by Phoebe Conn
“Let’s go in the den.” She led him down the stairs and into the book-lined room where her father often worked late into the night. She closed the door and looped her arms around his neck. “I recall telling you one time that people ought to use more sense when it comes to relationships, but when it comes to you, I can’t cope with logic. Let’s just see if the magic is still there.”
He settled his hands on her waist to draw her against him. “A test? I’ll do my best.”
He began with soft gentle kisses, teasing her, luring her close. He did it so easily, and she responded as she always had and pressed against him. Clinging to him, she let him pull her past all hope of reason or restraint and didn’t draw away until a lack of oxygen made her dizzy. She sifted his hair through her fingers. “You still feel magical to me, and I’d recognize your cologne in a crowd.”
“You’d said you wanted some.”
“I didn’t open the box, and your posters are still in the mailing tube.”
“Then you didn’t see how I signed them?”
“Was it something special?”
He rested his hands on her hips. “I thought you might not translate them, but I said, to my heart, my soul, my love, always. Even if I hadn’t been able to say it to you, I wrote it.”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “Would you have come here in September if I’d understood and called you?”
He kissed her cheek and the tender spot behind her ear. “I wanted you to finish school, so probably not. Maybe I wasn’t ready. I’ve never thought of myself as slow, but I’ve never loved anyone but you.”
She loved standing in his arms. He felt warm and as solid as forever. “So you sent me away.”
“Seems really stupid now, doesn’t it?”
“It would have been stupid if you hadn’t come to your senses. Now what are we going to do about the fact I want a family and you’re overburdened with the one you have?”
He pulled her close. “You’re more important to me than playing it safe. I want to do what will make you happy.”
She leaned back to look up at him and smiled at the bright sparkle in his eyes. “Santos, really, who’s been coaching you?”
He laughed. “Maggie. She thought I’d still have a chance with you if I told you the truth.”
“I don’t know, the truth skitters around the Aragon family like mosquitos in Minnesota summers.”
He sighed. “That’s true, but we can hope to do better. Still, there’s no reason to tell people things that will hurt them, so some secrets are justified.”
She caressed his cheek. “True. I’m so surprised to see you. Are you really serious?”
“I’ve an engagement ring in my pocket. Is that serious enough?” He pulled out the small blue box.
His sly smile made her draw back. She’d never expected to see him again, and here he was with a ring? He could have at least made a phone call to warn her he was coming. He was always so damn sure of himself. Rather than scream, she bit her lip. “Were you that confident you’d need one?” she asked with forced sweetness.
He gave her a gentle kiss. “I knew how much I wanted you and thought it couldn’t hurt.”
Remembering the warm nights they’d shared in Spain, she realized there was very little the man could do to harm his cause; nevertheless, she gave him an impatient push. “Fine, then come and propose in front of everyone. I want witnesses.”
“Shouldn’t I speak with your father first?”
She opened the door. “I don’t feel like bothering with that formality tonight, and you want to please me, remember?”
“Yes, but I’d hoped for somewhere more romantic. Perhaps a dark closet.”
She laughed and closed the door to kiss him again. “I’ve really missed you. I haven’t laughed even once since I came home.”
“Then we’ve more to catch up on than I thought.” He opened the door and followed her into the living room. When everyone looked their way, he took Libby’s hand to pull her close. “I’d get down on one knee, but I might not be able to get back up, and you’d tease me about it on every anniversary. I love you, Libby. Will you marry me?”
She smiled through the words. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
He opened the box to show off a sparkling diamond solitaire in a Tiffany setting. “Let’s see if this fits.”
She held out her hand, and he slid the beautiful ring on her finger. “Perfect.” He picked her up in an exuberant hug and set her down gently. “I don’t want to rush you. We can have as long an engagement as you’d like. Not years, please, but long enough for you to be sure.”
“Let me say something first,” her mother said. “Clearly I’m to blame for setting an unfortunate example for the family, but are you sure you want to marry a matador?”
Libby squeezed Santos’s hand. “It’s what Santos is, not merely what he does, and yes, I’m sure. What about a summer wedding next year?”
Her mother reached for her husband’s hand for comfort. “Please say you’ll have the wedding here rather than on the beach in Spain.”
Santos hugged Libby close. “I’ll be proud to marry your daughter anywhere she chooses, but we’ve done the beach wedding, and something here would be fine.”
“How long do you think it will take us to plan an engagement party, Mom? I want everyone to meet Santos.”
“We’ll have to wait until after the holidays, or there would be too many conflicts, so that will give us a little time. It would be a big party with all your sorority sisters and friends, but we should be able to pull it together.”
“Thank you.” Libby looked up at Santos with a delighted smile. “When do you and Fox have to go home?”
“Fox has to be back at school mid-January, and I’d want him at the party.”
Fox was standing with Patricia by the Christmas tree. “I’m honored, I suppose, but while we’re here, I need to see the university. I might want to come here next year.”
“What do you think?” Santos asked Libby.
