He handed the shovel to Perry, and Maggie watched him go, while the twins kept their eyes on Rafael. “I’m sorry even if he isn’t,” she said. “We’d just met, and…”
“He’s always awful,” Connie insisted. “It doesn’t matter what we say or do. He must have been born that way. He’s proud of the fact we aren’t related by blood, and so are we.”
Rafael took the shovel from Perry and moved to the other side of the sand heap they’d begun. “What are you building?”
“Hogwarts,” Perry suddenly decided. “Do you know how it looks?”
Maggie recognized the panicked disappointment in his eyes and waved her arm. “High walls, steep roofs, towers. It’ll be a challenge, but I’m sure you girls could do it.”
Inspired, the twins dropped to their knees and began patting the sand into shape. Maggie turned her back to them and spoke softly. “I don’t believe you walked out here to play in the sand.”
“No. Tonight I’d like to take you to Bailaora, a place with the best flamenco dancing in Barcelona. Tourists never even hear of it.”
“Can we go too?” Connie asked.
“No,” he announced firmly. “My invitation is for Magdalena. Pretty children should be at home in their beds late at night.”
Perry made a face. “No one will know we’re underage if you don’t tell them.”
“I won’t take you along, so there’ll be no reason for anyone to lie,” he scolded. “I’m an excellent tour guide as well as a fine dancer,” he assured Maggie.
Santos had said their father welcomed Rafael’s visits, but Maggie didn’t feel comfortable standing beside him on the beach. It wasn’t simply his height and obvious strength that warned her away; it was the sheer intensity of his manner. Some might call it charisma, but she searched for another word to describe his strong effect on her.
“Thank you, but I came here to spend time with my father, and I’ve only been here one day,” she answered. “Could we go another time?”
He studied her expression a long moment. “I understand when a woman says no, she means it.”
“Does a woman ever tell you no?” Perry teased.
“Not often.” He flashed a quick grin.
It softened his features, but Maggie hadn’t come to Spain to have a fling with a matador, of all people. A quick, hot fling, she revised silently. And yet, no matter how unlike her, the prospect held a surprising appeal. Craig had urged her to come to Spain not only to meet her father, but also to find a missing part of herself. Maybe she ought to take a risk for a change, for her own good. She swallowed hard.
“I’ll be here only a week,” she announced, the decision made in an instant. “I don’t want to miss a chance to see some real flamenco. Could we go tonight after my father has gone to bed?”
Rafael’s dark eyes widened in surprise, and he nodded. “I’ll come by at eleven. That should give you enough time to visit with him.”
“I’ll see you then,” she replied. He told the twins good-bye, handed her the shovel and walked away with the same easy grace he’d shown as a dancer.
“You’ve got to tell us everything,” Perry whispered.
The twins’ eyes glowed with mischief. Obviously they were expecting a lurid account of a sizzling evening. Maggie laughed. “He invited me to see some flamenco, that’s all.”
“You may have just met Rafael,” Connie offered, “but he’s like all men, and dancing isn’t what he really wants. You have to know that.”
Maggie drew in a deep breath, but with their father as an example, it was no wonder the girls believed so little of men. “You mustn’t dismiss men so quickly,” she cautioned. “They often have a surprising depth, just as women do.”
The girls rolled their eyes in disbelief, and Maggie didn’t waste another word. “All right, what are we going to do? Build Hogwarts or practice flamenco?”
Perry brushed off her hands. “We were only out here because Connie has a crush on Fox.”
“I do not!” Connie cried. “He’s too conceited to care about anyone but himself!”
“Hold that thought,” Maggie replied. “It’s the perfect mood for flamenco. That disdain has to be in your every step and turn.” The twins skipped over the sand toward the house, and Maggie envied them their light-hearted enthusiasm.
The housekeeper, Teresa Lopez, was barely five feet tall, slim as a reed, and her pinched features held a birdlike sharpness. She wore black as though she’d been born in it and was clearly accustomed to being obeyed. She met Maggie outside her room. “The maid’s job is to make your bed and straighten your belongings. You must cease doing her work for her.”
Maggie wasn’t certain how many servants worked in the house, but she’d never employed one. “I’m used to taking care of myself,” she replied. “Couldn’t you assign her some other tasks?”