Sacred Revelations Read Free

overwhelming. She is dark-skinned, a pure, deep russet, with almond-shaped brown eyes, made even larger and more dramatic by her always-present false eyelashes. Her full, sensual lips are artistically lined and filled with a slick, glossy lipstick. Her wig was a multitude of long, burgundy braids caught and bound in a loose knot, a more casual look than I’d ever seen on Jackie, but a hairstyle that complemented the exotic, brightly colored caftan that reached to her brightly painted toes.
    She wrapped around me, cradling me, making me feel six again, held like my mother held me when I’d skin my knee and I’d run to her crying and she would grab me and hold me tight, my face buried against her breasts. Then, a kiss and a Band-Aid were a miracle cure.
    Hugged, pulled into the house, with a very strong, heavily spiked lemonade in hand, I felt better, not great, but definitely better. At least until she demanded, “Now, before they get back, I want you to tell me just what in the hell is going on! Why on earth would you agree to let Lord Fyre master you? Are you insane, girl? Lord, lord, whatever were you thinking. Sit and spill.” She sat on my overstuffed sofa, patting the faded floral print, indicating for me to sit beside her.
    God, I really needed new furniture, not because it’s faded and threadbare, that was once the charm for me, but because after seeing the ultra-chic, ultra modern furnishings at Garrett’s, mine are grotesquely grandmotherly in comparison.
    “I don’t know what to say.”
    “Start with why Garrett is suddenly not man enough for you,” she demanded bluntly. “And what Lord Fyre has to do with this?”
    “Jackie, I told you to leave her alone.” Garrett’s warning growl came from the other side of the screen door. Looking up, I saw he had his arms loaded down with paper grocery bags, each overflowing.
    Racing from the couch, smiling ear to ear, I was glad it was he on the other side of the screen. I couldn’t get the door open fast enough, pushing between the weighted bags to press against his chest, his soft, well-worn T-shirt a comfort against my cheek, citrusy and breezy all at once.
    “I’ve missed you,” I whispered.
    He planted a kiss on top of my head. “I missed you, too.”
    Kitten. I heard the endearment in my head, even though from his mouth my pet name wasn’t spoken.
    The weight of its loss pulled at my heart.
    I didn’t look up into his face, though I longed to look into his eyes, I couldn’t Not wanting to see if they were the same mesmerizing blue that had lured me in so recently, or whether they were darkened with anger, fear, jealousy…or a million other possible emotions—one of which prevented him from calling me Kitten.
    I kissed the spot on his chest bared by the V-neckline of his silk T-shirt. He was tanner than I remembered, but then it was July and I hadn’t seen much of him since May. Against the healthy glow of his cheek, my hand appeared ghost white.
    “Easy, Celia. Bags!”
    Jackie scooted in behind me, taking the bags from Garrett so that he could properly take me into his arms, his mouth lowering to claim mine, his arms wrapping around my waist to lift me off the ground, making me squeal in a very girly way. Lowering my feet back to the ground, he pulled away, but I followed him, refusing to release his mouth from the kiss he initiated, kissing him passionately with the fierceness of desperation. I couldn’t bear to release him, because I honestly didn’t know what the next moment would bring, our relationship a thrill ride since we’d first met. I, the slave on stage being auctioned, he the master of ceremony, who also just happened to be my purchaser, for the unheard of sum of a quarter of a million dollars. The sum seemed astronomical, even, upon reflection, exorbitant. I feel so much less worthy now than then, and even that night, I wasn’t worth what he paid.
    I was an undercover reporter, hell-bent on an exposé that would further my