Authors: Phoebe Conn
“No, but they aren’t like us.”
Rafael turned toward the sea. “You and I aren’t alike either, and look how well we get along. Patricia has made a friend. Do you recognize the girl with her?”
Santos leaned forward to get a better look. “No.” Patricia and Libby were talking with a petite young woman with flowing waist-length black hair. A black bikini showed off her golden tan and left little of her spectacular figure to the imagination. “I know a few of the people who live along the beach, but she doesn’t look familiar.”
The three young women started toward them. “She isn’t armed,” Rafael murmured under his breath, “so she doesn’t appear to be a threat.”
“She’s not my type.”
“Mine either,” Rafael responded, but he smiled as though he was pleased to make her acquaintance.
“This is Victoria Rubio. When I said I was staying with the Aragon family, she didn’t believe me. Do you believe me now?” Patricia asked her.
Victoria regarded both men with a glorious smile and, with a saucy dip of her head, gave her hair a gentle sway. “I’d heard you had a home near here, Santos, but I never expected to meet you. To find El Gitano here too is overwhelming!” She backed away. “I won’t bother you. Maybe I’ll see you again on the beach.”
Patricia watched her go. “Is everyone in Barcelona as friendly?”
“Yes,” Santos assured her, “but don’t use my name or Rafael’s again.”
“I’m sorry, we just started talking, and she seemed nice.”
“I’m sure she is,” Rafael said. “Just be careful.”
Libby understood his warning even if Patricia failed to. She was going to have to make a list of everything they’d rather her parents didn’t know, murder attempts being right below prison time.
Mrs. Lopez showed Linda and Peter to their room and had Patricia’s luggage placed in Libby’s. Linda took in the beautifully furnished room with a widened gaze and stepped out onto the balcony.
“Where’s your room, Maggie?” she asked.
“Just down the hall. Come, I’ll show you.” She took her mother’s hand and pulled her away from Peter. “I want to show Mom my dress for the wedding.”
Once they were out in the hall, she whispered, “Nothing has been changed since Miguel died. Would you like to see his room?”
Linda looked over her shoulder to make certain Peter hadn’t followed. “I’m not sure, but I suppose I’ll regret it later if I don’t.”
Maggie opened the door and closed it behind them. The sea breeze from the balcony cooled the air, but the haunting scent of her father’s cologne still lingered. “This is the largest bedroom. I had breakfast with him every morning on the balcony. He loved the sea, and I don’t believe he ever stopped loving you.”
Linda smoothed her hand over the four-poster bed’s dark green duvet. “That’s a sweet, sentimental thought but can’t be true. I don’t regret loving Miguel, and we had you, but more than a fiery attraction is needed for a good marriage. I’d hate to see you make the same mistake.”
Maggie came close to hug her. “Rafael is no mistake. He’s had a difficult life, but we’re meant to be together. Thank you so much for coming to Spain for our wedding.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it. This room is as beautifully furnished as the rest of the house, but we should probably stay in a hotel.”
“Not when there are so many empty rooms here,” Maggie insisted. “Come on to my room, I really do want to show you my dress.”
Linda gave her first husband’s room a last fond glance. “Did he die here?”
Maggie refused to think of that horrible day. “No, at the hospital, and I can still feel his spirit here.”
Her mother nodded. “I’m so glad you had a chance to know him, if only for a few days.”
Maggie had known her father, and what he was capable of, but those secrets died with him.
Rather than force his company on Linda, Santos ate dinner in his room. By the time Patricia fell asleep later that night, Libby thought he’d be asleep too. She pulled a jacket over her sleep shirt and stepped out into the hallway to check. Drawn by the light that shone under his door, she went to his room and rapped lightly.
“Come in,” he called.
She stepped in only far enough to close his door behind her. “We got through one evening peacefully, but I don’t expect Rafael to keep quiet for long. He’s definitely a man of honor, but once Father hears the word prison, he won’t think of him in those terms.”
