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“Knew,” Santos emphasized. “Ana and I are no longer friends. Now let’s talk about flamenco and how beautifully Maggie dances.”
“My favorite topic,” Rafael added.
Santos winked at Libby. He couldn’t dance a step of flamenco, but he hoped he’d be able to take her to clubs where they could dance together. As lively as she was, she had to be a great dancer. He forced himself not to imagine her gorgeous body naked in his bed, but it was definitely a challenge.
The Bailaora café was located on a dark, narrow street. Santos took Libby’s hand so she wouldn’t trip on the cobblestones. “This isn’t the best part of town. Stay close.”
“We came for the dancing,” Maggie replied, “and we’re safe with Rafael.”
“You have more confidence in him than I do,” Santos murmured.
Rafael pushed open the door of the small café, and the owner, Felipe Muñoz, hurried to greet him. “Matador, welcome. How good to see you here again, and you’ve brought your beautiful lady. Will you dance for us tonight?”
“We’d rather see your dancers. I’m sure you recognize Santos Aragon out of the ring.”
Felipe stared wide-eyed. “Santos Aragon!” He turned toward the crowded room. “Everyone, what an occasion!”
The café’s regular patrons leaped to their feet and cheered, “Santos, Santos!”
Astonished, Libby gripped her sister’s arm. “Does everyone treat him like a rock star?”
“A handsome matador has fans wherever he goes,” Maggie replied. “We won’t be noticed.”
“Is that what happened with Ana Santillan? She couldn’t stand sharing the spotlight?”
“No, she sold photos of the family to the tabloids, and Santos regarded it as a betrayal.”
“I see. He’d rather not date a paparazzo.”
“With cell phones, everyone’s a paparazzo now.”
Libby looked around and found half a dozen men and a couple of women using their cell phones to take photos of Rafael and Santos. She’d always dated attractive men, but never famous ones, and she didn’t understand how Maggie could stand being pushed aside. When they were shown to a table near the low stage, Santos took her hand and flashed his charming grin, but despite his warm attention, she felt completely out of place. With her height, she might be mistaken for a model if Santos usually dated them. She struck a more graceful pose and let everyone wonder who she might be. After a few sips of Ribeiro, a bubbly Spanish wine, she relaxed enough to stop obsessing over the situation and enjoy the dancers.
The first woman wore a black dress with big white polka dots. Her dark hair was slicked back in a chignon and her fingertips painted as bright a red as her lips. She danced with a crisp step and was clearly a crowd favorite. Libby leaned close to assure Maggie she was a far better dancer.
“She is, isn’t she?” Rafael agreed. “Do you want to dance with me?”
“The way I dance,” Libby replied, “I’d damage your reputation.”
Rafael laughed. “Impossible, I have none to lose.”
Santos ran his fingertips up Libby’s back with a slow, affectionate touch. She longed to lean against him like a grateful cat. Maggie had warned her he chewed up women and spit them out, but they must have had a great time while they were with him. She’d checked his website that afternoon and found him shown in his full matador regalia. He looked so much like the portrait of his father in the den, she began to worry her mother would be reminded of a time she’d rather not recall.
She enjoyed Santos’s gentle touch, craved it more than she wished to, but she wouldn’t encourage him. She moved her chair closer to her sister’s and sent him a warning glance. He winked at her. He might be useful in her plan to send Maggie home single, but no matter how tempting asking for more would be, that was all she wanted from him. Eventually, she might even convince herself.
A couple danced next. They flirted with the crowd as well as each other and were applauded at length when they took their bows. “They were cute, but weren’t they missing something?” Libby asked.
Rafael nodded. “They lack passion. Flamenco should be aflame with desire.”
“Show us,” Santos urged.
“Not without Magdalena.”
Maggie sat forward. “What if I simply stood and ignored your efforts to impress me?”
Rafael rose and offered his hand. Felipe Muñoz hushed the crowd, and the guitarist strummed a flourish. Maggie asked if anyone had a fan, and the café owner quickly produced one of black lace. She opened the sexy prop, peered over the edge and took Rafael’s hand to step up on the low stage. Once there, she kept her back turned toward him as he began a slow, taunting beat with his heels. He moved close, and she stepped away. He circled her, but she kept her back toward him. The crowd began to call encouragement to him, but Maggie kept a graceful distance until the last note of the dance. Then she fell into Rafael’s arms and kissed him soundly.
Libby clapped as enthusiastically as the café’s other patrons, while Santos gazed at the floor. “You suggested they dance,” she reminded him.
