Fierce Love Read Online Free Page A

all the others, the end always came. One morning I would wake to find my new brothers and sisters had vanished during the night, but another set would soon arrive to take their places. A few I had actually grown to love and missed terribly, but there were so many over the years that now I can’t recall all their names.”
    Maggie could scarcely imagine the chaos of growing up in a home with a constantly shifting cast of characters, but Santos made it plain he didn’t want sympathy. She offered her own story instead. “I was raised by my mother and stepfather. I have two half sisters but no brothers, and I’m very glad to have met you. Although I can’t stay long, I won’t slip away like the others, but you’ll have to help me stay in touch.”
    After a brief hesitation, he dipped his head. “I can’t promise much, but I suppose I could try.”
    “Thank you. I’ll have to make a note of everyone’s names or I won’t be able to keep them straight.”
    At last a relaxed smile crossed Santos’s lips. “Names will be a challenge, but I’ll help you. Perhaps you’ll stay long enough to hear all of Spain shouting mine.”
    He had bragged he was popular, but she hadn’t stopped to consider why. The most obvious reason terrified her. “Dear God, Santos, are you a matador too?”
    “Of course,” he responded with a booming laugh. “What else would the eldest son of Miguel Aragon be?”
    Maggie just shook her head and shuddered.

Chapter Three
    The other lavishly appointed villas hugging the Golden Coast also had whitewashed walls and red-tiled roofs, but those were the only features they shared with Miguel Aragon’s imposing estate. Obviously inspired by Barcelona’s visionary genius Antonio Gaudí, the architect had foresworn right angles for undulating curves. Exposed beams, stained glass and bougainvillea bearing a profusion of magenta flowers adorned the exterior, and had Maggie not been so eager to meet her father, she would have insisted upon an immediate tour.
    Santos parked the Hispano-Suiza at the front of the garage, and a tall man clad in overalls came out to meet them. “That’s Manuel. He serves as chauffeur for our grandmother and aunt and keeps all our cars running. Let’s hurry. I want to take you up to Father’s room before anyone else notices we’re here.”
    Maggie had already stepped out onto the gravel driveway before he reached her car door. Her arrival in Spain hadn’t gone the way she’d hoped, and she feared the strangeness of her father’s beach house did not bode well for her stay. “Does this place have a name?” she asked as they entered through an arched doorway.
    “It’s La Casa Contenta , the House of Contentment, which makes it ill-named for our family.”
    Maggie hadn’t needed the translation, but after Santos had greeted her in English, their conversation had become heated so rapidly she’d failed to mention she was fluent in Spanish. Now concerned her grandmother and aunt might actually be as self-serving as he’d described, she fought a brief twinge of guilt, then decided to keep her linguistic talents a secret awhile longer.
    Santos led her through a starkly modern kitchen decorated in arctic white and matte-finished steel without speaking to the chef and his helpers, but an exotic mixture of savory aromas provided convincing proof the man was preparing a culinary masterpiece for supper. Maggie hadn’t eaten on the plane, but despite the rush of enticing scents, she felt more hollow than hungry.
    Santos gestured for her to precede him up the narrow rear staircase to the second story, but now that she was just seconds away from meeting her father, her mind went maddeningly blank. She’d been too angry with him to memorize a set speech, which might have been a foolish oversight, but she hadn’t known he was ill. Shaking slightly as she reached the landing, she drew in a deep breath and moved aside for Santos to lead the way. All too quickly, he paused before