Fierce Love Read Free Page B

here with me so it will be easier to talk.”
    It was an order rather than an invitation, but because it suited her purpose, she climbed into the elegant sedan. The leather seat was cool to the touch, and she shivered slightly as she fastened a seat belt that had been added decades after the car had been built. As soon as Santos had eased into the driver’s seat, she issued a command of her own.
    “My mother was the first of Miguel Aragon’s wives. Tell me where you fit into the family.”
    Santos shot her a menacing glance, then turned the key in the ignition. He gunned the sleek car’s powerful engine to underscore his words. “I’ll tell you what I was told, but that doesn’t mean it’s true.” He raised his hands slightly from the wheel. “You’ll soon discover Father always prefers a colorful story to the truth, but for now, you’ll have to trust me.”
    “That might be unwise,” she shot right back at him.
    “Time will tell, but then, you’re not staying long.” He gave his immediate attention to safely exiting the parking structure, then waved as the attendant raised the barrier without charging him. “In Spain, there are many advantages to being the son of a famous matador, or daughter, as well.”
    She was embarrassed by the fierce pride of her childhood and shook her head. “Just tell me your story before I fall asleep.”
    “It’s a very sad tale. Better take out your handkerchief.”
    “I should have just asked what’s the matter with our father,” she responded impatiently.
    “It’s his heart,” he replied. “He needs a new one but fears he won’t be the same with another man’s heart beating within his chest.”
    Craig had suggested Miguel might want her forgiveness, but she hadn’t dreamed he would have such a tragic motivation. “So he’s not on a transplant list?”
    “No, he’s waiting to die and wants his children gathered around him.”
    Then she was just one of the many, nothing special at all. She swallowed hard. It was a glorious afternoon, bright and pleasantly warm, but she felt chilled clear through. Santos had entered the freeway, and they were traveling south along the coast. The palm trees and red-tiled roofs reminded her of America’s southwest, but the beautiful view provided no solace.
    “Is there a real danger we might be too late?” she asked.
    He shrugged. “Yes. I wasn’t trying to scare you. Now you interrupted me, and you should know who I am.”
    She gestured for him to continue. He so closely resembled her mother’s treasured photographs of Miguel that looking his way made her heart ache. They had gotten off to a poor start, but she couldn’t help but feel the fault was his.
    “My mother’s name was Rosa Sanchez,” he began. “Her parents worked for my, our, grandparents at the ranch outside Zaragoza. She and Miguel grew up together, but she was merely a servant’s daughter and not nearly good enough for him. He says he didn’t care what his parents thought and wanted to marry her. That’s why he was sent to the United States for college, although he was no scholar. He swears he didn’t know my mother was pregnant when he married yours. By the time he returned home, I was a year old and my beautiful mother was dead.”
    She wondered if Miguel betrayed every woman he met. She had to force herself to ask, “What happened to her?”
    Santos waved as they passed two pretty young women in a convertible Porsche. “When our grandmother told her that her beloved Miguel had married an American girl, she hanged herself in the stable.”
    “Dear God,” Maggie cried. “It’s no wonder you don’t like me. I’m surprised you agreed to meet me at the airport.”
    He replied with a softly voiced curse. “I wasn’t given a choice, Magdalena. You’ll soon learn how Miguel Aragon runs his household or how our grandmother runs it for him. I despise the bitch. She’ll tolerate your presence rather than welcome you to our home. Our Aunt Cirilda is