Fierce Pride (19 page)

“Do you think the protesters will use the same mirror trick?” she asked.

“They could, or they could have come up with something new. Just look for anything suspicious.”

“If they don’t use the mirror gimmick, then they could be seated on the shady side of the arena where we are. Shouldn’t we have someone watching our side from over there?”

“All we’ll have is ourselves and the ring security. Keep an eye out for anything peculiar.”

Libby scanned the rows as people reached their seats. The majority were young men, followed by numbers of middle-aged men, and an occasional woman. “It looks like most fans are men.”

Santos reached for the binoculars. “Does that surprise you? Most soccer fans are male too. Men are into bloody spectacles; most women aren’t.”

“Maybe women come to see the handsome matadors
,
not for the sport at all.” Libby retook the binoculars and started again with the top row. She’d soon looked at so many faces they began to blur into visual soup. Jarred by the blaring trumpets of the entrance parade, she was grateful to have the strutting matadors to watch. She turned to look for Ana Santillan, but the model wasn’t in the seat she’d occupied last week. “Were you scheduled to fight today?”

“Yes, but in Madrid. I’ve been replaced by a popular man from Mexico.”

“Do you suppose he’s in danger?”

“For taking my place? No. Give me the binoculars if you’re tired.”

“No, I just need to rest a minute. Aren’t there more security guards than there were here last week?”

“I hope so.”

Libby began to worry she’d see something before the security guards did, and then how would she alert them? The man beside her was yelling encouragement to the matadors with great enthusiasm, but his deep, booming voice soon made her head ache. Then she noticed how often he glanced toward her legs. She tugged the hem of her skirt, but there wasn’t enough material to hide more than a freckle or two.

“Do you see something?” Santos asked.

Trying to ignore the wild activity in the bullring and concentrate on the crowd made her dizzy, and she lowered the binoculars. “No. Would you like a turn?”

Santos took them, and she leaned back in her seat. The man seated beside her winked. Maybe winking was more popular in Spain than it was at home. She rested her hand on Santos’s knee and ignored her neighbor.

“If you move your hand any higher, we’ll have to leave,” Santos whispered in her ear.

Libby patted his knee and dropped her hand in her lap. With the crowd shouting at the first matador’s every move, she could study the fans seated in the rows behind them without drawing notice. She supposed she could scream if she saw someone with a high-powered rifle, but other than the staged violence in the bullring, it was a peaceful afternoon. None of the matadors was harmed in anyway, and Santos urged her from her seat while the last bull was still twitching.

Manuel had also watched the bullfights and met them at the car. “A mediocre display,” he replied in Catalan to Santos’s greeting.

“I agree, although in time, two of the men might show promise.”

“What did he say?” Libby asked.

“He offered his opinion of the matadors
,
and I agreed they weren’t very good.”

“I wonder what their fan mail is like.” She slid into the backseat, and Santos took care getting in the front.

“Thank you for reminding me. I need to read the new letters, if there are any.”

“Won’t your fans send their best wishes for your recovery?”

“Those aren’t the letters that interest me.” The protesters were gone from their corner, and several of their signs lay mangled in the gutter. “Maybe Javier Cazares will have discovered something interesting about the protesters. I’ll call him tomorrow. I’d take you out to dinner, but Tomas will have left something for us, and I’d rather not change clothes and go out again.”

His inviting smile made dinner at home far more appealing than the bother of dining out. “Do you suppose there’s anything left from last night?”

“No, Tomas fed the musicians and Julian and Adolfo too. We might find a stray green bean, but he’ll have left something new for us.”

“And cake,” she added. “That was an incredibly good cake.”

“You’re supposed to be helping me stay slim, not feeding me cake.”

“We’ll start tomorrow. Do you have a gym where you work out?”

“Yes, but first thing tomorrow, we’re going to see Orlando Ortiz.”

“And play dumb?”

“Yes, will you give it a try?”

She licked her lips and produced the same wide-eyed innocent gaze Patricia used so effectively. “Like this? Why, Mr. Ortiz, what a thrill it is to meet you.”

He stared at her. “Perfect. Meryl Streep couldn’t do any better.”

“That’s an awfully high standard.”

“We don’t disappoint.”

Libby didn’t remind him that was the Aragon family, not the Gundersons, although her family had high standards too.

Tomas had left them an artfully designed tray of cold cuts, cheeses and a green salad waiting for dressing. The rosemary rolls were so good she had to remind herself to eat slowly. “Does Tomas go to all this trouble just for you?”

“He’s paid to do so, don’t forget.”

“Of course, but…”

“I understand. He serves lunch to everyone who works here, so he keeps busy trying out new recipes, and I entertain often enough to provide a challenge for him.”

They were sitting in the dining room with her on his right as she had last night. “You have such a wonderful home.”

“Thank you, but I grew up on the ranch. I’ll take you out there if there’s time before you go home.”

“Let’s concentrate on getting you well first.”

“You don’t want to see the ranch?”

He looked pained by the thought, and she smiled to reassure him. “No, I’d love to see it, but I’m here to help you.”

He watched her eat with slow, tiny bites until she looked up and caught him. He leaned back in his chair. He’d worn the same sexy grin all afternoon. “Why did you stay? Tell me the truth.”

She wouldn’t admit to being inspired by their conversation about Vikings, or that she’d dared herself to give up the ridiculous effort to resist him. “You asked me. Don’t you remember?”

“Yes, but you didn’t have to stay.”

“Maybe it’s your cologne,” she teased.

“I’ll stop wearing it if it’s going to get me in trouble.”

“You’re already in trouble,” she emphasized in a sultry purr. “Now are you ready for some cake, or would you rather wait until later?”

“What I’d really like is to take you on the table, but then I’d never be able to eat another meal here without thinking of you.”

