Sneak peek! First chapter of Legacy 3 (title to be determined)
I've never done this, but because it takes me so long to write my books, I wanted to give fans a sneak peek at how the newest book starts. Diego's friend Sebastián Castillo is the major character in this book which begins five years after the last one ended. Readers of Legacy of the Highlands and A Legacy of Revenge will find some familiar names along with new ones. This book is not likely to be finished until spring, so please be patient!
If you want to provide any feedback, I'd love to read your comments!
Legacy Series Book 3
© By Harriet Schultz
All rights reserved
This excerpt cannot be reproduced without the author's permission
CHAPTER ONE
“You bastard!” Amanda Redmond shrieked. Her voice was hoarse from a combination of crying and shouting for the past hour and black stripes of mascara-tinted tears ran down her cheeks. She covered her face as her sobs tapered off to sniffles. Her hands trembled as she lowered them to glare at the man who’d just broken her heart and took a settling breath. A moment later she suddenly drew back her arm to slap him, but he caught her wrist before it connected with its target. “Enough!” Sebastián said the word in a way that left no doubt that he was out of patience. He hardened his expression so that the woman might finally recognize that his mind was made up. Their yearlong affair was over the moment Mandy began to talk about a wedding as if he’d put a diamond on her hand. Women never believed Seb when he made it clear that marriage wasn’t part of the deal and each inevitably thought she would be the one to change his mind. He loosened his hold on her slim wrist and leaned toward her as he repeated the word. “Enough.” This time Seb’s voice was gentler in an attempt to soothe. He owed her that. “You mean it this time, don’t you?” she whispered. Her brows rose along with her lovely, hope-filled face.“Yes.” Sebastián knew there was no way to soften the blow. Experience told him that a clean break always worked best.Mandy’s tanned shoulders slumped as she turned away and slowly walked back to the luxurious Cabo San Lucas villa they’d shared for the past week. Seb watched her go, relieved that she finally believed him. He picked up his phone and booked a first class seat on a flight that would have her back in San Francisco by evening, then arranged for a car to the airport and for another to meet her at SFO. He’d ask one of the household staff to pack for her. It was the least he could do. Sebastián Castillo had beautiful manners, but he was no gentleman. A furious woman once hissed that his name’s middle syllable —bas — perfectly described his character since he often behaved like a bastard. Perhaps it was true. After all, Mairi Graham had been handcuffed naked to his bed when she’d made that pronouncement and instead of the games she’d expected, two of his friends had walked into his bedroom to interrogate her. That was almost six years ago and she was now happily married to one of those men, but it still bothered him.Seb was rarely introspective. He didn’t like to look too deeply into his soul and face the pain that was as much a part of him as his amber-flecked blue eyes. The lounge chair creaked as he leaned forward and scrubbed his hands over his face, then rolled his neck as tension replaced the relief he’d felt when Mandy departed. His tendency to avoid conflict had allowed the affair to last long after he knew he should end it. Delaying the inevitable only resulted in more hurt for the women he became involved with. Sweat ran in rivulets through the honey-colored hair on his chest as he baked in the Mexican sun on the villa’s patio. He hadn’t shaved in two weeks and the fashionable scruff that usually covered his cheeks and chin had turned into the beginnings of a beard sprinkled with glints of red and gold. Instead of going inside for an overdue shower and shave, he touched a button on the side of his chair and moments later the housekeeper appeared.“What can I bring you, Señor Sebastián?” she asked in Spanish. “Me gustaría un Negro Modelo, por favor.” He ignored the frosty glass delivered with the dark beer and tucked a piece of lime in the mouth of the bottle, tipped it up and drank until it was drained. Mandy wasn’t the first woman to accuse him of having commitment issues and suggest that a shrink might do him some good. Some of his exes also threw the word selfish into the mix. He was thirty-seven and still unmarried, so they might have a point. He instinctively knew that when you love someone, that person’s needs and happiness should be at least as important — or even more important — than your own. He was a generous lover and none of the women had any complaints about his behavior in the bedroom, but once dressed his own needs usually came first. His conclusion was that none of his relationships had been with the right woman. He’d begun to wonder long ago if she even existed. Or maybe he really was deluding himself and could use some couch time. There were probably more shrinks between the San Francisco area where he lived for part of the year and in his Argentine birthplace than anywhere else in the world. He wouldn’t rule it out.
