Bulled
Over
By: Catalina Ferrer
Blurb
What
happens when in a weird twist of fate--or karma--the bullfighter becomes the
bull?
Conchita
Peron, a bullfighter still trying to earn respect in a male-dominated
profession, vows to kill Asesino, the bull that took her father's life. But
what she doesn't know--and may not realize in time--is within the bull's body
resides the soul of the man she once and still desires...that of the very
handsome and very dead matador Antonio de le Vega.
Will she
set aside her thirst for revenge in time to see the heart under the hide?
Link to Follow the Tour: http://tastybooktours.blogspot.com/2013/07/now-booking-tasty-review-tour-for.html
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Author Info
Catalina
Ferrer lives in an undisclosed location and prefers to remain mysterious. She
loves readers, however, and invites them to like her Facebook page
to stay up to date on further releases from her. She promises not to spam you
to death.
Excerpt
“Senorita,
you really should be resting, not drinking. You need a clear head for
tomorrow.” Mateo—once mozo de
espada to Antonio, now Conchita’s—gave her what had to be the twentieth
warning glance in the last hour.
It was becoming harder and
harder to ignore him.
“A few shots of tequila never
hurt anyone,” Conchita shot back and punctuated her statement by throwing her
head back and downing another small glass of the scorching amber liquid.
“Ah. But a few shots of
tequila and a pitcher of beer…” Her assistant wrinkled his nose and shook his
head. “Liquid courage may help you now, but it will not help you tomorrow when
you are in that arena facing the most feared bull in Mexico.”
Conchita hated that her
friend and mozo could see right
through her, and she hated even more that he was right. But she’d be damned if
she let him know that.
“Just go. I’ll be leaving in
a few minutes. The hotel is not far. I don’t need a chaperone.”
The man hesitated, his hands
perched on the edge of the bar, his butt half off the seat. “Are you sure? You
promise you are leaving soon? It is already ten p.m. You should get a full
night’s rest—”
“God!” Conchita interrupted,
slamming her empty shot glass on the bar. “Don’t mother me, Mateo. I’ll be
fine. I’ve fought more bulls than I can even remember right now. What’s another
one?”
“The streets this late at
night—”
“Are fine,” Conchita stated
with a warning note in her voice. “If I can fight bulls, I can fight men. They
are nearly one and the same. Horny fuckers.”
Mateo blinked in surprise and
his lips twitched at one corner, but he rose from his seat. “Till tomorrow
morning then. Ten a.m.”
Conchita felt bad for being
so harsh with him. In an industry that showed her very little respect, he had
been good to her, had stood by her patiently for three years. She’d never
regretted hiring him after Antonio’s death and he didn’t deserve her attitude.
She needed to get her head on straight and focus her bad attitude where it
belonged: on the bull.
“Yep. Ten. I’m leaving soon.
I promise,” she said, then added, “Goodnight, Mateo.”
“Buenas noches, Conchita.”
He doffed his baseball cap,
nodded one last time, and was gone.
Conchita watched him go,
vowed to finish the half mug of beer still in front of her, and then she would
leave. She knew better than to overindulge the night before a fight, but she
could hold her liquor as well as any man and her nerves were strung tight. No,
liquid courage wouldn’t get her far tomorrow, but it would help her sleep
tonight.
In the absence of her friend,
she became more aware of her surroundings: the tinkle of glasses as the
bartenders shuffled, grabbed, and washed them, giggles from women in the corner
as they eyed the men playing pool, the sound of balls hitting balls, voices
from the men at the other end of the bar.
“I bet you a hundred pesos
she loses,” one man said.
“I don’t know. Revenge is a
strong motive. He killed her papa and her lover.”
Conchita spewed beer all over
the counter in front of her. Her lover? What tabloid had they been reading? Dios!
“Matadoras don’t have lovers.
They are all lesbians. They want to be men!” a third man declared drunkenly.
It was a battle not to turn
and look at the men having this discussion, but Conchita forced herself to be
still. She caught the bartender’s eye as he approached her, a white rag in
hand.
The conversation continued,
but she feigned disinterest.
“I heard Asesino had to be
pulled off a cow, tasered and roped and drugged. His amorousness knows no
bounds,” man number two’s voice came again.
His amigos chuckled as though
that was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.
Conchita gestured for another
pitcher of beer, wanting an excuse to stay and listen to the men’s
conversation.
“An amorous bull is a fierce
bull!”
“His cock was this long!”
More laughter.
Conchita cast a sidelong
glance at the men and her eyes widened at how far the speaker held his palms
apart. Did he really think it was that long?
“But you see,” man number one
said, leaning forward as though he had a secret, “he is full of testosterone
and missing his cow bitches. Now that he’s had a taste of cow cooch, he’ll be
dying to get back there, bursting with sexual frustration, and this will make
him vicious. He will kill her right away!”
The bartender placed the
pitcher in front of her and Conchita quickly poured herself a mug, downing it
as quickly as she could as the man’s words roiled with the yeast in her belly.
“Jorge, you saw him today,
didn’t you? Didn’t you see the bull?”
“Si! Si! I saw him arrive yesterday.
He’s in the barn! Massive, fierce, angry! The poor matadora. Let’s hope she’s
been practicing.”
Conchita gulped, swallowing
more beer as she did so. And she continued to drink and listen, drink and
listen, as she clutched the red sachet under her shirt.
“Two hundred pesos says she
defeats him.”
Gracias
a Dios! At least someone had faith in her.
“No, no,” another man
protested. “One hundred pesos says his cock is this big!”
Conchita summoned the
bartender for a shot of tequila.
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