Santos laid his book on the nightstand and patted the bed. “Come sit here beside me so we can talk without waking the others.”
She swallowed a laugh. “You expect me to fall for that?”
“Yes, I do. I’m too badly hurt to take advantage of you.”
No matter what he said, his teasing smile drew her close, and she responded with a flirt of her own. “You’re not afraid I’ll take advantage of you?”
He opened his arms. “Come try.”
Several wonderfully erotic possibilities came to mind, and as long as she’d be in control, she could handle his enormous charm, or any other part of him. She tried not to laugh at her own joke and moved across the room to sit on the foot of his bed.
He patted the place beside him. He’d not combed his hair after pulling on a T-shirt, and it fell in his eyes. It made him look young and deceptively harmless. “Come closer.”
“This is close enough. Rafael entertained us at dinner with the whole history of Spain without revealing anything about himself. He’d glance at Maggie, and she’d smile, but there was a tense undercurrent passing between them. Father and Patricia didn’t catch it, but I think our mother did.”
“Maybe Rafael should speak to her first and get her on his side.”
“No, I heard my father mumble a few distracted comments about Miguel, so she’s on slippery ground herself.”
“I feel like we all are. Will you please go down to the kitchen and get me some ice cream? When you came in, I was debating whether it would be worth the effort to go after it myself.”
“Sure. Do you care what I bring?”
His smile grew wide. “Surprise me.”
He was hinting at more than ice cream, but Libby ignored it. She opened his door and found Patricia standing on the other side. “What are you guys doing?” Patricia asked. She had on a pink knit tank top and long knit pants with a tiny pink rose pattern. With her luscious curves, the sleep-rumpled outfit looked all too sexy.
“We’re about to have an ice-cream party. Come with me to the kitchen.” Libby started toward the back stairs and hoped Patricia would follow. She hadn’t meant to take things past kisses with Santos, but damn, having her little sister underfoot would make even a simple flirtation impossible.
Patricia came along right behind her. “I asked if you wanted Santos for yourself, and you should have said so.”
“He’s cute,” Libby admitted flippantly. “He’s also hobbling around on crutches, so all I’m doing is serving ice cream.” She pulled open the big Sub Zero freezer and found half a dozen containers of ice cream. “See something you like?”
“Santos,” Patricia squealed and clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Leave him alone,” Libby threatened through clenched teeth.
“You do want him!” She removed a container of strawberry ice cream.
There were two containers of vanilla, which Libby regarded as too uninteresting to eat without chocolate syrup, toasted almonds and whipped cream. There was pistachio, which she’d never liked, lemon sherbet and a dark chocolate. She took the chocolate and looked for bowls. The kitchen and pantry had everything anyone could ever require. All she had to do was locate it.
Patricia found a spoon and scooped up a bite from the carton. “This tastes like ice cream at home.”
“What were you expecting, something different? There’re probably only a few ways to make ice cream.”
“Yeah, I suppose it’s all in the flavoring,” Patricia stressed in a sexy purr. “I didn’t mean to spoil your fun. This is enough for me. Go on back to Santos. Do you want a wake-up call?”
“No, I don’t. Good night.”
Patricia peeked into Santos’s room on her way back to bed. “Ask Libby for a massage, and you’ll be so relaxed you’ll be unwilling to leave your bed for a week.”
“I better not. I’ve got places to be,” he replied.
Libby hadn’t bothered with Julian’s silver tray and carried in the bowls of ice cream with the spoons tucked into her jacket pocket. “I hope you like chocolate.”
“I always had it in my condo. Now I have Tomas order it.”
“Are all your groceries delivered?” Libby handed him his bowl and spoon and returned to her place on the foot of his bed. She made it a point not to lick her spoon.
“It’s a lazy way to live, isn’t it?”
“Maybe, but I can’t imagine you pushing a shopping cart.”
