The Santana Heir

Grace had reached the high chair and was bending over to wash Zac’s face. Her pose gave him a tantalizing glimpse of leopard-print panties and a shapely rump, with those long, golden legs stretching below. Emilio swore under his breath. Seducing Grace would be delicious. It might even induce her to be content to stay around. But what would happen when the magic faded, as it always did? It would be the same old story—accusations, tears, slamming doors and a hasty drive to the airport.

Emilio knew the routine well. Most of the time he didn’t mind. The end of one affair opened the door for another. But Grace’s departure would only create problems—not the least of them, a miserable child. Even if she stayed after the breakup, the awkwardness would make things unpleasant, especially if he brought in new compañeras.

With a sigh of regret, Emilio faced the truth. If he wanted to keep Grace here, he’d be a fool to lay so much as a lustful finger on the woman. He would need to treat her like a sister.

She’d straightened now, but the view of her body in that silky little robe was enough to tighten his briefs. Emilio muttered an appreciative curse. If this kept up, he’d be spending time under a cold shower.

Looking for a diversion he glanced at his watch. “Grace.” She turned, her sun-streaked hair tumbling over one eye. Emilio cleared the tightness from his throat. “If you can be ready in half an hour, I’ll meet you on the patio for breakfast. Then I’ll show you around. All right?”

“Sure.” She turned her attention back to the baby and the two maids. Feeling as if he’d been dismissed, Emilio returned to the portico and crossed the open patio to the ancient library that served as his home office. It was a magnificent room, the walls lined with shelves of priceless books, the rich leather couches arranged for socializing or reading. The computer on the ancient desk looked out of place with its ugly cords and connections. For now, at least, that couldn’t be helped.

Taking his seat, Emilio turned on the power and brought up his email. After deleting the messages he judged not to be worth reading, he opened one from a longtime friend, the Greek shipping heir Nikolas Stavros.

Sorry to hear about your brother, Emilio. You’ll have plenty to deal with, but hoping you’ll be free for my April party cruise. Won’t drop names here but some old friends will be on board, as well as a certain hot TV actress who says she’s dying to meet you. Your usual cabin’s reserved and waiting.

Nik

With a weary breath, Emilio typed his regrets and pressed Send. Before Arturo’s accident he’d have looked forward to a wild week of sex and partying on his friend’s palatial yacht. But those days were over. By the time he saw his way clear of running the Santana fiefdom, he’d be an old man.

And for what? His parents were long gone. Even while they were alive, they’d had no time for him. What did he owe them?

To hell with it. He could sell off everything but the estate and live in freedom for the rest of his life. Why not just do it?

Emilio ran a restless hand through his unruly curls. Arturo, four years his senior, had been mostly gray by the time he died. Emilio was beginning to understand how that could happen.

Emilio had never expected to take Arturo’s place—never wanted to. The burden had dropped on him with the crushing weight of an avalanche. And up until a week ago, he’d thought that as the last surviving Santana male, he was destined to bear that weight alone.

But now, everything had changed. Now, there was Zac. His brother’s little boy. The heir to everything the family had built over countless generations. And now that he had someone to work for, someone to pass the legacy on to, Emilio started to understand the drive to protect the investments and secure the future so that the next generation would inherit something of value.

He owed it to Zac, who needed him, and to Arturo, who had never given up on him, to do his best for the family. His family.

A family that now included a member who was far too alluring. He found her an intriguing woman—intelligent, challenging and sensual. The fact that he’d declared her off-limits made her all the more tantalizing; but he’d resolved not to think of her in those terms. He was capable of being friends with an attractive woman. He’d proven that with Cassidy. He could do the same with Grace if it was in his family’s best interests.

Meanwhile he needed to go over the accounts for the estate, familiarizing himself with the monthly salaries and expenses, and making sure everything was paid to date. He’d already learned that the old hacienda didn’t support itself, but depended on the income from other ventures. The Santana empire was an interconnected web, so complicated that the thought of it made Emilio’s head ache. But the mess was his responsibility now, and he knew better than to think he could walk away from it.

With a glance at his watch, he set to work.

