Fierce Pride

Dedication

Fierce Pride is dedicated to my wonderful parents who read to me when I was small and taught me to love books. I can never thank you enough.

Chapter One

Costa Daurada, Spain

Santos Aragon loved sailing at dawn when the Mediterranean Sea glowed blood red. The music of the fluttering sails and churning sea brought him a dreamlike peace and the temptation to sail on down the coast to Valencia. Unable to give in to it today, he returned early to the marina. Once the sleek nineteen-foot boat was secured at the dock, he jogged along the shoreline to the beach house.

After his father had died, his demon of a grandmother had been sent to a private mental hospital and his Aunt Cirilda had reconciled with her second husband, he’d been forced to move in rather than allow the magnificent home to sit empty. Designed by one of Antonio Gaudí’s protégés, it was an architectural wonder he felt obligated to keep beautifully maintained.

Maggie, his American half sister met him on the patio. “Am I late?” he asked.

“No, Libby’s plane doesn’t arrive until eleven. I’m sitting here trying not to think of everything I ought to tell my sister, but I should practice on her. It will give me a head start when the rest of my family arrives next week.”

He dropped into the chair beside hers. “It’s not too late to call off the wedding.”

Maggie shook her head, and her shoulder-length hair formed a sable frame for her delicate features. Both she and Santos resembled their late father and were easily recognized as siblings. She was simply the female version, while his features were thoroughly male. Her eyes were hazel, and his brown, but it was a slight difference between them.

“I’ve never been surer about anything,” she insisted. “All I ask is that you’ll be civil to Rafael. You don’t have to love him like a brother.”

“I don’t love either of my brothers,” he responded. “No, I take that back. I’m fond of Fox, even if we’re not related by blood.”

“Then there’s hope you might one day grow fond of Rafael.”

“No more than a sliver. The detective I hired to investigate the Gypsy’s background found nothing we didn’t already know, but prior to his murder conviction, there’s little evidence he even existed. He does have a birth certificate signed by a midwife, but there’s no father listed. He never went to school. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“What bothers me is that you’d hire a detective in the first place. My parents are already alarmed I’m marrying a matador
I met this summer. Would you please keep quiet about his murder conviction?”

“Must I?”

Santos was a terrible tease, and the twinkle in his dark eyes made her laugh. “Yes, you must. While we have a moment, should I beg you not to seduce my sisters?”

Lean and fit, he stood and stretched to his full six feet two inches. “Our father may not have set the best example when it came to women, but relax, I’ve already exceeded my quota for the month.”

“That was no answer, Santos.”

“They’re such pretty blondes.” He started toward the house and called over his shoulder, “I may not be able to help myself.”

Rafael passed him as he left the house. “Should I ask?”

Maggie returned his kiss, and he took Santos’s chair beside hers. “My brother has a weakness for blondes, and Libby and Patricia will be tempting. They’re college girls and of age, but he’s definitely not Libby’s type. Patricia is another story altogether. With her blonde curls and big blue eyes, most guys think she’s adorable, and she’s been boy crazy since birth.”

He stretched out his legs. “I’d be more worried about your mother.”

“Rafael!”

He loved the way she stretched his name into three distinct syllables. He raked his inky black hair off his forehead with his fingers. “Santos must look a lot like your father did when he and your mother met.”

“True, but…”

He flashed a wicked grin. “I’ll keep an eye on him, if you’ll watch her.”

“Thank you so much for offering help with a problem I didn’t even realize I had.”

He reached for her hand and took care not to brush his fingers across the new pink scar on her wrist.

Libby Gunderson gave her carry-on bag a fierce yank and crossed into the passenger arrival lounge at Barcelona’s El Prat airport. Maggie was waiting for her with a chauffeur dressed in gray holding a sign with her name and a young man she assumed must be Maggie’s fiancé. Rafael was tall and handsome in a dark, dangerous way, but with any luck, she’d put an end to her sister’s absurd marriage plans before their parents and younger sister arrived.

Maggie pulled Libby into an exuberant hug. “It’s so good to see you. This is Rafael and my brother Santos.”

Rafael greeted her warmly. “Welcome to Spain. I’m so happy to meet you.”

He had a marvelous deep voice, and when he smiled, Libby understood why her big sister had fallen for him. Having a crush on a man and marrying him were two entirely different things, however.

She stared up at the chauffeur. Maggie didn’t resemble the rest of the fair-haired blue-eyed Gunderson family, but the dark-haired, dark-eyed Santos was clearly her kin. He was a handsome man with a charming grin, but his clothing choice struck her as odd. “I thought you were also a matador. Do you have to work part-time as a chauffeur to make ends meet?”

Santos laughed, grasped her shoulder and leaned close to whisper in her ear, “No, I merely wanted to impress you.”

His touch sent a sizzling jolt clear through her. While his warm breath tickled her ear, his seductive accent made her wish he’d say something more. She took a deep breath, and his spicy cologne wrapped her in a dizzying hint of mystery. For a moment, she was so lost in him she completely forgot why she’d come to Barcelona. Dismayed, she took a quick step back, and he did the same.

She played half a dozen sports and was fast on her feet, but she didn’t always catch jokes made at her expense. “Why would I be impressed by a chauffeur?”

“It’s not the uniform,” Santos explained, his voice still low, intimate. “Wait until you see my car.”

Libby didn’t care if he rode a bicycle when he’d look so damn good doing it. Embarrassed, she stood up straighter, got a hold of herself and looked to her sister. “What do you have, a stretch Hummer?”

