How to Marry a Matador (Exclusive Sneak Preview)

By

Ginny Baird

Published by

Winter Wedding Press

Copyright 2012

Ginny Baird

Smashwords Edition

ISBN 978-0-9851235-6-7

All Rights Reserved

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment
only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.
If you would like to share this book with another person, please
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respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to
export portions of the text, please contact the author at
[email protected].

Characters in this book are fiction and figments of
the author’s imagination.

****

Dear Readers,

Welcome to Book Two in my “Girls on the Go”
series,
How to Marry a Matador
, which speaks to my soul in
so many ways. While many people know my paternal ancestry is
Scottish, not as many are aware that my mother’s side hails from
Spain. Not only do I have distant relatives in Iberia, I’ve also
lived on the enchanting peninsula twice, both times as an
adventuresome young woman.

Trust me when I say, I can relate to Ms.
Jessica Bloom as she feels the tug and pull of the mysterious
country with its captivating culture and intoxicating landscapes.
Had I met a matador as mesmerizing as Fernando, I’m not sure that I
ever would have recovered. In fact, I might have married and stayed
there, meaning this manuscript might have been written in
Spanish!

I had so much fun crafting
How to Marry a
Matador
, and I’m hoping you’ll have just as much fun reading
it. I lived for a time in Madrid and Seville, and each is dear to
my heart. I was additionally taken with the small, whitewashed
villages of southern Spain, known as
los pueblos blancos.
It
was after a few of these towns that I modeled my fictional village
of
La Esperanza del Corazón,
a name which translates as
“Hope of the Heart.”

As hope is something Jess has lost sight of,
it’s the perfect place for her to land in a hunky bullfighter’s
arms. Sometimes it takes the extraordinary to make us appreciate
life’s simple pleasures. And often, our greatest joy comes in
discovering what we have to give back ourselves. Our heroine has
heeded a number of voices throughout her life. It’s only when she
begins to listen to herself that her faith fully blossoms.

So please, pack up your suitcase and join us
for the adventure. This time, in sunny Spain, land of haciendas,
olive groves, and exceedingly dashing matadors.
¡Olé!

With best wishes for happy endings,

Ginny Baird, author of “Girls on the Go”

Sometimes you have to get away to find
yourself!

****

Fernando sighed, worry lines creasing his
brow. “You’re terribly angry with me, aren’t you?”

“
It takes two to tango, Fernando. I’m not
saying all of this is your fault. I played a part in what happened
yesterday too.”

He turned toward her with a penetrating look.
“That’s what I don’t understand. Why did you?”

Jess felt a lurch of emotion as he dissected
her with his earnest green gaze. “I…don’t know.”

He leaned toward her with a husky whisper.
“Oh, but I think you do.”

He drew nearer, his mouth hovering over hers.
Jess cursed herself for so badly wanting his kiss. His kisses had
been so tantalizing last night, they’d made her lose all sense of
reason. And it wasn’t just the way he’d held her. When he’d looked
deep in her eyes and said that one thing, she’d inexplicably
believed him as she had no man before.

“
Why did you?”

Fernando reached out and cupped her chin in
his hand. “Because, querida, when I saw you standing there in that
garden, with that beautiful smile on your lips, I knew with a
certainty that I’d have to claim them. That I wouldn’t rest until I
made you mine.”

“
It was a simple sexual
attraction.”

“
There was nothing simple about it,” he
said, brushing his lips to hers.

Jess closed her eyes as her heart stilled.
She couldn’t let herself do this, but she couldn’t stop herself
either. His masculine scent washed over her as she felt his palm
press into the small of her back.

“
Jessica,” he said, resting his forehead
on hers. “When I tell you the truth about this morning, I don’t
want you to believe that anything last night was a lie.” And then
to prove it, he kissed her deeply, with a skill and a passion that
made her lose grip of her wine, sending the contents of her cup
sloshing sideways.

“
Your sister’s riding pants,” she said,
nearly breathless.

“
They’ll wash,” he said, tenderly stroking
her thigh.

“
Fernando,” Jess gasped, pulling back. “We
can’t.”

He studied her a thoughtful moment as she
gazed at him wide-eyed.

“
Then we won’t,” he said with a quick peck
on her lips.

She shivered involuntarily in spite of
herself. This man had a way of completely undoing her.

“
We’ll have a little something to eat
first.” He pulled several small bundles from his bag, along with a
small knife and a cutting board.

“
While we talk?”

“
Of course,” he said, handing her a napkin
for her slacks. “Then afterwards, I’ll let you decide.”

“
Decide what?”

Fernando shot her a sexy grin as he refilled
her wine.

“
Whether or not I’m the husband of your
dreams.”