Her father moved toward the kitchen. “Let’s open a bottle of champagne and celebrate. Tomorrow we can worry about who’s going to school where.”
Santos nodded. “Fine. I forgot to tell you the American school where Maggie is teaching will have an opening for a girls’ coach soon after the New Year. Would you like to apply?”
Libby noted the grin he could barely contain. “You were going to get me back to Spain anyway you could, weren’t you?”
“I won’t deny it,” he admitted. “Do you blame me?”
“Not at all. And I want to go back to Spain with you.” Libby’s smile lit the whole room. “An hour ago, I was searching for even a drop of Christmas cheer, and now you’re here and my whole life has changed. I’m so glad you came with Fox.”
Santos would never admit how long it had taken him to find the courage to make the trip, but surely he was allowed this one secret from the woman he adored.
About the Author
Always a passionate lover of books, this New York Times bestselling author first answered a call to write in 1980 and swiftly embarked on her own mythic journey. With more than seven million copies in print of her historical, contemporary and futuristic books written under her own name as well as her pseudonym, Cinnamon Burke, she is as enthusiastic as ever about writing.
A native Californian, Phoebe attended the University of Arizona and California State University at Los Angeles where she earned a BA in Art History and an MA in Education. Her books have won Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Awards and a nomination for Storyteller of the Year. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, Novelists Inc., PEN, AWritersWork.com and Backlistebooks.com.
She is the proud mother of two grown sons and two adorable grandchildren, who love to have her read to them. She loves to hear from fans. Please contact her through her web site: www.phoebeconn.com or her e-mail: [email protected]
Look for these titles by Phoebe Conn
Now Available:
Where Dreams Begin
Fierce Love
Retro Romance
Captive Heart
By Love Enslaved
Swept Away
Their affair is the main attraction…and the distraction a killer has waited for.
Fierce Love
© 2012 Phoebe Conn
Magdalena Aragon never thought she’d answer the summons of a father she’s never known. The world-famous, many-times-married matador has provided everything she needs—except his time. There’s only one reason she packs her bags for Spain: what her psychologist calls “closure.”
In spite of herself, she’s drawn in by her father’s charm, irresistible despite his desperate illness. Then there’s his handsome protégé, a rising star in a sport she hates, yet he sets her passions on fire.
With a past as shadowy as his Gypsy heritage, Rafael Mondragon has always had to fight for what he wants. His freedom, his dream to become a star in the bull ring, and now his mentor’s daughter, who stirs his every dark desire.
Certain she won’t be staying long, Maggie escapes from the craziness of her newly discovered, fractured family to indulge in a red-hot fling. After all, Rafael is the last man she could ever love. Her heart has other ideas.
The heat from their affair captures the attention of the wrong people—the tabloids, and someone who has a twisted sense of honor. By the time Rafael realizes Maggie is the real target, it could be too late to save her.
Warning: Hot sex, dangerous secrets, men who challenge death for sport.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Fierce Love:
Maggie had often felt like an outsider in her own family, but she’d had a pampered childhood and had always been loved. She could easily imagine Rafael running through the streets barefoot, his hair too long, and in need of a bath. They were back on the freeway before she relaxed. “Barcelona is a beautiful city. The air here sparkles with energy. Except for the water, the terrain closely resembles Arizona. It’s easy to see why the Conquistadores were at home in America’s southwest.”
“You live in Arizona?”
“Yes, in Tucson.”
“It’s close to the border with Mexico, isn’t it? I could come visit you when I fight there.”
Her first thought was to invite him to speak on her high school’s career day. She was certain no matador had ever been part of the program. “Yes, I suppose you could. Do you have a crew who travels with you?”
“No, I have to carry my own luggage and hire men to work in the ring.”
“Are they difficult to find?”
“No, but good ones are. Have you ever been to a bullfight?”
“No, I’ve read a lot about them, but I’ve never wanted to go.”
“Your father has films he could show you. He was among the very best.”
“So I’ve heard, but bullfighting is too violent for my tastes.”
“But it’s a very beautiful violence,” he argued. “You might learn to appreciate it.”
“I’d be more likely to sprout wings and fly home.”
He dropped his voice to a more sympathetic tone. “You should be more open to new experiences.”
“Does that line work on other women?”
“With me as the experience? I’m too busy to chase women. I want to know you; that’s a different thing.”
If her father weren’t Miguel Aragon, they’d never have met, and she couldn’t help but feel her father was a huge factor in his interest. “Thank you.”
When they reached her father’s home, he walked her up to the front door and leaned down to kiss her. It was another mere token of a kiss, as brief as the one when they’d danced. She knew he could do better, but turned away to reach for the doorknob and found the door locked.
“Oh no, I didn’t think to ask for a key and I hate to wake Mrs. Lopez.”
“Do you have a cell phone to call Santos or the twins?”
“I didn’t bring it with me, and I don’t know their numbers. Let’s go around to the back. Maybe they left the kitchen door open for me.”