* * *

The day was already warm when Grace returned to her room to get ready for breakfast. After a quick shower, Grace dressed in khaki shorts, a plain white shirt, leather sandals and, as an afterthought, gold gypsy earrings. She’d expected to be bathing Zac, but the maids, Ana and Eugenia, had commandeered the boy. As nearly as Grace could make out with her limited Spanish, the two girls were sisters with four younger siblings at home. They seemed very competent with Zac, who was smiling and jabbering, basking in their attention. Surrendering to their pleas, Grace had given them Zac’s clean clothes and diapers and gone to get ready herself.

The older woman Grace had met last night caught up with her in the hallway and guided her back to the patio off the dining area. “Aquí está, señorita,” she murmured, indicating a sunny table with two chairs. “Don Emilio llegará en un momento.”

Grace congratulated herself on having understood that Emilio would be here in a moment. She took her seat with a polite “Gracias.”

The woman poured rich black coffee. “El niño es hijo de Don Arturo?” she asked.

Again Grace understood. The woman was asking whether Zac was Arturo’s son. “Sí,” she responded, fumbling for the words. “Es hijo de Arturo y de mi hermana.” Had she said it correctly, that Zac was the son of Arturo and her sister? The woman’s smile told her she’d succeeded.

The woman pointed to her chest. “Me llamo Dolores.”

“Mucho gusto, Dolores. Me llamo Grace.” The old high school Spanish was coming back.

“A su servicio, señorita.” With a nod of her graying head, Dolores hurried away. Settling back in her chair Grace sipped her coffee and took in the view. This patio was larger than the one she’d crossed earlier. Bougainvillea, riotous with pink blooms, cascaded from the eaves. A spacious wrought-iron cage held two scarlet macaws. They fluttered and squabbled, feasting on scraps of fruit.

A cobbled path meandered through a grove of flowering trees. Not far beyond, Grace glimpsed a swimming pool. A shirtless young man with a taut, muscular body was skimming the water with a long-handled net. In the distance, steep mountains, bare of trees, towered against the sky.

“Here you are.” Emilio strode onto the patio. “Sorry if I’m late. Just catching up on some work.”

“No problem. I’ve been enjoying the view. I didn’t expect to have so much time on my hands, but it seems Ana and Eugenia have taken over—” Grace almost said my son, but she caught herself. “They’ve taken over the baby. They even insisted on bathing him.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. But you don’t need to worry. They’re good girls and very capable.” Emilio slid into his chair, his eyes taking her measure from her gypsy hoops to her low-heeled leather sandals. “You look...nice.” He paused before the last word as if he’d been about to say something else.

“Thanks. This is about as dressed-up as you’ll see me while I’m here.”

“Oh?” Emilio poured his coffee and took a sip. “That’s too bad because I’m planning a party next weekend to welcome you and my brother’s son to Peru. I was looking forward to seeing you in an evening dress.”

“Oh, but I didn’t bring—”

“Of course you wouldn’t have packed a gown. But there are fine shops in Cusco. My driver can take you after you’re settled in.”

Dolores had come outside with a tray of beautifully cut tropical fruits—pineapple, mango, melon and banana. “It’s almost too pretty to eat!” Grace speared several pieces for her plate.

“Get used to it. When it comes to food, Dolores is a true artist. The two girls you met are her nieces. She’s training them to take her place one day—as her father trained her in this very kitchen.”

The food kept coming—airy scrambled eggs, crisp slabs of bacon, seasoned black beans, fried potatoes and buttered corn muffins. Everything was so delicious that Grace had to push herself away from the table. “Heavens, do you eat like this every day?” she asked.

Emilio had been watching her devour breakfast, a knowing twinkle in his eyes. “Again, you’ll get accustomed to it. In the city, meals are more like what you’re used to. But here in Urubamba we follow tradition—a hearty breakfast to start the day, a light lunch around two o’clock followed by a siesta—when there’s time for it, at least. Then at night, around nine o’clock, we dress up and gather for dinner. It’s all very civilized.”

He finished his plate and put his napkin on the table. “If you’re finished I’d like to show you the countryside. By chance, do you ride?”

Ride? Grace’s stomach clenched with instinctive fear. She forced her mouth into a smile. “I rode as a teenager. But I haven’t been on a horse in fifteen years. I’m not sure if I even remember how. If you don’t mind, I’ll walk.”

