Monday, September 4th, 2006
The day has finally dawned for the relase of Sacred Secrets!
An excerpt for your enjoyment:
The tantalizing aroma of coffee lures me forward toward what I thought was another window to the great outdoors, but no, it is an interior window that opens the kitchen to additional light from the wall of windows in the great room.
Black granite and gleaming stainless steel greet me. I have never been in a gourmet’s kitchen, but I assume that this is what one looks like. I am impressed. I have found Mecca. I would fall prostrate but I wouldn’t know which alter to bow before first.
I pour a cup and inhale, my mind clearing of its spice overdose.
The mug is taken from my hand with a hearty “thank you” and I stagger from the loss of promised caffeine. He pivots and walks away, leaving me shaken that I did not hear him approach.
How can one man be so quiet? I am glad I was caught with a cup of coffee and not snooping. I turn with a pout, not brave enough to glare. From his seat beside a small bistro table, tucked into a corner, he calls me forward with a wave of his hand. I am summoned. It matters not that his mouth is full of my coffee, he could have just as easily swallowed and spoke. The fact remains he didn’t. I inch nearer.
Another crook of his finger tells me it is not close enough. He is hidden behind the spread of Inappropriate Voices.
I inch forward until my knees brush his thigh. His hand leaves the newspaper long enough to pull the towel from my body and drop it to the ground. I gasp, but I don’t think he hears over the rustle of the paper as he turns the page. He hands me the empty coffee cup. He knows I will refill it. I can glare now.
Fresh coffee in hand, I glare at the front page of Voices.
Ohmygod! I am on the front page. That is me. Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Big as life on the front page. I bend forward to read the headline. Quarter-million dollar slave. He turns the page and I can’t read the wavering story below the headline.
The paper drops and I am nose to nose with Garrett Lawrence.
“You growled?” he asks incredulously. He removes the cup of coffee from my trembling hand and it is only then that I realize I’ve spilled it on his bare toes. My gasp is not redemption enough. I lunge for the towel and pat his foot dry.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. Are you all right? It didn’t burn you did it? Geez, I am such a klutz. I really didn’t mean—”
“Quiet! Sit!” he barks.
Okay, I’m standing, moving out of reach, trying to look humble, pulling out a chair—
“Not there, Kitten.”
Shit, sitting on a pillow all night was bad enough, sitting on a cold tile floor butt naked is just going to make my day.
I squat and look up to see if he is happy with the effect that he is having on his unstable slave. I mean, I must be mentally unstable to be putting up with this crap. I cannot believe that people do this for fun. This is not a game. This is not fun. This is humiliating and I am too hungry and too hangover to give a—
He is not happy. He is shaking his head no. He has folded the Voices and laid it on the table.
“Not there, Kitten.” He pats his thigh. I close my eyes thinking that maybe the cold tile floor isn’t so bad after all. “Now!”
Okay, I’m standing, I’m sitting. God your leg is warm.
Of course his leg is warm, it’s next to my cold bare ass.
Glancing at the tabletop, I see that the copy beneath the headline is readable from my thigh perch. Wiggling my ass and scooting so that it is not so visible I’m reading, I read quickly:
“Renowned gay bachelor and owner of Lewd Larry’s stunned the community at last night’s auction by not only purchasing a woman, but paying the unheard of sum of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Speculation reigns supreme, calling the slave purchase a cheap advertising ploy. Those closest to the man refuse to comment…”