Taken the Spaniard's Virgin

“No. I guess I’m a little afraid it’s not real and he hasn’t said anything.”

Her mom nodded and gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Men often find it difficult to express their feelings verbally.”

“Did Dad?”

Helen’s expression softened with memories. “No. He moved too fast for me, in fact. He proposed on our second date, I didn’t agree for almost two months after. I was cautious.” Her face showed old grief. “If I’d known how little time we would have together, I would have dragged him before a minister on our first date.”

“I thought about that…when I decided to risk, well…getting intimate with Miguel. It wasn’t a conscious thing, but I had this feeling that I had to seize the moment. We even made a joke about it, Miguel and I. My feeling must have come from a subconscious thinking how you lost Dad so early.”

“I’m glad you took a risk, sweetheart.”

“Me, too,” Amber said with a smile.

She was even gladder when Miguel called later to make sure she’d arrived all right. It was the middle of the night for him—or rather early morning, but he made no effort to keep the conversation short. They talked about what he would be doing in Prague and the trunk show she’d returned to California for.

They hung up when her mom came in to remind her that she had to be at the fitting for the trunk show very early the next morning. “You don’t want dark circles under your eyes when you meet with the designer, sweetie. He might take it into his head to put one of the other models in your place.”

“You need your rest,querida, ” Miguel said, clearly having heard her mother. “I will call to let you know when I will be in California.”

“All right,” she grumbled, annoyed for the first time in memory with the intrusion of having to do what was best for her career.

She was exercising to clear her mind and stretch her limbs after the grueling fitting the next day when the doorbell rang. Her mom hadn’t said she’d been expecting anyone, but it could be a neighbor, or even one of her mom’s clients. Voices from the living room drew Amber’s attention and she decided to investigate.

She stopped still in the doorway, trying to assimilate the scene before her. Her mom was sitting on the sofa with an attractive man about her age. He had his arm around her shoulders and she was crying.

Amber had never seen Helen Taylor cry, much less allow a man to touch her. She was riveted to her spot by the tableau as her mother spoke in voice made choppy with tears. “I knew this day would come, but I kept hoping it wouldn’t. That wasn’t fair of me. I know. I’ve been so selfish.”

The man gave her mom a look filled with his own grief mixed with compassion. “Tell me why you took my daughter.”

Everything inside Amber froze. What was the man talking about and why wasn’t her mom telling him he was crazy?

Her mom choked out, “I…” but got no further.

Helen was ready to fly apart; Amber could see it in the way she held herself. She couldn’t let that happen. Her mom hated losing her cool, but especially in front of strangers. “Mom, what’s going on?”

Movement to her left caught Amber’s gaze. Another woman similar to her own age was there. Amber’s heart slammed in her chest as she took in an almost perfect mirror image to herself. A tall, dark haired man stood behind the lookalike, his posture obviously protective.

Eyes identical in color and shape to her own glistened with tears. “Amber…”

“Who are you?” Amber asked, deeply bothered that the stranger seemed to know who she was while she was so completely at a loss, but she strived not to let it show.

“I’m…” But like Amber’s mom, this woman didn’t seem to know what to say and stopped after only one word, too.

“She’s your sister.” Her mom had said that.Her mom, who had no other children besides Amber.

“My sister?” Amber shook her head, pain that she didn’t understand a band squeezing around her heart. “No. That’s not possible. You didn’t give birth to twins. I checked. I always felt like something was missing, you know?” She was babbling, but darn it…nothing made sense. “So, I checked and there wasn’t another birth record. I was the only baby born to Helen and Leonard Taylor.”

The younger man said, “Miss Taylor, perhaps you should sit down.”

“Who are you?” Amber demanded, stepping away from him, concentrating on keep

ing her game face on.

“I am your sister’s fiancé, Sandor Christofides.”

“The shipping tycoon?”

“You read the financial pages?”