Matador, Mi Amor. William Maltese

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СКАЧАТЬ much as Alyssa had pressed for more details, Karen hadn’t obliged.

      “Best not stir up that cesspool at the moment,” had been her mother’s concluding comment.

      Alyssa now placed her glass back on the tray, picked up one of the remaining sandwiches and followed Mara into the bathroom.

      As Mara helped Alyssa out of her clothes, Alyssa took stock of herself in the un-steamed segments of the mirror. She decided, as she always did when she took the time for cool analysis of herself, that she was neither all that good nor all that bad in the looks department.

      Actually, she was being modest, as any man would have gladly told her, had he but been given the chance. Alyssa had spent a good deal of her life behind mansion walls, and within all-girl schools, relatively sheltered from men and their compliments.

      Actually, Ty Gordman had been the only real boyfriend she’d ever had. Although he told her often enough that she was beautiful, she wasn’t prone to believe him, especially since he was so obviously too smitten to be truly candid.

      “Where else, my dear, do you plan to find another man so handsome, so socially well-connected, and so head-over-heels in love with you?” Karen had frankly wanted to know.

      Alyssa had been tempted to ask just what made her mother any great authority on what did, or didn’t, constitute a good marriage prospect, since none of Karen’s marriages had turned out any great success story. Often, Alyssa found herself wondering if even her mother’s marriage to Alyssa’s father would have survived if forced to stand the real test of time.

      Mara’s eyes were less critical than were Alyssa’s of the young woman’s obvious charms. Mara knew a real beauty when she saw one and could appreciate that Alyssa had somehow managed to arrive at young womanhood without being obnoxiously aware of her physical perfection. Mara had seen more than her share of attractive young women paraded through that very house by Lalo Montego when he was alive. The majority of those great beauties had been so aware of their physical attributes that their knowledge had made them less appealing than they might otherwise have been.

      “Is the water too hot?” Mara asked, watching Alyssa tentatively begin her descent into it.

      Actually, the “tub” was a small pool built into the floor, lined with the same sunburst-centered deep blue tiles that covered the walls, floor, and ceiling.

      “The water’s fine,” Alyssa answered, taking one more small step down into the glaze of steaming liquid heaped, here and there, with fluffy mounds of bubble-bath-spawned suds.

      In the mirror, her duplicate reflected back: blonde hair, smooth skin, exquisitely long legs, slim waist, ample breasts, and sensuous shoulders and neck.

      She sat, letting the water cover all of her except her neck and face, as Mara moved quickly to pile Alyssa’s mane of hair atop the young woman’s head and wrap it securely into place with a heavy towel.

      Mara, who only vaguely remembered Alyssa’s mother, was quite convinced Alyssa could lay claim to most of the mother’s remembered good looks. That said, from what Mara could divine, on such short notice, the daughter’s disposition was far better than the mother’s had ever been. Then, again, Lalo Montego had something about him that eventually made all of his women less than lovable. There had been something decidedly destructive about Lalo’s relationships with women—and men. Any woman. Any man, except, maybe, for Joaquín Hidalgo. Mara conjectured that Lalo had never loved any of them. All he had ever loved, up until his bitter end, had been his precious bulls and the times he spent in the corridas with them. At least Alyssa had been spared Lalo Montego.

      Lalo had been the victim of a bull-horn thrust which should never have caught him in the belly. He’d been way too old to be fighting bulls in the bullring at the time. Yet, he couldn’t stay away; and, despite what some people had thought, it had nothing whatsoever to do with the large sum of money the promoters had paid him for his come-back. Lalo Montego always had plenty of money, even before he ever stepped into his first bullring as a boy of thirteen.

      For some reason, he had simply been drawn to the corrida, even at the very end. Apparently, it had made no difference that his coordination wasn’t what it had once been, nor that the bulls were no the less dangerous.

      No matter what all the bleeding liberals said, the bulls were not always destined to be bested on every Sunday afternoon. Ask Lalo Montego, wherever he was—in heaven or, more than likely, in hell.

      Kneeling to wash Alyssa’s back, Mara didn’t like to think of Lalo actually in hell; although it was suspicions of his presence there that saw her praying for his soul each and every night. He had destroyed and mangled a lot of lives, even if he had always been kind to her. But, then, he had never really loved her. If he had, she, too, might have come to have a different impression of him. Strangely, it was the ones Lalo seemed to love the most (if he loved at all), who had ended up suffering the most at this hands.

      “Do you think it would be all right if I just stayed where I am for awhile and just soak?” Alyssa asked, knowing that Mara had finished on her back and was now merely going through the motions. “It really feels so glorious.”

      “You soak, then,” Mara said. “I’ll go unpack your things to makes sure it gets done properly. As you’ll soon find out, some of the girls around here need someone to take a firm hand. I’ve tried my best to keep them in tow; but, any great house needs a master or mistress in residence to take up the slack resulting from most everyone’s natural inclination toward laziness at the first opportunity.”

      “You’ll have to help me, Mara,” Alyssa said. “Until I get the rhythm of things, I’m afraid I’m rather out of my element.”

      “Don’t you worry, honey,” Mara told her. “You’ll do just fine.”

      The servant retreated to the other room where Flavio had unobtrusively deposited Alyssa’s luggage.

      Alyssa slipped deeper into the womb-like warmth of the water. She laid her head against the edge of the tub and shut her eyes. She didn’t actually fall asleep; but, she was very close to it when Mara returned to yank a large Turkish towel from the warming rack.

      “You don’t want to stay in there so long as to catch a chill,” Mara warned with concerned authority.

      Reluctantly, Alyssa obeyed her summons from the bathtub, enjoying the warm towel that quickly wrapped her.

      The bed was turned down, revealing its crisp white sheets and providing a welcome invitation, indeed. Alyssa, whose last couple of days seemed filled with plane and car rides, suspected she was beginning to suffer the nemesis of all long-distance travelers: jet lag.

      “What you need now is siesta,” Mara informed. “After which, you’ll be in good shape.”

      Alyssa exchanged the towel for one of her nightgowns and crawled into the bed.

      She must have gone to sleep as soon as she hit the mattress. Though, it didn’t seem all that long before she was being coaxed back to consciousness by a gentle but insistent nudge of her arm.

      Pulled drapes had converted the room into twilight; even though, it was still daylight outside.

      Alyssa stretched deliciously, enjoying the sensuous pull of her muscles and spine. She recognized Mara by the bed. She didn’t notice the concern etched on the Spanish woman’s face.

      “Oh, СКАЧАТЬ