“Nonsense!” he exclaimed, his insistence tightening the knot in her stomach. “We’ll have a lot of ground to cover—too much to travel on foot—and nobody forgets how to ride. I’ll find you the gentlest horse in the stable.” He glanced down at her bare legs. “You’ll want to put on long pants.”

Grace rose. It would be simpler to tell him the truth. But the truth was too private, too personal to share. The only other choice was facing stark, paralyzing panic.

“See you back here in fifteen minutes,” he said. “I’ll find you a hat, and I’ll check on the boy for you.”

His name is Zac, she wanted to remind him. But her fear-constricted throat refused to form the words.

Four

In the bedroom, Grace shed her shorts and found her blue jeans. Her legs quivered as she stood on the rug to pull them on. Maybe she could tell Emilio she was ill, or make some excuse about Zac needing her. Anything to save her from mounting a horse again.

As she tugged the jeans over her hips, her fingers skimmed the puckered scar that slashed across her belly at the bikini line. Grace had tried to block the old accident from her memory, but the ugly scar would always be there to remind her.

Now the nightmare flashed again—the crunch of hard gravel against her back, the screaming horse, the plummeting hooves and the awful crushing sensation between her hip bones...

Pressing her lips together, she willed the memory to fade. Still it lingered, as sickening as if it had happened yesterday. What she wouldn’t give to make it go away?

Maybe Emilio had offered her an answer. For the past fifteen years, she’d avoided anything to do with horses and riding. Was it time she faced her fear?

Her hands shook as she refastened her sandals, wishing she’d packed something sturdier for her feet. No, she couldn’t do it. She would tell Emilio the truth—or at least as much as she felt comfortable sharing. Once he knew, he would never invite her to ride again.

Tucking in her shirt and strapping on her belt, she closed her room and found her way back to the patio. Emilio was waiting for her with a canvas vest over his shirt. “Let’s go!” he said, grinning as he plopped a straw hat on her head. “You’re going to enjoy this.”

She hung back. “Emilio, I can’t—”

“Come on!” He caught her hand, pulling her alongside him. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine!”

Skirting the pool, they moved across a patch of open lawn. Beyond the trees Grace could see a long, low building that framed one side of a fenced paddock—unmistakably a stable. Her pulse ripped into a frenzied cadence.

“Emilio, stop!” She yanked his arm, jerking him to a halt. Brows furrowed in confusion, he glanced back over his shoulder.

“Listen to me,” she said. “Fifteen years ago I had an accident with a horse. I won’t go into the details but I was hurt—badly. I haven’t ridden since.”

Understanding lit his features, and Grace let out a sigh of relief. He’d let this go now.

“Did you ride often before the accident?” he asked.

“Yes, I used to ride all the time.”

“Then it’s high time you did so again.” He turned to face her fully, his eyes riveting her in place. “If you give up something you loved because it hurt you once, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

He extended his hand, inviting her to take it. Grace hung back, hesitating. “You don’t understand. I’m afraid of horses—terrified if you want to know the truth.”

“Do you like being terrified, Grace?”

His question stunned her. She shook her head. “Of course not. I hate it. But how can I change the way I feel?”

A smile teased the corner of his sensual mouth. His hand captured hers and held it gently but firmly. “Come,” he said. “Come and meet my beautiful horses.”

He led her through the trees to the paddock fence. Beyond the rails, three dark-coated mares grazed while their foals frolicked in the sunlight. They raised their heads at the humans’ approach—elegant, compact creatures with tapered muzzles, silky manes and tails that hung straight down between their ample haunches.

As a horse-loving girl, she’d learned to recognize common breeds. These animals, she realized, were all of a kind. But she’d never seen anything like them.

Emilio gave a low whistle. The mares pricked their ears and moved toward him—not trotting but flowing, with a level gait that alternated left and right sides.

“They’re Peruvian Pasos,” Emilio said, “bred for long days in the saddle. Arturo handled the family business, but these babies are mine.”

The mares were nearing the fence. Grace felt the icy band of fear constricting her chest. She tried to back away, but Emilio’s hand, pressing the small of her back, stopped her.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured. “They’re as gentle as kittens.”

