Rage darkened Miguel’s green eyes; his blood was boiling; bible in one hand, sword in the other, breathing heavily, determined not to let his Spanish Armada be sunk the second time.
Ha! And by whom? By a Frenchman?!
Wasn’t Jacques supposed to spend his entire life just alluring the other sex?
Oh, how wrong all of us were to judge Jacques like that!
And how dearly we were to pay for that facile, juvenile judgement of ours.
Steely blue eyes, coat of arms engraved on his shield, Jacques was relentlessly fighting to conquer only one heart; the heart of the woman who Miguel loved.
Both of them reduced me to a war trophy.
In the cozy, beautifully tiled hacienda, darkness broke loose.
From the manuscript Glass Lovers