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“I’m a Gypsy; maybe I stole it.”
“That’s not funny.” She got into his car and held the brightly wrapped present in her lap.
“I’m sorry if my jokes don’t amuse you, but I’m not poor. I can afford to buy women presents. Now open yours and thank me.”
She had a good idea how he’d like to be thanked. She pulled off the bow and wrapping paper and found a pair of castanets. “Thank you!” She slipped the cord on one over her right thumb and tapped a quick rhythm. “I’ll be a much better dancer with my own castanets. Now I’ll have to give you something.”
He smiled. “I’d not refuse a gift, but there’s no hurry. The place we’re going tonight is larger than Bailaora, but unfortunately the dancers aren’t nearly as good. I promise not to mention your father’s name and maybe you’ll want to stay longer.”
Just seeing him again coiled a delicious excitement around her heart. Embarrassed to have developed such a weakness for him, she dismissed it as a silly infatuation. That was convenient, if not truthful. “Will you dance with me again?”
“Of course. You’ll need to try out the new castanets.”
“No, I just want to dance with you.” He leaned close to kiss her, and she raised her hand to his cheek to prolong it. He was always clean-shaven, as though he carried an electric razor in his car to look good regardless of the time of day. His lips were soft. He tasted so good and smelled like a god. Now that she knew his scent, it wasn’t overwhelming at all, merely enticing, like everything else about him.
“We should probably go,” she whispered.
“Hmm.” He started his Mercedes, turned on the radio and kept it low. “I’ve heard American women never tell what happens on their vacations.”
“I’m not on a vacation, but what secrets would I keep?”
“That Spanish men are handsome but only good enough for a week.”
She appreciated his sense of humor but shook her head. “Please. Let’s worry about getting through tonight, Rafael.”
“So I’m not worth a week?”
She clicked her castanets rather than reply.
When they reached the club, Rafael kept his word and introduced her only as Magdalena. The crowd was a loud mix of tourists and Spaniards, and she was grateful he asked to be seated at a small, quiet table at the rear of the room.
“No one will notice us here,” he assured her.
They were close enough to rub elbows, and she rested her hand on his arm. “Do they have the same wine here?”
“You only swallowed a sip. Are you sure you liked it?”
“Yes, very much.”
He patted her hand and barely looked up to give their order to the waiter. “We can’t see much of the dancers from here, but that’s no loss. The music is good though.”
Maggie didn’t care if they were the worst dancers ever to perform in public, but she bit her lip rather than confess she’d thought about him all day. Even when she’d tried to clear him from her mind, he slipped into her thoughts. Trespassed, he’d say, like a Gypsy.
A slender young man approached their table and leaned down to whisper in Rafael’s ear. Rafael gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and stood to speak to him with his back turned toward her to block their conversation. She hadn’t wanted to be introduced, but was curious all the same. She’d taken a single drink of the Ribeiro before Rafael sat down and the man walked away.
“You don’t need him for a friend,” he explained. “He asks me for money whenever he sees me, but I’m not running a bank.”
She trusted his opinion, and when the lights went down and the spotlights came on to brighten the stage, she leaned easily against him. It wasn’t that the dancers weren’t particularly good, she decided. They simply played to the audience with winks and quick smiles rather than focus on each other, so their dances lacked any sense of mystery and romance.
“What do you think?” he whispered.
“They have the steps but not the fiery spirit,” she replied.
When the dancers left the stage after several numbers and the audience quieted, he reached for her hand. “They know me here.”
She slipped on the castanets and followed him to the stage. The guitarist greeted them warmly, introduced Rafael and looked to her for her name. “Magdalena.”
Rafael requested the tune they’d danced to at the Caves, and she struck a provocative pose. He moved too close, and she edged away as she clicked the castanets and turned in a slow circle to avoid him. They played the same teasing game through the dance with her sliding away from his every advance until he caught her on the final note and kissed her with the heat she’d longed to feel.
