Catch Me in Castile

by Kimberley Troutte

They were finally on the road, traveling under the cover of darkness. The late-fall night air had a nip to it. Cain was regretting leaving that morning without his bomber jacket, but there was no way to get it now. He was on the lam, in more trouble than he’d been in for years, all because of this little slip of a woman. If he could slap his forehead, he would, but at the moment his hands were overflowing with her things.

  “Where are we going?” he asked, scanning every shadow. Who would come for them first? How bad was it going to get?

  “To the old JCPenney building.” Sara hugged the dumb cat tightly to her chest.

  “The homeless shelter?” he spit out.

  “It will be, if I can help it.” She lifted her chin.

  “Woman, I cannot fathom why you would take us to the second place they will surely look.”

  “Doubt it. God doesn’t normally hang out in homeless shelters,” she replied bitterly.

  “You are wrong.” Cain stopped walking and faced her. “Dead wrong.”

  “Excuse me? I’ve met enough of the downtrodden, drunk, wasted, mentally ill people out there to know what I’m talking about.”

  He shook his head. “God is everywhere. Especially on the streets. He cares, Sara.”

  She gaped at him.

  “Trust me on this. Being homeless is not the worst thing that can happen to a man.” His eyes blazed like an animal’s in the dark. “Neither is death.”

  He let her see the bone-raw pain and sadness in his face. Exhaustion was there too, from carrying the weight of his crimes for thousands of years. He wanted her to see it all. To understand.

  “Even now, God is watching our every move,” he said softly.

  Her face fell. “Then how in the world are we going to get away?”

  “We won’t. We’ll be caught. But I’m hoping He sees enough good in what you are doing that He’ll let the two weeks slide.”

  “You think so?” she asked hopefully.

  “Perhaps. But there will be a price, a big one, to pay in the end. Folks up there aren’t thrilled that I stole your soul.”

  She nearly dropped the cat. “You what?”

  “I put your soul back in your body so that you could live.”

  “Back in my… You mean I died back there? When you kissed me? I actually died!”

  “Yes.”

  “But when you kissed me in my house—”

  “That was different. I didn’t want to kill you then. Plus, I wasn’t angry. You really don’t want to make me mad.”

  “I’ll try to remember that.” She frowned and hugged the cat even tighter. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

  A couple blocks later, they were standing at the bottom of five concrete steps in front of an ancient building. Even in the dark, it was clear he was looking at more than deferred maintenance. This building seemed diseased. Giant chunks of paint peeled off the walls. Teenagers had grafittied swirly lettered initials across the boarded-up windows. It was a sorry sight for a homeless shelter.

  Sara jingled her keys in front of his eyes. “We’re here. Great, huh?”

  He shook his head. “This is what you’re fighting for? What we’ve risked our necks for.” He pointed at the dilapidated building. “This?”

  “No.” She sounded perturbed. “I fight for lives.”

  Against me, he thought.

  “You can’t see the potential?” She opened the door wide and flipped on the lights.

  “Nope.”

  “Ah, come on. The biggest job was getting the showers and the kitchen renovated, which were completed last week. I swear, when we are finished, this place is going to feel like home.”

  He gave her his best steely eyed stare. “We?”

  She ignored his look and stepped inside. “This is going to be the living room. Tomorrow, a few guys are dropping off two couches to go right here.” She motioned. “They’re used, but in decent shape. A rug, small TV, coffee table, tall lamps. Voilà! Just like home.”

  He followed her into the empty, cavernous room. An escalator, frozen like a museum dinosaur, was the only object in the place. The broken tiled floors, the dented walls and the musky smell all hit him like a kick to the head.

  “Two weeks? There’s no way, Sara. This place needs to be condemned!”

  “So you will help me?” She pleaded with her blue eyes.

  He put her things down with a thump that sent dust billowing into the air and grabbed her around the waist. “That wasn’t the deal.”

  The cat jumped out of her arms with a loud meow. He ran off to search for mice, leaving paw tracks across the dusty floor.

