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Santos set his guitar aside. “Adolfo is paid to work in the kitchen. I doubt Tomas can spare him, and just because you think he needs more exercise doesn’t mean he’d welcome it. Besides, he would be useless as a bodyguard.”
“Outside of that, do you mind if I ask him to run with me?”
Santos laughed in spite of himself. “Do you always get your way?”
“Not always, but a good percentage of the time. I need to keep moving, Santos. I’ve never been any good at sitting still. I’ll take Mrs. Lopez with me if I have to, but the beach is such a great place to run, and I’d hate to be this close and miss the opportunity.”
“Let’s discuss this while you rub my feet.”
She came to the end of his bed and began with his right foot and took care not to twist his leg. His feet were as handsome as the rest of him, which was no surprise. “Maggie was such a studious little girl, and when I followed with the same teachers, they expected me to be as calm and quiet. I was a better student than Patricia, but that’s not saying much.”
“Did you have a competition with your sisters?”
“I couldn’t be Maggie and didn’t try. I don’t know what Patricia was thinking, if she was thinking.” She worked on his toes. “What if I ran at night when no one could follow me?”
“We’d have to put reflective tape on your clothes, which would defeat the purpose.”
“We don’t have to use tape. I can keep my wits about me. I wouldn’t run into anyone.”
“Maybe not, but you might trip over something you couldn’t see in the dark and be badly injured.”
“I’ll buy a pair of night vision glasses.”
Santos sighed wearily. “Let’s just go to my gym, and you can run the whole day on a treadmill if you like.”
“With this glorious beach so near the house? No. I want to be outside where the breeze catches my hair and the air smells salty like the sea.”
He grabbed a fistful of the top sheet. “All right, you can run, but not until I’ve had a chance to hire a bodyguard.”
She smiled. “Aren’t you worried I might grow overly fond of him?”
“No, I’ll hire a woman with combat training.”
She rubbed his heel. “Every action has consequences, doesn’t it?”
“What are you threatening now?”
“You have the most impressive scowl. I ought to be terrified.”
He leaned forward to reach for her arm and pulled her up beside him. “I may not write a recommendation for you after all.”
“The chance to live in Barcelona is worth far more than any recommendation you might give.” She leaned close to kiss him, and he grabbed hold of her hair to keep her close.
“Take a bath later,” he whispered.
She rubbed her cheek against his. “I wish I had something sexy to wear.”
He pulled back. “Go look in my father’s room. It’s next to m
ine. He used to keep lingerie for gifts in the bottom drawer of his dresser.”
She sat up. “He told you that?”
“What? That women like pretty things? Doesn’t every man already know it? Go and look. If you find something you like, take it. Take it all if you want.”
She slid off the side of the bed. Not certain what she’d find, she hoped Miguel hadn’t been into kinky sex and kept a supply of black leather corsets and whips. She turned on the light in his room, and, while it was as handsomely decorated as Santos’s, the air held an eerie chill. The mahogany dresser had a deep bottom drawer, and as she pulled it open, she caught a glimpse of silvery tissue paper.
Thinking maybe her cat sleep shirt would do after all, she carefully opened the tissue and found a lacy red nightgown and matching negligee. It was a gorgeous set with a designer label, but when she read the tags, she couldn’t believe Miguel would have spent so much. She sat cross-legged on the floor and took out the next tissue wrapped package. This set was a delicious cream-color silk trimmed with ecru lace, something a bride might wear. She set it aside and took out the last carefully folded package. The pale lavender silk spilled over her hands and pooled around her. The nightgown and negligee were so lovely she didn’t dare wear them, and she replaced all three sets and closed the drawer. When she stood up, Santos was leaning on his crutches by the door.
