Raheiran Special Forces captain Gillaine Davré has just woken up in some unknown space way station, wondering where the last three hundred years have gone. The last thing she remembers is her ship being attacked. Now it seems that while she was time-traveling, she was ordained a goddess…. Gillaine's only hope of survival rests with dangerously seductive Admiral Mack Makarian, who suspects her of being a smuggler-or worse. But he can't begin to imagine the full extent of it. For Gillaine is now Lady Kiasidira, holy icon to countless believers, including Mack-a man who inspires feelings in her that are far from saintly…feelings she knows are mutual. But when their flirtation is interrupted by a treacherous enemy from the past, Gillaine's secret-and secret desires-could destroy them both….
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1 . Great Read
Posted August 02, 2009 by Shannon , Kansas CityAnother great read by Linnea Sinclair. Interesting characters, situations, and plot. Thoroughly enjoyable!
December 26, 2005
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Excerpt from An Accidental Goddess by Linnea Sinclair
It wasn't the first time Gillie had hazily regained consciousness flat on her back in sick bay, feeling stiff and out of sorts. And unable to account for a missing two or three hours. Pub-crawling did have its side effects.
But it was the first time she'd been unable to account for a missing two or three hundred years. Not even a week of pub-crawling could explain that.
Three hundred forty-two years, sixteen hours, Simon's voice stated clearly in her mind. If you want to be absolutely accurate.
She didn't. Her math skills had never been her strong point. And three hundred years was a close enough estimate to cause her stomach to do flip-flops in a way a bottle of Devil's Breath never had.
The possibility that she'd died flitted across her mind ' though death wouldn't have thrown her inexplicably into the future. Even so, she thought it prudent to pull her essence out of her physical self and make a cursory examination of her own body on the diag table. By all appearances, she was still short, blond, and very much alive. The readout on the medistat confirmed the last part of her hastily conducted diagnosis. It detailed a few bumps and bruises as well as notations on a mild concussion, no doubt the source of her blistering headache.
A headache that wasn't the least bit helped by whatever heathen concoction was being pumped into her system through the round med-broche clamped to her wrist. Med-broches! Raheiran technology rarely used such invasive things. She longed to alter its feed rate but knew her mental tinkering would likely set off some alarm. She'd almost tripped a few when she'd awakened ten minutes ago, groggy and achy, then tried to spike into this sick bay's systems.
Impatience invariably leads to sloppy work, Simon had chastised.
Sloppy work, a bitch of a headache, and a reality that suddenly did not make sense.
How in the Seven Hells had she ended up three hundred years from her last conscious moment, flat on her back in some unknown space station's sick bay With Simon in a similar state of disarray a few decks below.