The spectacular Mexican vacation house belonged to Seb’s lifelong friend Diego Navarro who only used it for an annual holiday with his family. Diego was happy to lend the villa to Seb whenever he wanted it. The two men — each with the kind of looks that could stop traffic — had shared many things over the years, including women. The exception, of course, was Alexandra, the love of Diego’s life. Seb envied his friend’s happiness. Their marriage was proof that the kind of love he longed for existed…although perhaps not for him. Thinking about Diego and Alex reminded him that he needed to arrange to be in Buenos Aires in a week. His godson, Nicky Navarro, was turning five and he never missed one of the boy’s birthday parties. He smiled as he pictured that dark-haired rascal and the unconditional love his godson gave him. Christ, the sun was hot, he thought. He raised one tanned, muscular arm to push a few strands of hair off his forehead, stood, and made his way down the stone steps that led to the beach. The sand burned his feet so he ran toward the azure surf and dove between the waves. An hour of swimming in the ocean hadn’t exhausted him, but it had cleared his head. He splashed out of the sea a more refreshed and relaxed man. It was time to head home. He had two of those — his penthouse apartment in Buenos Aires and the house in San Francisco with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge. He commuted between South America and northern California to run his family’s vineyards, although since his father’s death a year ago, there was only one member of his family — him. His American vineyard was two hours north of the city and it would have made more sense to buy a house nearby, but the room he used at the winery was adequate since it was only used for sleep. It was very similar to the simple space he’d shared with his father in Mendoza, the wine production region of Argentina. His father had founded Castillo wines and the worldwide popularity of their Malbec had made them very wealthy although unlike him, his father had never developed a taste for what that money could buy. He supposed he should be grateful to the old man. He’d loved his father, of course, but he’d always wish that the senior Castillo had lavished as much love and attention on him that he gave to his grapes. Once, when Seb confided his feelings about his father to one of his exes, she’d grinned and dubbed him a “poor little rich boy.” He hated it. That was also the last time he’d allowed a woman a glimpse into his soul.
Sebastián’s skin was almost dry by the time he climbed the hill back to the villa, but his eyes stung from the saltwater that dripped off his hair so he grabbed a towel and scrubbed his head with it. Mandy had told him she envied the natural highlights the sun brought out in his honey-colored hair, the kind that cost hundreds in a salon and then still looked fake. Did the woman honestly think that he gave a damn about the color of his hair? It was what it was. He was relieved that she was on her way to the airport.He folded the damp towel neatly and laid it on the chair. Diego’s mother had taught him to pick up after himself and to not make too much work for the servants they were fortunate enough to have.Seb was four-years-old when his mother died. His grief-stricken father had little interest in anything other than his vineyard and left his only child in the care of a nanny. Giovanna Navarro had taken the sad little boy under her wing and raised him along with Diego. Giovanna and his mother had grown up as best friends in a small town in Sicily, but they shared dreams of adventure and left for Argentina as soon as they were old enough. They met and married men who worked hard to amass a fortune and then each gave birth to one son, him and Diego. He wouldn’t allow himself to think about the life he would have had without the Navarros, but he was sure that love and affection would not have been part of it. Although his last name was Castillo, the Navarros were his real family.
Showered, shaved and dressed in snug black jeans that rode low on his slim hips and a fitted white t-shirt designed to hug his broad shoulders, He had just enough time for one last visit to his favorite taquería before he had to leave for the airport. His mouth watered as he pictured the fish tacos he craved — corn tortillas filled with battered fried fish caught that day, shredded cabbage, a mysterious, but delicious white sauce, some hot salsa and a squeeze of lime washed down by an ice cold beer. He’d dined in the world’s finest, most highly rated restaurants, but few things matched the pleasure of a fresh fish taco eaten outdoors in Mexico. He straddled the motorcycle that Alex had convinced Diego to abandon and laughed with joy when the powerful machine roared to life. Men and their machines, he thought, still grinning. He was grateful that his friend trusted him enough to let him to use the beautiful Ducati that he hadn’t had the heart to sell. Before he headed downhill, he adjusted his dark aviator sunglasses and picked up, then discarded, the black helmet. The ride was short, the sun was blazing hot, he loved speed and wanted the freedom of nothing between him and the wind. An hour later, craving more than satisfied, he exchanged grins and waves with Pedro, the taquería’s owner, and headed back to Diego’s villa. The road narrowed and he glanced at the impossibly blue Pacific on his left before he spotted a dark car coming up fast behind him. “Idiots,” he muttered. Instead of speeding up, he slowed and hugged the side of the road to give the impatient driver room to pass. As it drew alongside, the car veered toward him. If he were less skilled, he would have spun out and gone off the road. The vehicle’s windows were tinted black so he couldn’t see the driver who continued uphill at a crazy speed. Shaken, Seb pulled off the road and uttered a string of Spanish curses. The close call spoiled the contented feeling of a few minutes ago.