  Sara wiggled her hips from side to side, brushing her thighs against his. “No way I can convince you?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t fix things.”

  She put her palms on his cheeks, and kissed him lightly on the nose. “Then my part of the bargain will have to wait. There’s a ton of work to do, and no time.” She spun out of his reach and sashayed away.

  “Wait!” He captured her by the wrist. “So I have to help you, or I won’t get—?”

  “Any.” Her gaze drifted down his body, focusing on the area where his jeans fit snugly.

  “Now listen here, lady.” He gave her arm a little tug and she fell forward, landing conveniently with her breast in his hand. He went with it. “It’s been a very long time.” He felt for the nipple under her shirt and rolled it between his fingers. “Too long.”

  “Oh,” she whispered on a breath.

  He smiled, beginning to love her “Oh’s”. Bending down, he nipped at her hard nipple through the cotton T-shirt. Her head fell back, exposing a sleek neck. He pulled her jacket off her shoulders and the shirt over her head. She didn’t stop him.

  He stopped himself. Her body was breathtaking. It had been…who was he kidding, maybe never, since he had seen such perfection. He let his gaze travel across her light, freckle-dusted skin. She had a lithe, toned body, an athlete’s build. He liked the strength in her muscled shoulders and sleek, long arms. She seemed so healthy and brimming with life, not at all like a woman brushed by death.

  He grinned. Change that to ravaged by Death.

  His fingertips traced the sharp edge of her collarbones and drew a lazy circle in the pit of her throat. He could feel her heart racing almost as fast as his. He wanted her so badly it hurt. Could she feel him tremble?

  Her breath grew raspy when he ran his fingers under the straps of her pale pink bra. Her pupils dilated as he slowly tugged the straps down off her shoulders. She gasped when he gave a final yank. The bra slipped down to reveal the Creator’s finest work—her glorious, perfect, petite breasts.

  He pulled her closer. Wanting to savor her, just as he had the first moment they kissed, he licked one nipple and then the other. Tasting. Relishing. Needing more. Her hands fell to the top of his head, urging him on. He suckled fast, slow, fast again. He was wild with his own need, but held back, watching her, always watching her.

  Her eyes were closed. A “mmm” escaped her moist pink lips. Arching her back, she gave herself to him fully.

  His heart warmed.

  Be honest, he told himself. You’ve taken everything from her. It’s a miracle she survived.

  But now he had something to give back. An offering. Whatever she thought of him, he knew she wanted this. Needed this. Maybe more than he did.

  He moved up, kissing her long, sweet-smelling neck. As he nibbled her ear, his hand traveled down her, slowly, deliberately across her soft belly and lower still. He wanted her to anticipate his moves, to know where he was going. She made a sound that quaked with her hunger and raw need when he cupped her through her jeans.

  Madly, she gripped his shoulders. She pressed her hips into him. Bucking, hanging on, she rode him and let herself go. His hand moved with her, matching her pace, wanting nothing more than to give her pleasure, release, joy. When the brilliant burst of release washed over her face, he thought he’d never seen anything more lovely. More alive.


  She came right there in his hands. He was awestruck.

  “That’s just a preview of what I am going to do to you.” His voice was choked with raw desire. “Now, where’s the broom?”

  Panting, she whispered to his retreating back, “Lord help me.”

  Right man, wrong century?

  Moonshadows

  © 2008 Melinda Hammond

  Feeling trapped between an attraction to her rich, handsome boss and loyalty to her penniless boyfriend, Jessica “Jez” Skelton hopes a visit to her aunt’s house will clear her head. Instead, a box of inherited letters raises the dust of the past—and clouds her present even more.

  The eighteenth century letters resurrect the tragic love story of Sarah, a woman who was mysteriously erased from the family history. A woman whose love for a rich and powerful lord forms a disturbing parallel to Jez’s life. Is it a warning not to succumb to her boss—or risk suffering the same unhappy fate?

  Piers Cordeaux knows his advances are forcing Jez into a corner, but he can’t seem to help himself. Something about her reaches deep inside him, awakening needs that all his money can’t satisfy. He can’t shake the conviction that they are meant for each other.

