Jun. 2nd, 2011

xakara: (Writing is love)
Greetings, Kittens!

I had an absolute blast at WisCon this last week! I hated missing last week's T13 due to travel, but all of the connections I made and wonderful discussions I had, more than made up for the break in my streak. I'll write all about it later today or tomorrow, I just got back home last night and I'm still in recovery mode. Fortunately, I have friends that will step in and cover the spread when I need them to; so today for Thursday Thirteen, I bring you returning guest
Kimberley Troutte with a look into Catch Me In Castile.

Enjoy.


 
Thanks for letting me drop by again, Xakara!
I love being here. Since June 1st is the anniversary of Catch Me in Castile, I brought 13 paragraphs. I get
a kick out of Samhain’s warnings, so I brought that too.
Here’s my 13 plus a warning.

Enjoy!
Warning: This book contains a woman willing to lose her mind for love, a hot Spaniard with hands
a girl could die for, deadly family curses, a ghost with memory disorder, and a really mad killer.
When she walked into the room, Santiago’s heart did a painful miss-beat against his breastplate, as if it stopped dead in his chest only to start again with her smile.

He’d been sitting on the edge of the sofa impatiently waiting for Maria’s friend to show herself. He wanted to speak with her alone, while Maria showered, to determine the woman’s mental state. She had acted so oddly at the airport. His sister had hinted at some sort of breakdown and he could not, in good conscience, leave a fragile female in this house. It was far too dangerous.

He had enough trouble taking care of his mother and shielding his sister from the darkness. How in the hell could he protect another woman? He couldn’t. He’d insist she move out.

But when he saw her…Sweet Mother, when he saw her all rational thought ended.

“Hello again.” Her voice was as smooth and promising as satin sheets.

His gaze traveled across her curves. She didn’t look fragile. No, she looked good enough to eat. She lifted an eyebrow, shooting him a look loaded with hunger. Need coursed through his own veins. Her smile produced a punch of heat to his groin.

Mierda, he was in trouble.

“Buenos tardes. Did you have a nice rest?” He asked.

“Yes, and, I um—” she moved closer, her cheeks flushed, “—need to apologize for earlier at the airport. I made a perfect ass of myself.”

She came around the couch to sit and he noted how perfect her ass was. His gut twisted. “No apologies necessary.”


He forced himself to study her clinically, searching for grounds to throw her out of the mansion. It didn’t take a Chief of Medicine to notice her pale skin and dark-rimmed eyes. “Are you feeling all right?”

Her crooked smile told him she knew she was being examined. “Well, doctor, I’ve had better years.” Her laughter was husky and rich. “But I’m determined to get a life. No time like the present, right?”

He was mesmerized by what sparked from her tired eyes. She was determined and more—she was courageous. Something horrible had happened to her. He could see she hadn’t slept well in days, maybe weeks, and yet she smiled. How had she accomplished that? He longed to dig deeper, to know her secrets.The muscles and nerves in his cheeks rarely turned upwards anymore. Laughter was a thing of the past.

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