The mares crowded the fence, their long-lashed eyes like liquid amber. Their noses butted Emilio’s vest, nuzzling at the pockets. He laughed, the sound of a man in his element. “One at a time, ladies. I know you all love me. Here you are—”

He pulled three carrots out of his pockets and fed two of the mares. The third mare nickered impatiently as Emilio handed the last carrot to Grace. “Go ahead. She won’t bite you.”

Feeding a horse was nothing like riding one, Grace told herself. But her hand shook as she held out the carrot. The mare took it with whoosh of warm breath and the brush of a velvety muzzle. Grace stepped back, limp-kneed with relief.

“Was that so bad?” Emilio asked.

Grace’s heart was pounding. Her fear was irrational, but she couldn’t help her gut reaction. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Then don’t think. Just do it. Our horses are saddled and waiting.” His insistent hand propelled her toward the stables. “When the morning’s over, you’ll thank me.”

Grace allowed him to guide her. Emilio had flung down a challenge. If she gave in to her fear he would lose a hefty measure of respect for her—respect she was going to need in the days ahead.

Somehow she would have to conquer her terror.

As they came into the stable yard Grace saw two saddled horses. Both were Peruvian Pasos, the smaller one a silver-gray gelding, the larger a stallion, a magnificent golden palomino.

“Those foals in the paddock are his sons,” Emilio said. “He sires fine babies, but not yet one of his color.”

“A stud? And you ride him?” Grace willed herself not to flinch as the palomino snorted and tossed his handsome head.

“Pasos are the gentlest of horses, even the stallions,” Emilio said. “You’ll see.”

“Me?” Grace swallowed a gasp. “You’re going to put me on that horse?”

“Don’t worry.” Emilio patted the gelding. “You’ll be on Manso, here. He’s a calm old fellow. A child could ride him.”

Manso. Grace took comfort in the name, which meant tame, or gentle. Maybe she’d be all right. Still, her stomach spasmed as Emilio held the bridle and stepped aside for her to mount. A cold bead of sweat trickled down her forehead.

She had to do this.

Holding her breath, she placed a sandal in the stirrup and pushed upward. The horse shuddered as she settled into the saddle. Grace’s pulse surged. “Easy, boy.” She stroked the sleek neck, feeling the warmth of skin beneath her hand. It was just a leisurely ride, she told herself. She was foolish to be frightened.

Handing her the reins, Emilio swung onto the stallion. “Vámonos,” he said, taking the lead. “Let’s go.”

Grace nudged the gelding forward, feeling the unaccustomed flow of the Paso’s gait beneath her. The easy sway was like rocking in a comfortable chair. As they trailed through the dappled shade her fears began to ease.

The narrow path wound up a rocky hillside. Emilio rode ahead of her, sitting his horse with the air of a conquistador, back straight, broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips and taut buttocks. Tendrils of ebony hair curled low on the back of his suntanned neck. Grace could almost imagine stroking them with her fingers as he...

With a mental slap, she jerked herself back to reality. Emilio was a man who bedded models and movie starlets. Even if she wanted him—which she told herself she most certainly did not—she wasn’t the sort of woman he’d choose. She was useful to him; that was all. Having her here to care for his brother’s son was a convenience. She went along with it because raising the boy here was better than having him taken from her entirely.

But that didn’t mean she’d allow herself to be used. She would fight for the right to keep Zac close and raise him as she saw fit. The last thing she wanted was for Cassidy’s precious son to become a playboy like Emilio.

The trail widened into an overlook. Emilio reined the palomino and waited for Grace to catch up. Sitting silently, he gave her time to take in the view of the long, green valley, cut through by a tumbling river. Villages and farms dotted the riverbanks. Cattle, donkeys and sheep grazed on stone terraces cut like giant staircases into the hillsides.

“Amazing,” she whispered.

“You’re looking at the Sacred Valley of the Incas,” Emilio said. “The terraces were where they planted their crops.”

Gazing farther down the valley, Grace could see more terraced slopes. “So many, and those terraces are huge,” she said. “How could people build something like that, with no machines?”

“No one knows. But the Incas were master engineers and builders. You’ll see more of their work in Cusco. And one of these days I’ll take you to Machu Picchu.”