  As Jez tries to ignore her growing attraction to Piers, she is drawn deeper into her ancestor’s desperate story. And she begins to wonder if her connection to Piers is an accident…or the work of a ghost whose determination to claim his lady reaches across two centuries of time.

  Warning: This book contains two love triangles, a lonely ghost whose passion persists beyond the grave, and dashing heroes who may haunt your dreams.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Moonshadows:

  The lounge of the Old Manor was quiet and welcoming after the smoky after-dinner atmosphere of the banqueting room. Jez chose her favourite spot on one of the sofas by the fire.

  “Brandy, coffee or both?” Piers noticed her hesitation and added, “I’m having both.”

  “Then I’ll have the same, thank you.” She leaned back against the cushions and gave an exaggerated sigh. “This is heaven. So peaceful.”

  Piers settled himself on one end of the sofa and turned so that he could watch her, one arm resting along the back of the cushions and a faint smile in his dark eyes. “You wouldn’t prefer to finish the evening clubbing in Birmingham?”

  “No way. I’m not a party animal. I prefer a small gathering of friends, or even curling up at home with a good book. Very boring. But what about you, what do you do when you are not working?”

  “When I can take a few weeks off I like to go sailing, or skiing. Do you sail?’

  “No, but I’ve been skiing a couple of times.” She sipped at her brandy and looked up to find Piers giving her an appraising glance. Was he thinking how good she would look in ski pants? The thought warmed her even more than the spirit in her glass.

  “What about when you’re in London?” she asked. ‘“Where do you go?”

  “I rarely go out in town, except for a meal with a few close friends, maybe.”

  “But there’s so much going on in London! What about the theatre? You must have the best shows in the country. Just think of it, all those plays and new productions, not to mention the musicals. Then there’s the ballet and opera—God, if I lived in London I’d want to go to something new at least once a week!”

  “Not much fun on your own.”

  She laughed at him.

  “Poor little rich boy! Don’t tell me you can’t find someone to go with you. You are always being photographed with some gorgeous blonde on your arm.”

  Hell, she shouldn’t have said that, he would think she was jealous. She put down her glass. The brandy was making her reckless.

  Piers merely shrugged. “Yes, but that’s usually when I’ve been invited to attend something as Chairman of CME, not plain old Piers Cordeaux. Besides, most of ’em don’t actually like the arts much.”

  She said quietly, “It must be very lonely at the top.”

  “You get used to it. Now what’s wrong—are you feeling sorry for me?”

  Alarm bells were clamouring in her head. The conversation was getting dangerous. Jez sought frantically for a flippant response.

  She opened her eyes wide. “What, impoverished Jez Skelton pitying the rich Mr. Cordeaux? Impossible!”

  “I’m not so sure you’re impressed by my money.”

  “I’m not. I’m more impressed that you are such a nice guy, despite your money and power. At least you don’t flaunt your success in people’s faces.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Sorry. That sounds like I’m creeping.” She looked up to find him watching her, smiling. Her stomach lurched and dissolved within her. She looked away quickly from those disturbing deep blue eyes. “Is that the time? I’d better get some sleep if I’m going to be fit for anything tomorrow.”

  “I’ll see you to your room.”

  The thick carpets deadened their footsteps in the empty corridors as they made their way through the old part of the hotel. With Piers at her side, Jez’s nerves were at full stretch. She wanted to take his hand, put her arm through his. To belong.

  “Um—are we meeting up with Lavinia tomorrow? I’ll need a lift back to Filchester.”

  “They will be having a sales briefing first at their hotel. Don’t worry. I’ll drive you home.”

  “Thank you.”

  They had reached her room but before Jez could speak again, Piers wished her good night and was walking away. She stepped inside and closed the door.

  “Damn, damn, damn!” She threw her bag down in disgust. Here she was, dressed to kill and she had let him walk off without even a goodnight kiss. Perhaps he didn’t fancy her—but that was not the point, she argued with herself. She knew she looked good in the cream dress, she had been aware of him looking at her several times during the evening. So why hadn’t he tried anything?

