I'm Editting Sacred Revelations

Okay, we've all figured out that my internet use is slim to none now that I have to traipse back and forth between the Coffee Shop and the new house...

The good news is...I'm editting Sacred Revelations...yeah! It's always exciting to open a project after not seeing it for a few months. After a few pages, I scratch my head, thinking, "Wow! Did I really write THAT?"
Here's a quick excerpt example from Sacred Revelations to peak your interest of one such scene that had me saying "Wow":

I look at the man lying next to me, looking so incredibly sinful. He sleeps and even in sleep he looks unholy. Totally and inexplicably forbidden. Sleeping, he is too much temptation and I reach my hand out to touch him, the hard plane of his chest, the skin stretched painfully taut over his pectoral muscles, his nipples hard points in the midst of all that stretched skin. Pushing down the cotton sheet that drapes over his body, I look, taking in the angular lines and solid muscle that forms the man.
Where has my shyness gone?
Where is the woman who hid under the covers from Garrett?
I am not that same woman. I do not know where she went, but I am no longer she, and honestly, I am glad that she is gone.
She would have been too afraid to join Lord Fyre for three months. She would have been too afraid of the feelings awakening in the very tissues and fibers of her being, feelings that make me want to reach out and stroke the imperfections of his body. I’ve never seen him naked. Last night that changed and I was too tired, too sore to pay much attention. I am still tired, languidly so, still not wanting to move, but it takes little effort to stroke the length of the scar on his left forearm, long and deep, slightly ragged, even though it appears to be an old scar. I wonder only for a second how he got it, before moving to the next imperfection, a row of round circles, angling across his back, not decorative, not on purpose, though their effect accentuates his power. It is a wonder he survived whatever caused the marks, and because I know instinctively that he is lucky to be alive, I trace each dented, perfect circle reverently.
My touch could wake him, but there is no fear of him waking even though I lie in his bed naked. He too is as naked as the day he was born. Even though, yesterday, I admitted to Dr. Psycho that I fear sex with him, but I explained it wrong, or the explanation was twisted by the time it reached Lord Fyre, because it wasn’t that I feared the sex. I feared my inexperience. I feared not being able to please him. I feared the ultimate outcome—losing Garrett forever if I allowed my baser needs to win and I gave myself to Lord Fyre fully.
I do not know how long we’ve slept; I know only that it is daylight again, and in my mind, time for him to awake. Awake before I lose my nerve and am no longer brave. Awake before I start thinking too hard about consequences, guilt, and judgment.
I smile. Looking at his body, it is so hard not to. He is perfection and it makes me giddy. Perfection in my bed.
I smooth my hand over the flatness of his stomach, dropping lower, finding him hard. Wondering what thought God had when he made all healthy, able men awaken with a hard-on. Awaken. Hard. Oh, shit.

Well, that's it...let me know what you think of your first glimpse of Lord Fyre**grin**