Behind the Curtain with J. Kathleen Cheney
Please help me welcome fellow North Texas RWA member, J. Kathleen Cheney to the blog. I think you’ll find her charming and you’ll enjoy getting to know her. Be sure to try and figure out which one of her three statements is the truth. If more than one person guesses correctly, I’ll use Random.org to select the winner!
BIO:
J. Kathleen Cheney is a former teacher and has taught mathematics ranging from 7th grade to Calculus, with a brief stint as a Gifted and Talented Specialist. Her short fiction has been published in Jim Baen’s Universe, Writers of the Future, and Fantasy Magazine, among others, and her novella “Iron Shoes” was a 2010 Nebula Award Finalist. Her novel, “The Golden City” will come out from Penguin, November 5, 2013.
Her website can be found at www.jkathleencheney.com
If you could be one of the heroine’s from any of the books you’ve reviewed, who would you be? Why?
One of my all-time favorites is “A Cousinly Connexion” by Sheila Simonson. The heroine, Jane Ash, isn’t spectacularly beautiful and is often flustered by clever banter. But she’s dutiful and takes on far too much responsibility. I can relate to her. And, happily enough, she ends up with the sharp-tongued gentleman in the end…
What is the first thing you notice about a man?
Whether or not he’s graceful. I often don’t recall things like hair or eye color…but I’m likely to be able to recall how they walked.
What turns you off faster than being wet down by a fire hose?
A man who’s very conscious of how good looking he is. My experience teaching high school cemented this. Some young men skated by on their looks, while others–sometimes equally blessed by nature–didn’t. I found the self-admiration of the former a very unattractive trait, whereas I suspect the latter students will grow up to be the sort of men we write books about.
If you were in the “Miss America” talent competition, what would your talent be?
Hah! My singing voice isn’t notable enough to win, so I would go with something unusual. I think I’d twirl rifle (I did this in college, and still possess one of my rifles). As long as I didn’t take out any of the overhead lights, I’d be fine.
Is there something in your jewelry box of sentimental value?
I have one bracelet that’s made from Portuguese coins (2.5 escudo coins) that I wore almost every day while my agent was pitching my Portuguese books. It became a good luck charm. I usually wear a piece of jewelry from Portugal (of which I have a lot) every day.
What was your favorite TV show when you were a kid?
Mission Impossible. I loved watching how each member of the team did their part to achieve their team’s goal. It’s strange to go back and watch that series now since the advent of cell phones would ruin some of their plots, but most of them still work.
What is one of the things you would put on your “bucket” list?
I don’t have a bucket list, but I should start one! One of the things I would put on it is climbing Guadalupe Peak. I know that doesn’t sound impressive; Guadalupe Peak isn’t very high. But it’s one of those things that I -can- do, and yet I’ve never gotten around to it. And I love the Guadalupe National Wilderness, yet have never made time to go hiking there.
Okay! A couple of quickies:
Tennis shoes or sandals?
Tennis Shoes…never know when you have to run.
Football or baseball?
Football, without a doubt.
Color of fingernail polish?
Clear.
Morning person or nite-owl?
Morning.
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Now…tell me two truths and one lie about yourself.
My parents were both physicists.
I started college at fifteen and graduated at nineteen.
My husband and I met in college, but didn’t date until thirteen years later.
Okay everyone. See if you can guess which one of Kathleen’s statements is not true. Stop back by in the morning when we peek behind the curtain and learn the answer and the winner.
Now let’s take a look at Kathleen’s exciting book and read the excerpt. This is one you’re going to want to read!
Snippet:
Humming with the sound of moving water, the pipes on the second floor told Duilio his mother’s new companion had drawn a bath, which served his purposes well. He had questions that needed answering, and catching her in her bath would give him the leverage he needed. She wouldn’t be able to deny who she was.
It might be improper, but it was expedient. He could apologize later.
But he had to smooth his butler’s injured consequence first. “This has nothing to do with you, Cardenas. I merely suspect she would prefer to hold both copies.”
Cardenas wasn’t happy about surrendering one of his precious keys. “And if I should need to get in there, to inspect the maids’ work, sir?”
“It’s only for a short time, Cardenas,” Duilio said soothingly. “I’ll give it two weeks. If she’s comfortable with the arrangement by then, I’ll ask her to return the key to you.”
“As you wish, Mr. Ferreira.” Cardenas frowned as he worked the brass key off his ring.
Duilio couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t the loss of a key that bothered the man, but the implied loss of control. Cardenas didn’t want to give up the ability to check on the other servants in the household, particularly not after the incident with the footman who’d robbed them. Fortunately, the butler wasn’t the sort to abuse his power. Duilio slipped the key inside his coat pocket where it clinked against the master copy he already held. “Thank you, Cardenas.”
