Fierce Love Read Free Page A

chauffeur curled his free hand around her upper arm and nearly lifted her off her feet. “There’s no need. It’s parked nearby.”
    Although shocked by his forceful grasp, Maggie refused to be manhandled by some arrogant sibling who’d lacked the manners to offer his name. Maybe he wasn’t really a brother but merely a handsome young man with sinister intentions. After all, her father was a major celebrity in Spain, and she might actually be in danger.
    “Let go of me right now, or I’ll scream I’m being kidnapped,” she threatened through tightly clenched teeth.
    The chauffeur swore softly under his breath and pulled her around to face him. “Please don’t waste our time with temper tantrums. We may already be too late.”
    They were surrounded by travelers shouting to their friends and hailing taxis and hotel vans. Overhead, a departing flight soared toward the clouds, and buffeted by the noise of the screaming jets, she desperately wanted to believe she’d misunderstood him. The seriousness of his expression was utterly convincing, however.
    “Too late for what?” she asked fretfully.
    He glanced around to make certain no one was standing close enough to overhear, and even then barely mouthed his reply. “Miguel’s dying. Why else would he have sent for you?”
    That he’d delivered the heart-wrenching news in such a cruel fashion doubled the hurt, and she recoiled in pain. “You bastard.”
    “I won’t deny it”—he laughed—“but I’m still the best of your brothers.”
    “Then I’m in worse trouble than I thought.” For a brief instant, she was tempted to run back into the terminal and book the first flight home, but she’d come too far to pass up what might be her only chance to meet her father. “Let’s go, then,” she agreed abruptly. “Do you have the limo to go with your uniform?”
    This time he took her arm in a gentle grasp and led the way around a man guarding an enormous heap of battered luggage. “I have something even better,” he promised.
    “Not your own airplane, I hope,” she replied, fearful he might shove her out with no parachute as soon as they were airborne.
    “Not yet.”
    She’d worn low heels with a black sweater and jeans for travel, but any woman would have needed track shoes to keep up with the pace set by her brother/chauffeur. She hadn’t slept well all week, and after a tiring flight, she was relieved when they entered the nearest parking structure. Rather than use the elevator, they headed down the ramp toward the lower levels.
    They didn’t have far to go before her newfound brother drew her over to a vintage sedan that easily outclassed any standard limousine. Black and low, it called to mind the impossibly romantic times of Rudolf Valentino as well as the notorious Chicago gangsters. The chrome hood ornament was a magnificent flying crane, the most elegant emblem she’d ever seen. The whole car was a stunning work of art.
    “You’re right,” she said. “There couldn’t be a more perfect car for a matador.”
    “It’s a Hispano-Suiza,” he announced as he opened the trunk. “It’s one of the finest automobiles ever built. There are a few in the States. Have you never seen one?”
    “I don’t usually pay much attention to cars, but I would have remembered if I’d ever seen one of these.” She’d thought all her father collected were beautiful young wives, not vintage automobiles.
    “Tell me your name,” she coaxed as she circled the car.
    “I’m Santos Aragon,” he replied proudly. “While that may mean nothing to you, here in Spain I’m more popular than Brad Pitt. We were lucky to leave the airport before I was recognized.”
    He tossed her bag into the car’s cavernous trunk with an easy swing, then peeled off his coat and laid it inside with his hat. There was the mellow thud of fine steel when he slammed the trunk shut, and with a sweeping gesture, he ushered Maggie to the passenger side of the car.
    “You’ll sit up