****

Jess rolled over into a wall of steel. She
opened her eyes, encountering a strong, masculine shoulder.
Hoofbeats echoed outside to the sound of
ándale, ándale,
vámanos
! Her gaze panned the spread of his broad, olive chest,
graced with charcoal hair matching the wavy array on his head.
Impossibly perfect cheekbones offset a patrician nose. No
Renaissance sculptor could have crafted a finer face. Jess’s mind
whirled, recalling the evening of wild flamenco dancing and
sangria.
This slumbering specimen can’t be, but he is!

She gingerly lifted the sheet and peered
beneath it with a gasp.

“Good morning,
princesa
,” he said,
emerald eyes upon her.

Jess pinched the duvet to her chest, her face
on fire. “Fernando.”

He turned toward her, covers gaping. “I trust
you slept well,” he said, trailing a finger down her arm. Little
shivers raced up her spine, then plummeted in a dead heat toward
her tailbone. He brought warm lips to her shoulder, gracing it with
a kiss. “I also hope,” he said, his Spanish accent trilling, “you
meant what you said last night.”

Panic tore through her as she desperately
tried to recall. Gracefully, he filled in the blank. “That you were
happy to be my wife.”
Wife? Did he just say
wife?

Fernando tenderly peeled back the duvet,
admiring the curve of her hip beneath a satiny sheer nighty. His
palm centered on the small of her back as he angled his ruggedly
handsome face toward hers. “And you took pains to prove it,” he
said in a husky rasp, pressing her lower region toward his vivid
response.

Jess pushed back with a start and pinched her
forearm, certain she would wake up. He lazily pulled himself
partially upright on one elbow, resting his head in his hand.

Jess stared, dumbfounded, while Fernando
lifted his brow and waited.

“What…is the meaning of this?” she asked,
covering herself primly.

“Don Fernando!” a voice called through the
screenless window in gruff Castilian. “You still riding this
morning?”

Fernando shot Jess a questioning look. She
quickly shook her head.

“Not today, Pedrito!” he called back in
English. “We’re sorry to have troubled you!”

“We?” Jess asked, her voice escaping as a
whisper.

“You insisted I take you riding. Don’t you
recall? It was the second thing you wished to do as my new
wife.”

Jess felt the heat bolt to her temples and
chin. Suddenly, it all came back to her. The late night at the
bodega, Fernando’s unexpected and utterly passionate kiss, their
unanticipated encounter with that Catholic priest… Jess swallowed
hard past the burn in her throat.

She’d come to Madrid on an acquisitions
merger but had married a matador instead.

Fernando watched as the beautiful woman leapt
from the bed, snatching the duvet with her. Honey-blonde hair
cascaded past delicate shoulders as she suddenly averted brilliant
blue eyes.

“You should cover yourself,” she
insisted.

“But it seems my new wife has taken the
covers.”

“And stop saying that!” she cried with an
indignant pout.

“What? That you’re my wife? I do apologize,”
he said, sitting upright and scooting to the edge of the bed.
“Perhaps it’s better if I call you my bride.”

Jess instinctively stepped back. “Now,
Fernando,” she began with a wave of her finger. “You know as well
as I do that—if anything happened last night—it wasn’t supposed
to.”

He noticed she was trying not to peek at him
but was failing in her efforts. He took this as encouragement to
drop his feet to the floor and face her outright, sporting his full
glory.

“Is that what you Americans mean by,
Take
me back to your bed, you beast. I’m yours
?
”

She gasped audibly. “I said that?” she asked
with unmasked horror.

Taking pity on the woman, Fernando covered
his lap with a feather pillow. “You can look now,” he said with a
sigh.

She steadied her chin, settling her gaze on
the window. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“I guess you don’t,” he replied. “But I’m
inviting you to take the chance.”

Slowly, she turned her eyes toward his. They
were an amazing shade of blue, aquamarine, really. Fernando felt as
if he could swim in them forever. He recalled thinking that
yesterday evening, after a few too many pitchers of sangria and a
splendidly expensive bottle of cava. Perhaps he’d gotten carried
away in asking her to be his bride. But after the flamenco show and
the kiss by the fountain, their surprise encounter with his old
friend Father Domingo had seemed nothing less than a direct sign
from God.

“Where are my clothes?” she asked, color
sweeping the bridge of her nose.

Fernando pointed to the armoire beside the
door leading to the well-appointed bathroom.

“I suppose the shower’s in there?” she asked,
angling her head in that direction.

“There are fresh towels on the stand behind
the claw-foot tub,” he said.

Her cheeks flamed red. Perhaps she did
remember everything.

“Fine, thank you,” she said hoarsely,
sidestepping her way across the floor, the hem of the duvet
trailing over inlaid tile.

“Would you like something to eat?” he called
after her. “I can have Consuelo bring up breakfast.”

She skittered into the bathroom, partially
closing the door. “Just coffee!” she called before shutting it with
a bang.

Fernando sat upright with a start and tossed
aside the pillow.

“Consuelo?” he said into the intercom by the
bed, pressing its button.

“
¿Sí, señor?
” a kindly older voice
asked from the kitchen.

“
Dos café con leche, por favor.
”