The perturbed butler took his leave and headed down the stairs to the first floor.
Duilio chewed on his lower lip. Am I actually going to do this? He took a deep breath and knocked on the bedroom door. When he got no response, he listened carefully and then let himself in.
It was Alessio’s old room–too masculine for a lady’s companion, perhaps, but there hadn’t been time to make changes. It had a private bath, as did none of the other empty rooms; if he was right about her, she would appreciate that.
Duilio strode across the rug and pressed one ear against the door to the bathing room, but didn’t hear any movement within. He unlocked the bathroom door, and once inside, gazed down into the oversized porcelain tub.
Miss Paredes lay under the surface of the water, her eyes closed. The jangling of the keys must have been muffled by the liquid, because she apparently hadn’t heard him enter.
Duilio stared down at her, mesmerized. A flush of heat surged through is body. She was…stunning.
He’d admired her figure before, but unclothed she was as spectacular as he’d imagined. Her breasts with their mauve-tipped nipples were rounded but not overlarge. Her waist didn’t owe its trimness to corsetry, and her hips flared down to nicely curved thighs. His hands practically itched to touch her. He’d never been attracted to small delicate females. Oriana Paredes was the sort of woman he preferred, tall and strong and able to keep up with him in…
Oh, Good Lord! What was he thinking? She was employed in his household. He turned partially away from her, mentally clamping down on his desire.
He was grateful she seemed unaware of his presence, that she hadn’t opened her eyes to catch him gaping at her like a schoolboy in a whorehouse. He must be flushed all the way to his hairline. He peeked at her again out of the corner of one eye, firmly reminding himself he was purportedly a gentleman.
Her hair spread about her head, the reddish tinge transmuted to a burgundy glow. Her skin looked different in the water as well, the paleness of her face become an opal-like iridescence. Below her breasts, her skin changed to a shimmering silver, a perfect imitation of scales running all the way down to her toes, the reason sailors claimed sereia had fish tails.
Her hands moved slowly through the water, no longer obscured by an old woman’s mitts. Translucent webbing showed between her fingers, pearly skin stretching between them up to the last knuckle, so thin he might be able to see through it in the light.
The expression on her face reminded him of paintings of the saints enraptured in the presence of God. She was singing to herself, the notes muted by the water. On each side of her neck, pink-edged gills vibrated with the sound.
But that song could entrap him if she raised her head above the surface. It was said men would throw themselves into the sea on hearing it. And while he wouldn’t mind staring at that silver-gilded body for the rest of the afternoon, the last thing he needed was to be enslaved to her, so he discreetly tapped on the side of the tub with one booted foot.
Still underwater, her dark eyes opened wide.
Miss Paredes sat up in a rush, setting the water sloshing about. She scooted back against the side of the tub and pressed her hands over her neck to hide her gills. That forced her breasts together, unfortunately obscuring his view of them at the same time. “I locked the door,” she said, her shaky voice betraying alarm. “How did you get in here?”
Duilio spotted a towel on the table near the vanity stand and retrieved it. He was not going to blush. “I have the keys, of course.”
Selkies rarely showed any discomfiture over nudity. That French book he’d once read suggested the sereia shared that view, if he recalled correctly. Her choice of covering her gills–rather than anything else–reinforced the notion. Even so, it would be ungentlemanly to stare at her bared body, no matter how lovely. He held out the towel, resolutely reminding himself to keep his eyes on her face.
“What are you doing in here?” She rose from the water, giving him a glimpse of golden stippling along the outside of her thighs. He couldn’t see her dorsal stripe from that angle, supposedly one of a sereia’s best features. She snatched the towel from his hand and wrapped it about her body, keeping her back turned away from him the whole time. Then she fixed him with a hard gaze, raising her brows to prompt an answer to her question.
Duilio leaned back against the vanity stand and crossed one ankle over the other, trying to present a nonchalant façade. “I suspected you were a sereia,” he said in a mild tone. “I needed to be sure.”
“You could have asked,” she said with asperity.
Her teeth barely showed when she spoke. Even though they looked like a human’s teeth, he’d heard they were razor sharp. He had the feeling she was considering biting him, so he kept his distance. “You would have lied.”
She twisted her dripping hair into a knot with one webbed hand. The movement gave him a better view of a yellowish discoloration encircling her forearms and wrists, faded bruises that might have come from being bound. “It is unacceptable to take advantage of someone in your employ, sir,” she said primly.
He felt his cheeks burn again, but tried to ignore it. “I haven’t taken advantage of you,” he said, “nor do I have any intention of doing so. But we need to talk, and we can speak privately here without being interrupted.”
“And I expected that I could bathe privately here, sir,” she snapped. “Without being interrupted.”
