“Wonderful.” She stifled a groan.
They heard a car drive up, and Fox went to the door and looked out. “Is that who I think it is?” he asked.
Maggie came up behind him. “Yes, it’s Ana Santillan.”
“Which one of them is screwing her?” he whispered.
“Fox, don’t be crude. She’s Santos’s friend.”
Fox was out the door like a shot to carry her bag. Ana was dressed in tight jeans and a coppery knit top. Her hair flowed over her shoulders in bouncy waves. She looked as though she’d just stepped away from a fashion shoot. Relieved to have another woman there, Maggie smiled warmly. She hoped neither of them would be caught up in Rafael and Santos’s endlessly rivalry. They thrived on competition, but she’d gladly avoid it.
“Magdalena,” Ana called. “It’s nice to see you again. Where’s Santos?”
“In the shower. Fox, why don’t you carry Ms. Santillan’s bag upstairs?”
“Sure.” He started up the stairs. “Do you know which room is yours?”
She laughed as though his question were absurd. “I’m staying with Santos.”
Fox’s fair complexion filled with a bright blush, and he turned away to dash up the stairs.
“Isn’t he a little old to think we’d have separate rooms?” she whispered.
“I don’t know him well enough to say,” Maggie replied. Ana followed Fox upstairs, and Maggie returned to the den to continue her search of the bookshelves and found a row of albums similar to the one at the beach house on a bottom shelf. She grabbed the first one and sat down at the desk to study the faded photographs. Some were dated from the late 1800s, but many of the inked comments identifying her relatives had faded away.
Fox ran down the stairs and barely paused at the door. “I’ll take my sandwich outdoors.”
Teenagers couldn’t bear to be laughed at, and she thought he was probably too embarrassed to eat lunch with Santos and Ana. “Don’t go too far.”
“Are you my mother now?” He left without waiting for a reply.
Rafael came in seconds after Fox had left. He leaned a hip against the desk. His hair was wet, and he was dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. “Answer a question for me. How did you know what’s in Augustín’s journals? Were they written in English?”
He was so damn good-looking without any effort. Her body’s coiling heat reminded her all too vividly of last night’s passion. How could she have thought she needed time away from him? For a moment, she couldn’t recall his question. She moved back to open the drawer and pulled out the tin box. “No. I teach Spanish in high school back home, and his writing is easy to read.”
He straightened up. “So here we are in Spain, and you didn’t bother to mention you’re fluent in Spanish?”
There was a testy edge to his voice, and she wondered if any woman stuck around long enough to develop a fondness for him that went past his extraordinary good looks and stamina in bed. “You were looking for a dancer, not a linguist,” she reminded him softly.
“True, but I’m interested in everything about you.”
Ana came in the door several steps ahead of Santos. When Rafael turned to face her, she broke into a delighted smile and moved toward him with the sassy hip-swinging gait she’d use on a haute couture runway. In platform heels, she was nearly his equal in height. “I didn’t expect to find El Gitano here. Aren’t you afraid Santos will poison your food?”
“I’ll thank you not to give him ideas,” Rafael responded, no hint of a smile in his voice or expression.
Maggie was surprised he hadn’t been drawn to Ana the way Fox had been. Tall, slim and blonde, Ana Santillan had to be most men’s dream date. Rafael merely looked annoyed they’d been interrupted. “I doubt the cook’s in on the plot, and aren’t you hungry?” she asked.
“I am.” Ana turned with an arm-swinging spin. “I hope there’s some soup. Refugio makes the most incredibly good soup.”
“There is,” Maggie assured her, and the model and Santos left the room while Rafael hung back.
“Wait. Is there anything else I ought to know?” he asked.
Clearly he suspected she must have hidden some dire secret. “I’m sorry to disappoint you again, but no. Tonight when we’re too tired to sleep, I’ll tell you my life story, but there’s nothing scandalous in my past. I’ve lived quite an ordinary life.”
“For a bullfighter’s daughter, perhaps, but everything is different now that you’ve come to Spain.” He turned in a circle slowly and raised his hands. “You can see I’m unharmed, so later will you watch the video Santos shot of me?”
He smelled like soap rather than cologne, which was a nice change. She wasn’t good at compromise, and she doubted he even came close to it, but this was an easy thing to give. “Yes, I’m sure it’s worth seeing.” She wondered if he planned to get her used to watching him in videos and then entice her into the arena stands. She doubted he ever made a move without a strategy, but she’d be home before she came close to being able to watch him fight a bull live.