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She finished the last meatball and washed her hands. “Do you suppose Mr. Ortiz knows he married a Gypsy?”
His eyes lit with a dangerous glow. “No, I doubt she admitted it, and I’ll bet she lied about her age.”
“Then she can’t suddenly reveal she’s El Gitano’s mother, can she?” She leaned against the counter. “If she comes back, you might insist upon meeting her husband rather than your half brothers.”
“That’s a wicked thought, Magdalena.” A wide grin showed he loved it.
He had no idea how wicked her thoughts might be. “Thank you. I called Dr. Moreno’s office and made an appointment for tomorrow morning. You’re right. I haven’t been myself, and it wouldn’t hurt to see a doctor.”
“I just want you to be happy.” He pulled her into his arms and squeezed her tight.
She relaxed against him and closed her eyes. It sounded like such a simple goal, and yet she hadn’t been truly happy with her life until she’d danced with him. “Maybe it wasn’t meeting you on the stairs,” she whispered. “Maybe it was that first dance.”
He began to move very slowly, an easy rocking sway, and she nestled against him and wished they never had to leave a dance floor.
Bailaora was as crowded as it had been on their first visit, and when they came through the door dressed for dancing, Felipe Muñoz clapped his hands and rushed toward them. “Sonia has run off with her lover, and I am in desperate need of dancers. To have El Gitano join us is an answer to my prayers.”
Rafael leaned down to whisper in Maggie’s ear, “He exaggerates.”
“We came here to dance, so let’s not keep anyone waiting.” She took his hand and led him up on the small stage. The guitarist had been absently strumming one of his own tunes and sat up straight to play for them.
Rafael pressed close to her back. “It’s a shame there are no open tables in front.”
“We’re dancing, that’s all.” She whipped her skirt to emphasize her point and then snapped her castanets in time with the guitarist’s music. “I love dancing.”
“I love only you,” Rafael replied, but his steps were taunting, shadowing hers and forcing her to step away time and again. Growing bold, she remained where she stood, stamping out the rhythm and daring him to come closer still. The crowd cheered, whistled and clapped in time to their steps until not only Rafael and Maggie but everyone in the room was exhausted.
No longer playing the demure lady, Maggie came to a halt. She wrapped her arm around Rafael’s neck and pulled him into a lingering kiss. It was a surprising reversal of the usual end to flamenco, and she didn’t care a bit.
He led her off the stage and around the hooting crowd to a small empty table in the back of the room. “You’re better each time we dance. Soon you’ll be looking for another partner,” he said.
She needed a moment to catch her breath. “I’ve danced with other partners, and it isn’t the same. You’re the best. Everything’s better with you.”
He ordered Ribeiro, the sparkling wine she liked, and sat back. “Thank you. Let’s just enjoy this moment.”
She understood his reasoning for concentrating on now, but people were turned in their seats to stare at them as though the show had continued at their table. “This would be a good place for the Post-it note autographs.”
He touched his wine glass to hers. “You’re all I’m signing tonight.”
She rubbed her foot up his leg. Wearing her red dress and sipping wine, she looked a part of the noisy room. The people might know she was Miguel Aragon’s daughter or merely think of her as El Gitano’s woman, but no one here knew she was an American teacher. It would
be a terrific disappointment to people hungry for a celebrity.
She leaned close to be heard. “You mustn’t lose yourself in the applause.”
Startled by her unexpected advice, he shrugged. “Augustín said the secret was not to hear it. He meant inside the ring, but it works outside it too. It’s just noise. Do you want to dance again, or should we go?”
She finished her wine. “Let’s dance one more time, but ask for a slower tune, one with mysterious undertones.”
He rose and took her hand. “I know just the song.”
She’d known he would.
When they returned to Rafael’s home, Maggie slipped out of her shoes and lingerie but remained in her red dress. “Let’s pretend we’re somewhere we shouldn’t be having sex.”
“You’re a teacher, what about a library?”
“Definitely not. We’d bump into the stacks and end up buried in books.”