“I’ve seen photos. The real thing must be breathtaking.” Grace lifted her hat and let the breeze cool her damp face. The gelding swished a fly with his tail. Her nerves jumped at the sudden movement, but she held her fear in check. It bolstered her courage, knowing she’d managed to ride this docile horse. Given time, she might even conquer her nightmares.

But where would her life be by then?

“I want you to stay, Grace.” Emilio’s voice was like warm honey, flowing and persuasive. “You could have a beautiful life here, working on your art and watching Zac grow up. What could be better?”

Having someone to love and a family of my own. That would be better. Grace’s reply remained unspoken. There was no point in sharing a dream that she knew would never come true. And anyway, the man didn’t care about her happiness. She was a handy solution to the challenge of raising his brother’s son while he pursued his women and his carefree life. He wanted her to stay, because it would take the responsibility off his shoulders. Grace was used to having to shoulder responsibility. She’d done it for Cassidy time and time again. But this time, taking on the responsibility would mean giving up her independence. Could she handle that?

“What are you thinking?” His sensual gaze made her tingle with awareness. But this was just part of his game, Grace reminded herself. Seduction would be second nature to a man like Emilio Santana. But it wasn’t going to work with her.

She shot him a chilling look. “I’m thinking that it’s too soon for a decision. It’s a given that I won’t be separated from Zac. But I need time to weigh my options. I’m hoping you’ll give me that time.” In truth, she’d already ruled out every option except staying. But Emilio didn’t need to know that. The idea that she might settle for a part-time arrangement or even try to get Zac back was the only bargaining chip she had.

“Take all the time you need.” He led the way as they meandered down the slope toward a village. Now and then he paused, pointing out a bird, a flowering tree, a carved stone jutting from the earth. He’d slipped into tour guide mode, pleasant but impersonal.

The village was small, little more than a cluster of adobe dwellings joined by a cobbled street. But it was a busy place. Through an open gate, Grace glimpsed women weaving in a courtyard. Children in spotless school uniforms hurried toward a bus stop. A wandering donkey nibbled at blades of grass between the stones.

“Everywhere I look I see something I want to paint,” Grace mused aloud.

“And you’ve barely begun to see it all.” Emilio slowed his horse to let a flock of geese waddle across the road in front of them. “An artist like you would never run out of inspiration here.” That much was true, Grace conceded.

Two men in native garb strolled toward an open doorway where a scrap of red cloth fluttered from a pole.

“The red flag on a house means the women have brewed a fresh batch of chicha,” Emilio explained. “They’re selling it by the glass.”

“Sort of like the lemonade stand I had as a kid. I could use a cold drink. Is it any good?”

He chuckled. “It’s made from fermented maize. I won’t go into what’s involved, but trust me, it’s an acquired taste.”

“Oh.” Grace raked back her hair and replaced her hat.

“If you’re thirsty, we can get something at one of the tourist hotels in town. Or if you’ve had enough riding, we could turn around and go home. It’s up to you.”

“I really should get back to Zac. He’s not used to being away from me.”

“That’s fine. I’ve got a mountain of paperwork waiting, so I need to get back, too. Dolores keeps cold sodas in the fridge. I’ll see that you get one.”

He turned the palomino toward the trail. Grace followed on Manso. Riding the placid horse had been a good experience, but enough was enough. She’d be relieved to get her feet on solid ground again.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that because she hadn’t immediately given in to his request for an answer, she’d been dismissed. It seemed his interest in spending time with her waned when she proved less tractable than he’d expected. Not that she cared, Grace reminded herself. Emilio had more urgent things to do than spend time with her. He was only being a polite host.

They’d crested the trail and were headed downhill through the trees when she heard playful shouts and the sound of boyish laughter. “Just some kids from the village,” Emilio said. “See, there they are.”

Grace caught sight of two ragged half-grown boys through the trees. Armed with slingshots, they appeared to be shooting at birds. But as soon as they spotted the two riders, the boys came dashing toward the trail.

“Señor...Señorita...por favor.” They held out grubby hands.

“Ignore them,” Emilio growled. “Once they learn to beg, they won’t work. They’ll graduate to thievery.”