He took her hand in a soft clasp. “I’ll stay with you if you can’t get in. We could sleep on the beach, and you’d be able to sneak back into the house when the kitchen help arrives in the morning. No one would have to know you’d been out all night.”
The evening was pleasantly warm, but sleeping on the beach with him for company couldn’t possibly be as innocent as he made it sound. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
He tried the back door. “It’s locked too.” He stepped back to look up at the second floor, but no lights were showing. “Maybe Santos isn’t home yet. We could wait for him here.”
She moved farther back to also search the dark balconies. The shutters that closed them off from the sea at night were all shut. “The twins said they’d wait up for me. Maybe they’re watching a movie downstairs. I’ve not been through the whole house, so I’m not sure where to look. There should be a nurse on duty. Maybe she’ll come into the kitchen.”
“So the house is full of people?” he asked.
She swallowed hard but still felt as though she’d been deliberately shut out. It brought a familiar ache, and she shook it off. “It could be, but I’d rather not wake my grandmother or Cirilda.”
“Or Santos?” he added softly.
“Are matadors ever friends?”
He looked out toward the sea. “We must take care of ourselves first. That doesn’t leave much time for friends. Although I have jumped into an arena a time or two to distract a bull when another matador has slipped and fallen.”
“I’m sure no one doubts your bravery.”
“Of course they do. Every time I fight, I must prove it all over again. Fans keep screaming for more and more. The trick is not to listen.”
“Is that something my father taught you?”
“Yes, he taught me everything I know. He’s the reason I love bullfighting. You should have seen him.”
Clearly Rafael was an adrenaline junkie who lived for increasingly dangerous thrills. Her father had survived, even if others hadn’t. Some women were drawn to daredevils of every sort, but she wasn’t among them.
A glass-topped patio table and chairs, a chaise and padded stools were clustered together on the patio. He gestured toward the chaise. “We should make ourselves comfortable.”
“Someone will turn up sooner or later. I’d rather walk on the beach.” She kicked off her shoes.
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
She sighed. “No. Bullfighting has been popular for centuries in Spain. You’ve grown up loving it, and I can understand the need some people have for excitement.”
“But you don’t approve?”
“How you choose to live your life is no concern of mine. Are you trying to start a fight?”
“Why would I do that?”
She’d learned a great deal from Craig and gave one of the psychologist’s explanations. “Some people are used to being surrounded by turmoil, and whenever it’s absent, they create it themselves.”
He looked puzzled. “You’ve met men who’d rather fight than dance?”
“A few, but I didn’t know them long.”
“They disappointed you?”
“No, I didn’t give them the chance.” She looked up at the house. “This is a wonderfully strange home, isn’t it?”
He moved close. “Not everyone admires Gaudí.”
“I do. No one has ever seen the world the way he did.”
He leaned down to slide a curl off her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “How do you see the world?”
With him standing so close, her thoughts were on him rather than philosophy. “I don’t know. That’s one of the reasons I came here, to make sense of everything.”
“In a week?”
“Why not? Maybe a week is enough, or it could take me a lifetime.”
“Then you needn’t do it all tonight. Let’s go on
down to the water. It’s a shame everyone can’t live on the edge of the sea.”
“Some people prefer the mountains.”
“Do you?”
His frequent questions surprised her. Most men talked only about themselves. He was too smart to do so, apparently, but she still didn’t trust him. Unused to being a celebrity’s daughter, she was beginning to sympathize with public figures’ children and how difficult their lives truly must be. They’d never know who were truly their friends or where the answer to an innocent question might appear for the world to see or read.
“I could watch the sea all day,” she confided softly. “Mountains provide lovely scenery and views, but the sea’s never static.”
“I’d rather dance.” He raised her hand to turn her in a slow twirl. “It’s difficult to dance in sand, though.”
She laughed with him. While she never wanted to see it, she bet his grace served him well in the bullring. When he pulled her close, she moved easily into his arms. His kiss was another light brush across her lips, tender and sweet, leaving her with an unfamiliar ache for more. She wondered if he were closer to being a gentle soul rather than a swaggering matador. Regardless, he was a very desirable man. She grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him back.
“Kiss me like you mean it.” She licked his lower lip, and he tightened his grasp on her waist to lift her off the sandy patio. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on. She flicked her tongue over his and waited for him to make the kiss his own. He was still slow and sweet, but he lingered now, and his affection had the intoxicating allure of the wine they’re shared and took her breath away.
The sweep of Santos’s headlights startled them both. “I’m sorry,” he murmured and set her down.
She’s a dreamer. He’s a realist. Somewhere in the middle is love—and danger.
Where Dreams Begin
© 2011 Phoebe Conn
After her husband’s death, Catherine Brooks is ready to go back to work—almost. She volunteers at a shelter for homeless teens, Lost Angel, thinking it will ease her return to the classroom. There’s nothing easy about irascible shelter manager Luke Starns, though. His cool detachment rubs her the wrong way, especially when he warns her not to get too attached. Still, the soft heart she senses beneath his stern exterior keeps her coming back—and his face pervades her thoughts.