“No, but I won’t even try to describe it,” Maggie replied. “Is that all the luggage you brought?”

“You’re in such a rush to get married, I doubted I’d be staying long,” Libby replied.

“I’m the one who’s in a rush,” Rafael interjected. He and Santos led the way from the terminal while the girls followed.

“Weddings shouldn’t be hurried,” Libby confided, “unless they have to be.”

“We don’t have to get married,” Maggie stressed. “But there’s no reason to wait either. I’m so glad you could come early.”

“I wanted to help, and this might be my only chance to see Barcelona.” She waited with Rafael and her sister while Santos brought up the car, but she’d never expected such an impressive vintage sedan. Long, low and black, the vehicle glowed with a high polish and the chrome trim sparkled. A graceful crane caught in flight ornamented the hood. The car was such a spectacular piece of mobile sculpture she could only gape.

Santos got out to open the roomy trunk and loaded her bag. “It’s a 1934 Hispano-Suiza type 68 saloon that belonged to our grandfather, Augustin. We have our own mechanic who takes care of it, and it’s well worth the expense.”

The interior leather upholstery was a buttery black. Libby slid into the roomy backseat with Maggie, while Rafael sat up front with Santos. “Are the Aragons rich?” she mouthed.

Maggie nodded. “It takes some getting used to, but the family has invested wisely for several generations. They don’t do anything just for show, except for owning this extraordinary car.”

Not knowing what to expect next, Libby gazed out the window as they flew by the Mediterranean coast. The Hispano-Suiza raced along with a deep, throbbing hum. People driving by stared and waved, and Santos waved back. He was apparently well known in Spain, and his car was simply magical. She had the unsettling feeling she’d slid into a life unlike anything she’d known in Minnesota.

Santos caught Libby’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “You should attend a bullfight while you’re here.”

Wisps of fair hair had escaped her long braid, and she blew them out of her eyes. “Yes, I would like to see one.”

“What’s your favorite color?” he asked.

“Blue.”

“Good, I’ll wear a blue suit of lights for you.”

Rafael turned to smile at Maggie, and Libby saw the teasing sparkle in his eyes. Clearly he adored Maggie, and that complicated matters, but she still thought she could convince her sister to show more sense. As for herself, she preferred to look out at the sea rather than the enticing way Santos’s dark hair curled over his collar.

The two-story beach house had a red-tile roof and the sensuous curves of a nautilus shell. Libby recognized the architect immediately. “Is this a Gaudí?”

Santos helped her from the car. “No, but it’s the closest thing to it. I doubt there’s a right angle anywhere, but you’ll get used to it. Don’t let Mrs. Lopez frighten you. She’s scary, but she’s been the housekeeper here too long to let go.” He walked around the back of the car to pull out her luggage.

He took off his hat, wiped his forehead on his sleeve and flipped his hair into place. Both he and Rafael had longer hair than Libby was used to seeing, but they were European men, and she couldn’t imagine them with buzz cuts.

“How long have you been fighting bulls?” she asked

“Since I was a child. We own a cattle ranch near Zaragoza, and the calves were as eager to give it a try as I was.”

“They didn’t know what was coming, though, did they?”

“No, but I didn’t kill any. It was just good sport. Most bullfighters start young. Rafael has a different story. Ask him to tell it.”

Rafael and Maggie had already walked up the steps to the front door. “Does he live here too?”

“No, he has his own apartment, but he’s here more often than I’d like to see him.”

Libby turned her back to her sister and Rafael. She touched Santos’s sleeve and whispered, “If you know something about Rafael he’d rather I didn’t know, please tell me.”

He responded with a knowing smile. “It could take days.”

With a dark tan and blinding white teeth, the man had an absolutely killer smile. Libby struggled to discount it. Encouraged he might provide inflammatory information for her cause in addition to inspiring lurid thoughts for her imagination, she followed Maggie and her fiancé into the house. The large entryway had a polished tile floor; rooms with arched doorways branched off to the right and left, and a wide, curved stairway rose from the center. Rafael waited as Santos led the way upstairs, toting Libby’s carry-on bag.

“Do you want your own room, or would you rather stay with Maggie?” Santos asked.

“We haven’t shared rooms since we were children,” Maggie answered. She led Libby into the bedroom next to hers. “This is a pretty room. It has its own bath, and the balcony overlooks the sea.”

Libby walked out onto the balcony and surveyed the beach. There were a few umbrellas set out, some children playing at the shore, but not the crowds she’d expected. “Is this a private beach?”

Santos set her bag on the bed. “No, but it has limited access. Do you like to sail? I have a small boat I take out most mornings.”

She was more tempted than she cared to admit, but, justifying it as an opportunity to speak with him in private, she turned and smiled. “I’d love to go sailing with you.”

Maggie took a step toward the door, ushering Santos along with her. “Would you like to rest, Libby? We don’t eat until late, so you’ve plenty of time.”

“I slept on the plane,” Libby answered. “I’d rather go for a run on the beach.”

“I’ll change my clothes and go with you,” Santos offered.

Maggie let him go and closed the door behind him to assure their privacy. She whispered, “Santos is a great guy, but he’s a player, not your type at all.”

Libby doubted she actually had a type, but Santos was incredibly appealing. She’d just have to view him as a distraction and deal with it. “He’s just being friendly,” she replied. “Do you want to come with us?”