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“When we went dancing, do you remember the man I told you wanted to borrow money from me?”
“Yes.”
“He didn’t. He wanted to meet you, and I told him no.”
She nodded. “Fortunately, we’re a long way from my friends, who I wouldn’t introduce to you either.”
He gave her a light, teasing kiss. “Are you hungry?”
“No, this apple is enough. I feel sick clear through.” She snuggled against him. It felt good to cuddle close, but the scene in her father’s bedroom spun through her mind in a continuous loop. She’d seen right into his soul when she guessed what he’d intended for Rafael. Whether it had been only a wish or a carefully structured plot she might never know, but it was a story she’d carry with her to the grave.
An overwhelming sense of loss washed through her. It was more for the father she’d once dreamed Miguel to be rather than for t
he man she’d recently gotten to know. She closed her eyes to offer a silent prayer of thanks that Rafael and Santos had survived the day. She couldn’t bear years of the awful strain the corrida had caused her today, nor could she pretend she didn’t love them.
If they hadn’t met last week on the stairs, Rafael might not have asked her to dance that night. They might have seen each other when he visited her father, perhaps exchanged a distracted nod without ever speaking a word. They’d have both been at the ranch, though, and perhaps would have gotten to know each other there. But if she hadn’t known him as well as she did, she might have only watched a bit of Santos’s first fight and left her father’s room without asking what his plans truly were for Rafael. He’d probably still be alive, and she’d be making her plans to fly home.
“Rafael? You usually visited with my father in the morning, but the first time I saw you, you’d come to his house in the afternoon. Why?”
He stretched his legs. “I’d gone to pick up my black suit. The tailor is open only in the morning on Saturday. I tried it on to make certain it fit well, and when we finished, he began reminiscing about all the men who’d ordered suits from him. A matador will go through five or six trajes de luces in a season, and he is one of the finest tailors in Spain, so he has plenty of work. He recalled every suit with an amazing clarity. It was a history lesson, and I sat there and listened. He made your father’s suits; that’s why I went to him.”
“Is a matador buried in one of his trajes de luces?”
“If he died young and still fit into one, maybe. If he’s an older gentlemen and heavier, probably not. I don’t know what your father would want.”
“I don’t either. He must have left instructions.” She hadn’t thought of his will, but she’d have to stay until it was read to make certain Fox was cared for. “I’m glad you were there that afternoon. There was something magical about the way we met on the stairs.”
He pulled her close. “Magical? If I’m ever so poor I must tell fortunes for a living, I’ll remember that.” He lowered his voice. “The stranger you meet on a stairway will change your life. How’s that?”
“It was true in our case, or at least for me.”
He growled against her throat. “Even if you won’t admit it, you do love me.”
She curled into his arms. How could she say she loved him when she couldn’t accept the way he earned his living? It would be far safer just to dance. She longed for what she could give him. “Could we dance without disturbing your downstairs neighbor?”
He sat up, rolled off the sofa and gave her a hand. “She is a very sweet lady who is profoundly deaf, so we can dance until dawn if you like.”
“Let’s try.” She slipped the red dress over her head and unpacked her dancing shoes. Rafael changed his shirt for a black silk one he preferred for dancing. He moved the coffee table, rolled up the small rug in front of the couch and put on the music.
She remembered her castanets and rummaged through her bag to find them. At last ready, she struck a favorite dance pose and looked over her shoulder at him. He wore an indulgent smile. “It’s better to celebrate a man’s life than dwell on his death,” she offered.
He tapped his heels in a spirited rhythm. “I agree.”
She clicked her castanets in time with his steps and lost herself in the music. Emotion rose within her, but it was neither sorrow nor regret, only the deep joy of knowing him. When he pulled her into his arms and kissed her as though they’d been parted for centuries, she welcomed his unbridled affection and returned it in full measure. Their clothes went flying toward the couch. Her castanets bounced off the ceiling when she flung them away. Whether his passion was a celebration of the day, or from the depths of grief-laced despair, she craved it all.
Chapter Sixteen
They had gone to sleep so late they were still in bed when Santos called the next morning. Rafael got up to hand Maggie her phone, and she yawned through a mumbled hello.
“I have Augustín’s memoir. Come to my place, and we’ll read it.”
She sat up straight. “Cirilda felt up to visiting her bank?”
“There’s a great deal to do, and Grandmother won’t leave her bed. Cirilda and I are making all the plans, and it was one of our stops. The funeral will be at the Basilica de Nuestra Señora del Pilar in Zaragoza at eleven o’clock on Wednesday morning. Grandmother wants it private, but the news will get out, and hundreds, if not thousands, will attend. Now let me talk to Rafael, and I’ll give him the directions to my apartment.”
“We need to go to Santos’s place.” She handed him the phone and a curt exchange of information followed. She left the bed to shower first, and dressed in dark pants. Knowing Rafael would wear black as always, she dug through her bag for a dark print knit top she hadn’t worn yet so they wouldn’t look like a silly couple who dressed alike.
As he pulled the car away from the curb, he turned to ask, “Was I too rough last night?”