If you want to provide any feedback, I'd love to read your comments!
Legacy Series Book 3
© By Harriet Schultz
All rights reserved
This excerpt cannot be reproduced without the author's permission
CHAPTER ONE
“You bastard!” Amanda Redmond shrieked. Her voice was hoarse from a combination of crying and shouting for the past hour and black stripes of mascara-tinted tears ran down her cheeks. She covered her face as her sobs tapered off to sniffles. Her hands trembled as she lowered them to glare at the man who’d just broken her heart and took a settling breath. A moment later she suddenly drew back her arm to slap him, but he caught her wrist before it connected with its target. “Enough!” Sebastián said the word in a way that left no doubt that he was out of patience. He hardened his expression so that the woman might finally recognize that his mind was made up. Their yearlong affair was over the moment Mandy began to talk about a wedding as if he’d put a diamond on her hand. Women never believed Seb when he made it clear that marriage wasn’t part of the deal and each inevitably thought she would be the one to change his mind. He loosened his hold on her slim wrist and leaned toward her as he repeated the word. “Enough.” This time Seb’s voice was gentler in an attempt to soothe. He owed her that. “You mean it this time, don’t you?” she whispered. Her brows rose along with her lovely, hope-filled face.“Yes.” Sebastián knew there was no way to soften the blow. Experience told him that a clean break always worked best.Mandy’s tanned shoulders slumped as she turned away and slowly walked back to the luxurious Cabo San Lucas villa they’d shared for the past week. Seb watched her go, relieved that she finally believed him. He picked up his phone and booked a first class seat on a flight that would have her back in San Francisco by evening, then arranged for a car to the airport and for another to meet her at SFO. He’d ask one of the household staff to pack for her. It was the least he could do. Sebastián Castillo had beautiful manners, but he was no gentleman. A furious woman once hissed that his name’s middle syllable —bas — perfectly described his character since he often behaved like a bastard. Perhaps it was true. After all, Mairi Graham had been handcuffed naked to his bed when she’d made that pronouncement and instead of the games she’d expected, two of his friends had walked into his bedroom to interrogate her. That was almost six years ago and she was now happily married to one of those men, but it still bothered him.Seb was rarely introspective. He didn’t like to look too deeply into his soul and face the pain that was as much a part of him as his amber-flecked blue eyes. The lounge chair creaked as he leaned forward and scrubbed his hands over his face, then rolled his neck as tension replaced the relief he’d felt when Mandy departed. His tendency to avoid conflict had allowed the affair to last long after he knew he should end it. Delaying the inevitable only resulted in more hurt for the women he became involved with. Sweat ran in rivulets through the honey-colored hair on his chest as he baked in the Mexican sun on the villa’s patio. He hadn’t shaved in two weeks and the fashionable scruff that usually covered his cheeks and chin had turned into the beginnings of a beard sprinkled with glints of red and gold. Instead of going inside for an overdue shower and shave, he touched a button on the side of his chair and moments later the housekeeper appeared.“What can I bring you, Señor Sebastián?” she asked in Spanish. “Me gustaría un Negro Modelo, por favor.” He ignored the frosty glass delivered with the dark beer and tucked a piece of lime in the mouth of the bottle, tipped it up and drank until it was drained. Mandy wasn’t the first woman to accuse him of having commitment issues and suggest that a shrink might do him some good. Some of his exes also threw the word selfish into the mix. He was thirty-seven and still unmarried, so they might have a point. He instinctively knew that when you love someone, that person’s needs and happiness should be at least as important — or even more important — than your own. He was a generous lover and none of the women had any complaints about his behavior in the bedroom, but once dressed his own needs usually came first. His conclusion was that none of his relationships had been with the right woman. He’d begun to wonder long ago if she even existed. Or maybe he really was deluding himself and could use some couch time. There were probably more shrinks between the San Francisco area where he lived for part of the year and in his Argentine birthplace than anywhere else in the world. He wouldn’t rule it out.