  Because you told him you’re not available, came the obvious reply, but it did not satisfy her. She paced the room restlessly. “Oh this is stupid!” she said aloud. “Go run yourself a bath and forget it. You know very well you can’t have him.”

  But she had never felt such a strong attraction before, not even for Harry when they had first started going out together. She perched on the edge of the bath, watching the hot water pour in. It was obviously a case of wanting what was not available. She reached for one of the complimentary packets of bath oil and poured it into the water. She might as well pamper herself.

  As she was about to step into the bath, there was a sudden knock at the door. Jez froze. Excitement swept through her. Calm down, she told herself sternly. It’s probably room service with the wrong number. Probably.

  Pulling on her robe, Jez opened the door cautiously. She was expecting to find Piers there but even so, when she saw him in the doorway, her heart gave a somersault. She fell back automatically, and he stepped into the room. He was still wearing his dinner jacket, but he had discarded the black tie.

  He held up the bottle of champagne and glasses that he was carrying. “I thought this might just finish off the evening.”

  Jez’s insides were mimicking the fizz of the champagne as she looked up at him. The glint in his eyes sent a shiver through her.

  “I—um—I was just going to have a bath…”

  His mouth curved into a slow grin.

  “Then we can share that, too.” He kicked the door shut. “Champagne now, or shall I put it in the minibar for later?”

  She couldn’t take her eyes from his face while her brain seemed to have stopped working. Piers was here, in her room. She watched, rooted to the spot, while he put down the champagne.

  “I’m breaking my own rules here,” he said, reaching for her.

  “R-rules?”

  “I never mix business with pleasure. At least, I haven’t until now.”

  As he drew her towards him Jez felt a wave of joyous exultation. It was a heady mix of excitement, pleasure and, yes, lust. She lifted her head, her lips part
ing to receive his kiss.

  His blood for a cure. It’s a cruel and deadly bargain…

  The Ninth Curse

  © 2009 K.J. Gillenwater

  Nine curses. Nine weeks to live. Joel Hatcher has inherited more than a family legacy. It’s a time bomb that’s ticking down to the inevitable: his own death. But the curse won’t die with him. Unless he can find a way to break the cycle, his younger brother becomes the next victim.

  In the throes of the third curse, the Painful Pox, Joel makes a last-ditch decision to seek the help of a young spiritualist.

  One look into Joel’s suffering eyes, and “Madame Eugenie” finds herself torn between doing the right thing and fulfilling her most secret wish—bring her husband Adam back from the dead. Joel’s cursed blood is the missing ingredient in her resurrection rituals, and Adam’s spirit whispers seductively that there’s only one way to get it: steal it.

  As Gen and Joel unearth his family’s past to track down a cure, they come closer to each other, and to a horrible truth. To live, Joel must lose everything. Up to and including the woman he has grown to love.

  Warning: This book contains curses, sacrifices, a ghostly husband, a crazy cat and a love that defies all odds.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for The Ninth Curse:

  Joel struggled to keep up. The dark closed in. How could Gen still see where she was going? But the crunch of her steps on the fallen leaves kept him close enough.

  Up ahead she stopped. He heard the squeak of an unoiled hinge. A gate swung open. Gen passed into the clearing beyond.

  When Joel slipped through the gate, he knew where she had led him. A graveyard. Probably the same one where she had acquired graveyard dust for his cure yesterday. The gravestones were pale and eerie, rising out of the mists. The fog lifted, and a brilliant full moon shone down, illuminating the cemetery in ethereal light. Joel hunkered behind a large stone crypt, where a limestone angel peered down at him.

  Gen moved between the grave markers, touching each one with a light caress. From so far away, he couldn’t discern her emotional state, but her movements were stilted and slow. She stopped in the middle of the cemetery and raised her hands to the moon as if in supplication to the quiet, distant rock. A sing-song murmur filled the air. The words were just beyond his hearing. Gen kept her hands upraised and swayed in rhythm to them. A cry escaped her lips, and she fell to her knees.