is one of the finest tailors in Spain, so he has plenty of work. He recalled every suit with an amazing clarity. It was a history lesson, and I sat there and listened. He made your father's suits; that's why I went to him."
"Is a matador buried in one of his trajes de luces?"
"If he died young and still fit into one, maybe. If he's an older gentlemen and heavier, probably not. I don't know what your father would want."
"I don't either. He must have left instructions." She hadn't thought of his will, but she'd have to stay until it was read to make certain Fox was cared for. "I'm glad you were there that afternoon. There was something magical about the way we met on the stairs."
He pulled her close. "Magical? If I'm ever so poor I must tell fortunes for a living, I'll remember that." He lowered his voice. "The stranger you meet on a stairway will change your life. How's that?"
"It was true in our case, or at least for me."
He growled against her throat. "Even if you won't admit it, you do love me."
She curled into his arms. How could she say she loved him when she couldn't accept the way he earned his living? It would be far safer just to dance. She longed for what she could give him. "Could we dance without disturbing your downstairs neighbor?"
He sat up, rolled off the sofa and gave her a hand. "She is a very sweet lady who is profoundly deaf, so we can dance until dawn if you like."
"Let's try." She slipped the red dress over her head and unpacked her dancing shoes. Rafael changed his shirt for a black silk one he preferred for dancing. He moved the coffee table, rolled up the small rug in front of the couch and put on the music.
She remembered her castanets and rummaged through her bag to find them. At last ready, she struck a favorite dance pose and looked over her shoulder at him. He wore an indulgent smile. "It's better to celebrate a man's life than dwell on his death," she offered.
He tapped his heels in a spirited rhythm. "I agree."
She clicked her castanets in time with his steps and lost herself in the music. Emotion rose within her, but it was neither sorrow nor regret, only the deep joy of knowing him. When he pulled her into his arms and kissed her as though they'd been parted for centuries, she welcomed his unbridled affection and returned it in full measure. Their clothes went flying toward the couch. Her castanets bounced off the ceiling when she flung them away. Whether his passion was a celebration of the day, or from the depths of grief-laced despair, she craved it all.
Chapter Sixteen
They had gone to sleep so late they were still in bed when Santos called the next morning. Rafael got up to hand Maggie her phone, and she yawned through a mumbled hello.
"I have Augustin's memoir. Come to my place, and we'll read it."
She sat up straight. "Cirilda felt up to visiting her bank?"
"There's a great deal to do, and Grandmother won't leave her bed. Cirilda and I are making all the plans, and it was one of our stops. The funeral will be at the Basilica de Nuestra Se?ora del Pilar in Zaragoza at eleven o'clock on Wednesday morning. Grandmother wants it private, but the news will get out, and hundreds, if not thousands, will attend. Now let me talk to Rafael, and I'll give him the directions to my apartment."
"We need to go to Santos's place." She handed him the phone and a curt exchange of information followed. She left the bed to shower first, and dressed in dark pants. Knowing Rafael would wear black as always, she dug through her bag for a dark print knit top she hadn't worn yet so they wouldn't look like a silly couple who dressed alike.
As he pulled the car away from the curb, he turned to ask, "Was I too rough last night?"
"No, not at all. I find passion very appealing."
"Just any man's passion?" he asked.
A night in bed with him had left her so relaxed she responded easily to his teasing. "Excuse me, dearest, of course I was referring to you, not the general male population. I didn't mean to insult you."
He laughed in spite of his effort to remain serious. "I'm sorry. I was just worried about you."