The spectacular Mexican vacation house belonged to Seb’s lifelong friend Diego Navarro who only used it for an annual holiday with his family. Diego was happy to lend the villa to Seb whenever he wanted it. The two men — each with the kind of looks that could stop traffic — had shared many things over the years, including women. The exception, of course, was Alexandra, the love of Diego’s life. Seb envied his friend’s happiness. Their marriage was proof that the kind of love he longed for existed…although perhaps not for him. Thinking about Diego and Alex reminded him that he needed to arrange to be in Buenos Aires in a week. His godson, Nicky Navarro, was turning five and he never missed one of the boy’s birthday parties. He smiled as he pictured that dark-haired rascal and the unconditional love his godson gave him. Christ, the sun was hot, he thought. He raised one tanned, muscular arm to push a few strands of hair off his forehead, stood, and made his way down the stone steps that led to the beach. The sand burned his feet so he ran toward the azure surf and dove between the waves. An hour of swimming in the ocean hadn’t exhausted him, but it had cleared his head. He splashed out of the sea a more refreshed and relaxed man. It was time to head home. He had two of those — his penthouse apartment in Buenos Aires and the house in San Francisco with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge. He commuted between South America and northern California to run his family’s vineyards, although since his father’s death a year ago, there was only one member of his family — him. His American vineyard was two hours north of the city and it would have made more sense to buy a house nearby, but the room he used at the winery was adequate since it was only used for sleep. It was very similar to the simple space he’d shared with his father in Mendoza, the wine production region of Argentina. His father had founded Castillo wines and the worldwide popularity of their Malbec had made them very wealthy although unlike him, his father had never developed a taste for what that money could buy. He supposed he should be grateful to the old man. He’d loved his father, of course, but he’d always wish that the senior Castillo had lavished as much love and attention on him that he gave to his grapes. Once, when Seb confided his feelings about his father to one of his exes, she’d grinned and dubbed him a “poor little rich boy.” He hated it. That was also the last time he’d allowed a woman a glimpse into his soul.
Sebastián’s skin was almost dry by the time he climbed the hill back to the villa, but his eyes stung from the saltwater that dripped off his hair so he grabbed a towel and scrubbed his head with it. Mandy had told him she envied the natural highlights the sun brought out in his honey-colored hair, the kind that cost hundreds in a salon and then still looked fake. Did the woman honestly think that he gave a damn about the color of his hair? It was what it was. He was relieved that she was on her way to the airport.He folded the damp towel neatly and laid it on the chair. Diego’s mother had taught him to pick up after himself and to not make too much work for the servants they were fortunate enough to have.Seb was four-years-old when his mother died. His grief-stricken father had little interest in anything other than his vineyard and left his only child in the care of a nanny. Giovanna Navarro had taken the sad little boy under her wing and raised him along with Diego. Giovanna and his mother had grown up as best friends in a small town in Sicily, but they shared dreams of adventure and left for Argentina as soon as they were old enough. They met and married men who worked hard to amass a fortune and then each gave birth to one son, him and Diego. He wouldn’t allow himself to think about the life he would have had without the Navarros, but he was sure that love and affection would not have been part of it. Although his last name was Castillo, the Navarros were his real family.
Showered, shaved and dressed in snug black jeans that rode low on his slim hips and a fitted white t-shirt designed to hug his broad shoulders, He had just enough time for one last visit to his favorite taquería before he had to leave for the airport. His mouth watered as he pictured the fish tacos he craved — corn tortillas filled with battered fried fish caught that day, shredded cabbage, a mysterious, but delicious white sauce, some hot salsa and a squeeze of lime washed down by an ice cold beer. He’d dined in the world’s finest, most highly rated restaurants, but few things matched the pleasure of a fresh fish taco eaten outdoors in Mexico. He straddled the motorcycle that Alex had convinced Diego to abandon and laughed with joy when the powerful machine roared to life. Men and their machines, he thought, still grinning. He was grateful that his friend trusted him enough to let him to use the beautiful Ducati that he hadn’t had the heart to sell. Before he headed downhill, he adjusted his dark aviator sunglasses and picked up, then discarded, the black helmet. The ride was short, the sun was blazing hot, he loved speed and wanted the freedom of nothing between him and the wind. An hour later, craving more than satisfied, he exchanged grins and waves with Pedro, the taquería’s owner, and headed back to Diego’s villa. The road narrowed and he glanced at the impossibly blue Pacific on his left before he spotted a dark car coming up fast behind him. “Idiots,” he muttered. Instead of speeding up, he slowed and hugged the side of the road to give the impatient driver room to pass. As it drew alongside, the car veered toward him. If he were less skilled, he would have spun out and gone off the road. The vehicle’s windows were tinted black so he couldn’t see the driver who continued uphill at a crazy speed. Shaken, Seb pulled off the road and uttered a string of Spanish curses. The close call spoiled the contented feeling of a few minutes ago.
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