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“Poor guy.”
“You’re on his side?”
“No, not at all. I feel sorry for him because he ruined his chances with you and wouldn’t have understood why.”
“What should I have done, said something like, ‘Look you squirrel-headed twit, when you’re out on a date, listen to what the girl has to say.’ How’s that?”
“Squirrel-headed twit?” He laughed and hugged her tight. “Promise me if you ever consider me a squirrel-headed twit, you’ll tell me why.”
“Yes, sir, I will.” They were so comfortable together, but his breathing slowed long before she fell asleep, and she was so badly frightened sleep promised only nightmares.
Santos hadn’t asked Libby to wear one of her short dresses to see Orlando Ortiz, but she knew looking like harmless arm candy would work to their advantage. When they were shown into the man’s corner office, they had as fine a view of the harbor as they would have had from the bridge of one of his huge cargo ships. She took the chair to Santos’s left, crossed her legs and made no effort to tug her dress down an inch or two. Rafael refused to call Carlotta Ortiz his mother, and they weren’t going to mention her. If Ortiz knew about Rafael, fine. If he didn’t, h
e wouldn’t hear it from them.
Orland Ortiz’s silvery gray hair enhanced his deep tan, and his dark brows and lashes made his deep brown eyes his most prominent feature. He’d been a handsome young man, and in his fifties, he’d kept his looks and his slim athletic build added to his powerful image. His well-tailored whiskey-brown suit fit him perfectly. His pale blue shirt was custom made and the cuffs monogrammed with his initials. His dark paisley tie and matching handkerchief added a subdued hint of color.
“I was amazed when my secretary said you’d called to make an appointment, Mr. Aragon. My wife is a great fan of yours. She takes our sons to see you whenever possible, and she was horrified when you were injured. How may I help you? Are you interested in investing in one of my firms?”
Sunlight shooting through the expanse of glass at his back gave him a glowing halo. The bright light also made it difficult to meet his gaze, which Libby assumed was his intention. He projected an air of confident strength, and, while his words were welcoming, he sat back in his chair and remained aloof.
Santos had worn a white linen shirt with navy blue shorts and looked as professional as he could at present. He smiled easily, as though this meeting were no more than a casual conversation. “I’m glad you mentioned your wife. I’ve had problems with overzealous fans recently, and someone followed me in an SUV belonging to her.”
Ortiz glanced down at his desk calendar. “When was this?”
“Last Wednesday. I was taking my sister Magdalena’s family to see the Sagrada Familia cathedral. We were in my Hispano-Suiza, so she may have only wanted to see the car. But I thought I should ask.”
“Of course. We’ve all had to take a greater interest in our own security.” He reached for the phone on his desk, and after a brief conversation, he hung up and smiled. “We live in the penthouse, and Carlotta will join us shortly. May I serve you something? Coffee, tea?”
“I’d love an iced tea,” Libby responded, while Santos shook his head. “What a magnificent view you have here. Your penthouse must be spectacular.”
“Thank you, it is.” He touched the office intercom to make her request. “What brings you to Spain, Miss Gunderson?”
“My sister married Rafael Mondragon, and my family came for the wedding. I’ve extended my stay.”
Ortiz steepled his fingers over his chest. “My wife is also fond of Mondragon. I don’t follow the popular matadors the way she does, but everyone knows your name, Santos.”
“Because they knew my father’s.”
“True, and I want to offer my condolences on your loss. I’d heard Miguel was ill, but he was still young, and his death came as a dreadful shock.”
“Yes, to all our family as well.”
A man in a white jacket brought Libby’s tea on a silver tray. “Thank you.” She’d become used to Julian waiting on her, but there wasn’t a hint of friendliness or humor in this man’s expression. He left as quietly as he had entered. Carlotta passed by him, and her stiletto heels clicked as she crossed the marble floor. She was dressed in a white sheath accented with heavy gold jewelry. She was an exotic beauty with lovely golden skin, and her upswept henna-tinted hair accented her large dark eyes.
“Santos,” she exclaimed. “Orlando told me you were coming today, but I didn’t expect to meet you. You’re even more handsome up close than you are in the ring. Please remain seated. Are you recovering as rapidly as everyone hopes?”
Ortiz left his chair to draw one near for his wife. She smiled as he slid his hand across her shoulders in a gentle caress before returning to his place behind his desk. Libby noted his affectionate gesture, but her new brother-in-law had nothing good to say about his mother.
“I’m making the effort,” Santos said. “May I introduce Libby Gunderson. She’s my sister Maggie’s sister. Perhaps you read Maggie has wed Rafael Mondragon?”
Carlotta’s color flushed lightly at the mention of her son’s name. “Yes, I follow all the matadors in the papers. You men lead such exciting lives.”
“Your life must have its own excitement,” Libby added.
“My husband and sons provide a great deal,” Carlotta replied, her glowing smile aimed at her husband.
Santos leaned forward. “I own a remarkable car, a Hispano-Suiza. Someone followed me last week in a black SUV that belongs to you. Do you remember following me?”
