her hair over her breasts and, holding her tight, unfastened her bra and tossed it away. “Don’t worry, I can’t see a thing with your beautiful hair. I just want to feel you.”

He was buried deep and the sweet pressure so delicious she quickly suppressed her usual reservations about her breasts. She could feel his bare chest against her nipples, the warm solid breadth of him and loved the way his muscles flexed when he shifted his hold on her. He pinched her nipples with a teasing squeeze and then wrapped her in his arms to kiss her again and again.

Fully open to him, she hugged him closer and, with a gentle twist, made exquisite ripples surge between them. He thumbed her clit, slowly stroking her in time with her heartbeat, luring her closer and closer, making the sweet aching need build until with a last caress, he pushed her over the crest into pure brazing joy. She clung to him as his orgasm echoed hers and moaned softly with each glorious pulse. This was where she was meant to be, and she savored every second as her breathing gradually slowed with his. She couldn’t move while her legs held a blissful echo of their passion for each other.

“We may have incinerated another room,” she whispered against his ear.

Santos spread kisses along her shoulder. “We should move to the bed before we melt into the floor.”

“That good for you too?”

“It’s better every time,” he murmured against her lips.

She held her breath, waiting for him to say he loved her. If only for the next five minutes, it would be enough. She wanted to hear him say it, just once. But other than a sated moan, he kept still.

Chapter Fifteen

Maggie called Libby Saturday afternoon. “We’re home. Are you at the beach house?”

Libby lay stretched across her bed, and if her phone hadn’t been within easy reach, she would have ignored it. “We’re at the ranch. It’s Maggie,” she told Santos, who lay beside her.

He grabbed the phone. “Hi, Maggie, I want to take you two to dinner tomorrow night. Let’s leave from the beach house.” He ended the call and leaned over Libby to set the phone on the nightstand. “We need to talk.”

“I’ll say. That was just plain rude. Didn’t it occur to you I might have something to say to my sister?” Dressed in a mint-green bra and matching panties, she pushed her sleep-tangled hair out of her eyes.