“Sounds good to me.” She picked up their plates and carried them into the kitchen and took their wineglasses on the second trip. “Should we plan the logistics first?”

He pulled her down on his lap. “Just kiss me.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and drank in his wine-flavored kisses. He was warm and felt so good to hold close. He slid his hands over her back, and, in a lazy mood, she slid her hand under his shirt to rub his chest. His skin hummed beneath her fingertips, luring her still closer.

He wound his fingers in her hair and caressed her lips with the tip of his tongue. “You have the most beautiful hair. I could swim in it.”

“So do you.” She’d dated fair-haired men at home, but she loved his ebony hair and dark eyes. “You’d be handsome bald, but I couldn’t pull it off.”

He smothered his laughter against her throat. “Your hair isn’t all I like.”

“Thank God.” She returned his eager kisses and got so lost in him she was startled when he pulled away.

“Come on, sit on the end of the table.” He patted the place in front of him.

She’d thought he’d want her to lean over the table, not sit on it, but she wouldn’t argue when she wanted him so badly. It was a heavy mahogany table that easily supported her weight, and she leaned back on her elbows and licked her lips.

He handed her a condom. “Rip it open with your teeth.”

She did. “Is there any other way?”

“Not anymore.” Rather than stand, he scooted to the front of his chair, pulled off her bright pink panties and then slid off her sandals. “You have the most gorgeous legs.”

“Thank you. Your legs are very handsome too. You have a runner’s sleek muscles.”

“I didn’t realize you were paying such close attention.”

“Every second,” she promised.

He pulled her closer to the edge of the table and spread kisses up her thighs. She could now easily reach his lap with her toe and rubbed his rock hard cock. “You’re incorrigible,” he whispered against her pale blonde muff.

“Is that a complaint?”

“No.” He licked the length of her cleft and burrowed deeper. He knew just where to touch and spread her open with his thumbs. He kissed and teased her with the tip of his tongue. “I knew you’d taste awfully good.”

She remained propped on her elbows to watch him. He looked up often with a question in his gaze, and she could only gasp and smile. When he slid two fingers inside to stroke her depths, she lay back and let the sparkling sweet burst of pleasure roll through her. The man was a love god, and she wanted more.

He stood to pull on the condom and teased her with the tip of his cock to keep her dancing on the edge of another orgasm and another before he pushed into her. Holding her thighs wide open, he watched his cock dip in and slide out. He rubbed her clit with his thumb.

“Tell me when you’ve had enough,” he asked in a hushed sigh.

Loving the way he stretched and filled her, she rocked her hips to pull him even deeper. She skated on pleasure so intense it bordered pain, but she couldn’t find the breath to ask for even more rather than beg him to stop.

He leaned down to catch her mouth in a kiss that held all the passion she brewed within him and came with a grateful moan. When he could find the strength to pull out, he couldn’t stand and sank back down in his chair to get rid of the condom. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Thoroughly dazed, she looked up at the ceiling. The room was decorated with Picasso sketches, and she felt as though she must resemble one of the modern artist’s strangely disjointed women. She had the most delicious throb between her legs, and the rest of her body floated with the lightness of a cloud.

“There’s no one else like me, or you.” She rolled up into a sitting position but doubted she could stand on her own. “Give me a minute, and I’ll bring us some cake.”

He swept his hair out of his eyes. “I think I remember cake, but it doesn’t taste nearly as good as you.”

He wore such a convincing grin, she believed him. This was going to be her most glorious summer ever, and she couldn’t bear to think how soon it would have to end.

Chapter Nine

Santos spooned Libby in his bed later that night. She lay relaxed in his arms, filled with a dreamy contentment, until a whiff of smoke jarred her awake. She sat up to make certain she wasn’t dreaming and then grabbed his shoulder. “Wake up, something’s burning!”

She leaped from the bed and rushed to the door. It was cool, and she pulled it open to look out. At the end of the hall, smoke billowed from the elevator door and rolled toward them along the ceiling. “There’s a fire in the elevator!”

“What?” He rolled out of bed and pulled on his shorts. “The alarm system should have gone off.”

She looked down at her sleep shirt but didn’t care what she had on. “Come on, we have to leave the house while we can.” She handed him his crutches and pulled him toward the door. “Hurry! We can call the fire department from a neighbor’s.”

Flames shot from the elevator door. He grabbed his cell phone and made his way as fast as he could behind her. She dodged into her room, grabbed her purse to save her passport and stopped at the top of the stairs. Santos threw his crutches over the banister and, holding on to the rail, hopped down the stairs beside her. There was a security panel by the front door, and when he hit the button to alert the security company, the alarm sounded with a beeping wail. He unlocked the front door and pushed Libby though it.

He used his cell phone to summon the fire department. The station was so close, they immediately heard the sound of sirens in the distance. “There really is a fire extinguisher in the kitchen.” He turned back toward the open doorway, and Libby grabbed his arm.

“No! Don’t go back in. That’s how people get killed. You’re staying right here.”

Awakened by the alarm, Manuel came running from his garage apartment, and Santos told him to park the cars on the street. “If the fire spreads, I’m not losing the Hispano-Suiza.”

Libby was more worried about the beautiful artwork in the house. The spectacular paintings were too heavy for her to carry out on her own, and on crutches, Santos couldn’t help her.

Within minutes of having been called, the firefighters pulled up in front of the house and jumped down from their huge red trucks. They wore the familiar black protective gear with yellow stripes on their coats, but rather than the hats she was used to seeing on firefighters, they wore helmets. Santos directed them to the smoky back hall, where flames glowed from the elevator shaft. He and Libby kept out of their way outside as they dragged in heavy hoses and using foam, attacked from the first and second floors to swiftly extinguish the blaze.