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Catherine Zeta-Jones Articles

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Fan fiction by durossa posted over a year ago
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Gin lay in the middle of the bed in her hotel room. She was flat on her back with her right leg extended toward the edge of the footboard, diagonal from her body, and her other leg bent inward with her foot resting in the hollow behind her right knee. Her left arm was thrown up above her head, which was turned to the left, her chin resting on her shoulder and her thick raven hair falling in loose waves over her pillow. Her other arm was stretched out horizontally and her hand dangled limply over the edge of the mattress. Gin shifted slightly in her sleep and as she did so, her bare shoulder brushed against the cold metal of the loaded revolver beneath her pillow.

Ever since she had returned to her London hotel room to find every bit of her luggage, from her advanced tracking equipment to her expensive lingerie, blatantly stolen from her room for no apparent reason, Gin had not parted with the firearm even for an instant.

The theft had been carried out with an expert hand; whoever had committed the crime was apparently undeterred by the hotel’s elaborate security system, and had obviously managed to both enter and exit the room with little to no...
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Fan fiction by durossa posted over a year ago
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The exquisite grounds surrounding the lavish estate of Don Rafael Montero were unparalleled in their beauty at any phase of the day, but ever so much more so in the twilight hours when the setting sun bathed the gardens in its rosy glow, causing the immense trees, towering impressively over the lawn, each of their leaves tinged with gold by the dim light, to cast long, soft shadows across the grasses. A small pond was set in the middle of the grounds, surrounded by tall grass, cattails, and beautiful wildflowers. The early evening sun ignited the still waters, making them liquid gold. A tall willow tree grew on the banks, its long, feathery boughs dangling over the pool and swaying gently in the soft evening breeze. Tranquil and calm, the pond was virtually unmoving; the occasional ripple caused by a falling leaf or twig being the only disruption, and radiated every essence of peace and serenity.

But that peace was utterly and completely lost on Don Rafael’s beautiful young daughter, Elena. At the moment, she was riding her horse at breakneck speed toward the hacienda, trying desperately to reach home before complete darkness set in. Though it had been only early...
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