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The two-story, natural stone house was a warm sandy color and even larger than the Aragon home at the beach. The front door was set back in an arch; a wooden balcony ran the length of the second floor and shaded the wide ground floor porch. The house had the popular red-tile roof, and a large vegetable garden provided the only landscaping.
A stable stood nearby, bunk houses for the men and modest homes for the servants who worked in the house. There were no other structures within miles, but the arena set off by itself held her gaze. It wasn’t as large as a commercial bullring, and there was a single set of wooden bleachers she didn’t want to go near.
“Zaragoza is another half hour away,” Rafael told her. “It’s easy to get back on the freeway if you miss civilization.”
“I don’t expect to be here that long.” She saw a plume of dust in the distance. “Here comes Santos. I’m surprised we beat him.”
“I’m not.” He leaned back against his Mercedes as though he’d been waiting half the day. “Do you think Fox would like to learn how to fight a bull?”
“No, and don’t you dare offer to teach him.”
He lifted a brow as though her warning were absurd. He had a marvelous variety of expressions, most on the darkly disdainful side, but he certainly didn’t bore her with needless conversation. She reached into the backseat for her bag. She’d never met another man with such a fiery physical appeal, and she wished she owned an asbestos jumpsuit, which she supposed would be equally life-threatening. She should have asked her father what her new departure day would be so she could make a chart and cross off the days. Even if she cried the whole flight, there would be the comfort of going home.
“Many women are eager to be with a matador, and I have to find one who’d rather I were simply a Gypsy dancer.”
She couldn’t argue with him. “You ought to be flattered I’m not simply dazzled by your whirling cape or tight pants.”
He laughed. “You’ve never seen me fight.”
“No, thank God, but I’d never beg you to quit,” she insisted. “I deserve some credit for that.”
He shook his head. “True, but I wouldn’t listen even if you did.”
She’d known he wouldn’t. She supposed Ana Santillan must have no problem loving a matador since she was working her way through the Aragon line, but Miguel had probably already been retired when she’d met him. Maybe it had been watching Augustín fight that had turned Carmen into such a sullen woman. She wondered how candid her grandfather’s memoir would prove to be and whether her grandmother would even be mentioned.
He pulled her close. “Bullfighting is a young man’s game, and I’m starting late, so my career won’t be nearly as long as your father’s.”
Santos pulled in next to them before she could respond, but one fight would be too many for her to endure and they’d just met. If she loved him, it would be like eating glass. When Fox got out of the SUV and came up beside her, she found a smile for him.
“Is there anything for you to do here?” she asked.
“I learned how to shoe a horse on my last visit. I know how to stay out of trouble.”
Maggie wished she could say the same.
The housekeeper was introduced as Anita Lujan, an ample-figured woman with a booming laugh. She greeted Santos as though he were her own son, patted Fox on the back and exclaimed over Maggie’s beauty. She looked Rafael up and down and shrugged as though unsure what to make of him. “Come, let me take you to your rooms.”
Fox and Santos knew where they belonged and preceded her up the stairs. She led Maggie to the end room that opened on the balcony and showed Rafael next door. A bathroom connected the two rooms. He waited for Mrs. Lujan to leave, then walked into Maggie’s room.
“Don’t worry about hanging your laundry in the bathroom. A woman’s lingerie makes beautiful decorations.”
He hadn’t been wearing any underwear last night, and she doubted he ever did, unless he wore embroidered briefs for the bullring. “Is there fancy sequined underwear for matadors?”
“No, wouldn’t they be uncomfortable?”
“Would a matador notice?”
He moved up behind her and looped his arms around her waist. “Enough. I’ll be a Gypsy dancer for you, nothing more.”
She relaxed against him. They were already moving in a dream world, and last night she’d been desperate to enjoy it. She wasn’t the least bit sorry either. “All right. Mrs. Lujan was expecting us. Do you suppose there’s something for lunch?”
He spread teasing kisses along her neck. “Whatever you want.”
She patted his hands and stepped away. “I was thinking along the lines of soup or sandwiches.”
“Later, then?”
She took his hand and backed toward the door. “You’ll be dessert.”
