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“You should have stayed with me last night.”
She purred softly rather than admit how eager she’d been to leave. He eased into her with a quick stroke and then slowed his pace. He felt so good inside her, stretching her and then seeking a home deep. The familiar joy grew in waves, drawing her, leading her, compelling her into a searing heat that scorched her clear through. When he caught his own pleasure with a hoarse gasp, she pulled him down into her arms.
She rubbed her knee along his leg. “That’s my kind of starburst.”
“Maybe a bursting star tattoo?”
“Absolutely not.” She giggled at the thought. “You’ve far too handsome a body to cover it with tattooed cartoons.”
They fell asleep in a tangle of arms and legs, woke to make love again, and slept until an energetic rooster crowed to greet the dawn.
Maggie got up first and found her nightgown tossed to the far side of the room. She went into the bathroom and tried unsuccessfully to wash the incriminating blush from her cheeks. She showered quickly, dried off and peeked into Rafael’s room. “Even if I can’t bear to watch, I wish you good luck this morning.”
He sat up in bed and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “I don’t think we need to get up this early.”
“Well, I’m up anyway.” She went into her room and pulled on the jeans she’d worn yesterday and was relieved to find she’d brought several knit shirts so she had a choice. She hadn’t really unpacked, so just zipped up her bag and left her new dress on its hanger. She looked out the window. “Ana’s Porsche is still here.”
Rafael responded with a muffled moan. “All right, fine, you stay in bed. I’m going downstairs.” She took the album they’d brought upstairs yesterday afternoon and Augustín’s journal. She placed the journal in the tin box with the other two and hoped Rafael wouldn’t believe she’d been worried he wouldn’t return it. She left the album on the desk.
Refugio was the only one in the kitchen. He was a short man who made up for his thinning hair with a luxurious mustache. He wore a chef’s white jacket but no hat. “Good morning, Señorita. It is another beautiful day.”
It was barely light enough to tell. “I heard the rooster. Do you have chickens here?”
“Of course. There is no need for a rooster without hens. How would you like your eggs?”
There was a delicious cinnamon aroma drifting from the bread baking in the oven. The huge cast-iron stove looked as though it was as old as the house. “Whatever you’re making for everyone else.”
“This is Wednesday, so I scramble them for the men first, and then give any guests we have here their choice.”
“I’ll wait until all the men have eaten. Have you been here a long while, Refugio?”
“Since I was a little boy. My father worked here, and I grew up hoping I could work here too.”
“So you knew Augustín?”
He shrugged. “No one really knew him. He was a quiet man, but the look in his eye could scare a man clear to his soul. He terrified me when I was a boy. Forgive me. I’ve said too much.”
“No, I want to learn about him. Do you know what happened to the memoir he was writing?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t tell. Your grandmother is not one to be crossed.”
She understood. The memoir was gone and probably burned bit by bit. “She and Augustín must have been a charming pair.”
He pulled out a cast iron skillet. “She has never liked it here. Fortunately, the Aragons have always owned other houses. Maybe she is content elsewhere.”
His two young helpers came in the back door and greeted her politely, but their arrival ended Maggie’s hopes to learn more. She went back to the den for the album and carried it out on the front porch. Soon lost in thought, she left it unopened on her lap. She was surprised when Fox was the first one to join her. “You’re up awfully early. How did you sleep?” she asked.
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“I didn’t. Santos and Ana are in the room next to mine. She kept threatening to leave, and he should have let her go.”
“Let’s not gossip about them.”
“It’s not gossip if I say they made too much noise for me to sleep. That’s a statement of fact.” He sat down, leaned back and yawned loudly.
“When you get older, you’ll find it becomes easier to be generous with your opinions. It may come as something of a shock.”
“My mother used to remind me to be polite. Miguel doesn’t hear anything I say, so it doesn’t matter. Santos is cool, though.”