“I didn’t go to the store in a suit of lights,” he argued. “In jeans, a sweatshirt and cap, I could be anybody.”
Libby took tiny bites to make her ice cream last. “You’d still look better than most men.”
“Thank you, but when I don’t want people to recognize me, I can fade into the crowd.”
“I’m used to being part of the crowd. You’re right, though. Everyone is moving along, lost in their own thoughts, and a lot goes unnoticed.”
Santos set his empty bowl on the nightstand and took a drink of water. “That’s how we’ll have to work on the wedding. We’ll help it all come together and let Rafael blow it apart.”
He’d become a little too keen on the intrigue for her taste. “From what I’ve heard, the Aragon family has plenty of drama of its own. You don’t need my family for spice.”
“True. Now finish your ice cream and come here.”
Libby took even smaller bites and looked up at him through her lashes. Her low voice had a husky edge. “I only wanted to talk. My mom and dad are sleeping down the hall.”
“Lock the door and come here.” He patted the space beside him with a firmer beat.
Libby swallowed the last slippery bite. “I might get too rough and hurt you.”
“I’ll risk it.”
Libby stood and set her bowl in his and picked them up. “That’s your whole story, isn’t it? Good night.”
She was gone before Santos realized what had happened. He was a matador, so he ate risk for lunch, but it wasn’t tattooed on his chest. He struggled to get out of bed and picked up the crutches he’d leaned against the wall. If Libby wanted to argue, then he intended to present his side out in the hall if he had to. He had on jogging shorts and a T-shirt, so he was well enough dressed to leave his room.
He opened his door as Libby came back up the stairs from the kitchen. “What are you doing out of bed?” she asked.
“Looking for you.” When she reached him, he pulled her into his arms and balanced on his crutches, swayed dangerously close to falling. She braced her arm against the doorjamb to hold him and smothered her laughter against his chest. They made it back into his room without waking the whole house. She was careful not to shove him too hard, took his crutches and pushed him toward the bed.
He waited for her to set the crutches aside and grabbed her arm before she could move away and pulled her down beside him. HeeHeHeHH hugged her tight. “Stay with me a little longer.”
He’d left room for her beside him and loosened his hold. Intending to go, she picked up his book to smack back in his hand. While she couldn’t read the Spanish title, she recognized the author’s name. “You read Stephen King?”
“Sure. I don’t have the patience for books that go nowhere, and his stories fly.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” Surprised to discover they had similar tastes in reading, she replaced the book on the nightstand and relaxed against him. He always smelled so damn good, while she never bothered with perfume. She hadn’t locked the door when she came in but wouldn’t let things get out of hand.
She raised herself on her elbow. “There isn’t much to do for the wedding except wait. Maybe we could go sightseeing tomorrow. Manuel drove Maggie and me around, so we saw a lot of Barcelona, but we didn’t stop anywhere. Will you come with us?”
“Let’s worry about tomorrow in the morning.” He wound his fingers in her hair to draw her into a slow, chocolate-flavored kiss.
She leaned over him for another kiss. He moaned, a soft growl deep in his throat, and the unlocked door began to look like a problem after all. Maybe just another kiss or two or three, she thought. He kept his hands on her back, tracing lazy circles that promised his more intimate touch would be unforgettable. Maybe it was only the Latin-lover technique, but he was so damn good at it. Of course, he’d practiced with the likes of Ana Santillan, and, with that jarring thought, she sat up.
She coiled her hair around her hand. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
“Why?” He regarded her with a sly, satisfied smirk as though she’d never be able to come up with a credible reason.
“I doubt you’re into long-distance relationships, and Minneapolis is a long way from here.”
“Minnesota? The Great Lakes?”
“You’ve got it.”
He slid a fingertip down her cheek. “If I take you sightseeing, you’ll owe me a tour, but we don’t need to make travel plans tonight. Just stay with me awhile longer. I promise to be good.”