Mystical Love Read Online Free Page A
Author: Rachel James
They shared satisfying kisses and enjoyed heavy petting sessions. Their arrangement worked. If it ainât broke ⦠yet, Todd was right. He was screwed up, but he had reason to be, didnât he? The dream had resurfaced again, and he couldnât push it away. Couldnât push
her
image away.
He heard the tap of Andyâs baton tap in the pit and the spotlight snapped on. Wincing under the blinding ray, Adrian forced his mind to shift gears. The music tapered in and he set his shoulders confidently, raised his hands, and watched as the house lights dimmed to black.
Standing in the bright white light, his mind slipping away from reality, Adrian tried to imagine the shape and feel of Gingerâs breasts. Were they round? Firm? Supple? Todd was right. He didnât know.
Chapter 3
THURSDAY â 10 AM â MADSEN, OHIO
The fiery, red Subaru ground its gears, rounded one curve of the church parking lot, and barreled out the driveway and down the steep incline of Chrysler Hill. Reaching the bottom of the incline, it sailed through the intersection, ignoring the blaring horns and the four-way stop signs posted.
Hearing the squeal of brakes, Reverend Jasper Grisomb eased his rangy-rugged frame back into the cool church interior. He shut the church doors firmly. Agatha Pryor was the devil incarnate when seated behind a steering wheel. Shortly, there would be no less than five irate phone calls to the parish house, imploring him to convince Agatha to give up driving once and for all and hire a chauffeur. He shook his head in amusement. Heâd talk to her of course. Like always. And sheâd listen attentively. Like always. And then? A slight smile tinged the corners of his mouth. Like always, out of sight, out of mind â sheâd revert to driving any way she damn well pleased. God help him, he hoped when he reached senility, someone would have the good sense to chain him to his rocker. His mouth broke into a broad grin, and he chuckled for the first time that morning. Muriel. Muriel would chain him down â with barbed wire, most likely. Muriel. Her name seemed to dance in his head.
Turning slowly, he let his eyes adjust to the dimly lit alcove and the surrounding pews. Instinctively, he knew she was there, though as yet he couldnât perceive her through the dim shadows. And then, like a room suddenly flooded with light, his mind connected with hers. Just as quickly, he jerked his mind away. As he always did â would always do. It had been an unspoken vow between them from the first, when as teens they had discovered they both possessed uncanny psychic ability. Only in his case, he carried the heavier burden of the gift. He was a master of mental telepathy and excelled in precognition. It was an ability that sky-rocketed his mind almost daily through myriad abrupt mood swings. He could read minds, easily, effortlessly, as a gentle breeze stirs a blade of grass. But it was refraining from it that constantly sapped his energy and strained his nerves. It was tricky to stay out of peopleâs minds, but in the last years, he had forced himself to do so out of self-preservation.
Flinching, he rubbed his forehead vigorously. Of course, since the headache had come, his precognition had been blocked in all ways. He didnât understand why, or what caused it, but a small part of him felt immense relief. For the first time since he was ten, he had absolutely no idea what tomorrow would bring. For him. For Muriel. For the children. He enjoyed the emptiness a moment longer, then heard a discreet cough and glanced up.
Halfway down the aisle, Muriel sat decked out in her Sunday paisley dress with matching brimmed hat. She was staring his way, a burst of sunlight outlining her gentle face. God, he loved that face. Small, oval, moderately wrinkled, with sparkling blue eyes and genial mouth. Even if now at the age of seventy her once trim shape had meta-morphasized into overly plump, he
her
image away.
He heard the tap of Andyâs baton tap in the pit and the spotlight snapped on. Wincing under the blinding ray, Adrian forced his mind to shift gears. The music tapered in and he set his shoulders confidently, raised his hands, and watched as the house lights dimmed to black.
Standing in the bright white light, his mind slipping away from reality, Adrian tried to imagine the shape and feel of Gingerâs breasts. Were they round? Firm? Supple? Todd was right. He didnât know.
Chapter 3
THURSDAY â 10 AM â MADSEN, OHIO
The fiery, red Subaru ground its gears, rounded one curve of the church parking lot, and barreled out the driveway and down the steep incline of Chrysler Hill. Reaching the bottom of the incline, it sailed through the intersection, ignoring the blaring horns and the four-way stop signs posted.
Hearing the squeal of brakes, Reverend Jasper Grisomb eased his rangy-rugged frame back into the cool church interior. He shut the church doors firmly. Agatha Pryor was the devil incarnate when seated behind a steering wheel. Shortly, there would be no less than five irate phone calls to the parish house, imploring him to convince Agatha to give up driving once and for all and hire a chauffeur. He shook his head in amusement. Heâd talk to her of course. Like always. And sheâd listen attentively. Like always. And then? A slight smile tinged the corners of his mouth. Like always, out of sight, out of mind â sheâd revert to driving any way she damn well pleased. God help him, he hoped when he reached senility, someone would have the good sense to chain him to his rocker. His mouth broke into a broad grin, and he chuckled for the first time that morning. Muriel. Muriel would chain him down â with barbed wire, most likely. Muriel. Her name seemed to dance in his head.
Turning slowly, he let his eyes adjust to the dimly lit alcove and the surrounding pews. Instinctively, he knew she was there, though as yet he couldnât perceive her through the dim shadows. And then, like a room suddenly flooded with light, his mind connected with hers. Just as quickly, he jerked his mind away. As he always did â would always do. It had been an unspoken vow between them from the first, when as teens they had discovered they both possessed uncanny psychic ability. Only in his case, he carried the heavier burden of the gift. He was a master of mental telepathy and excelled in precognition. It was an ability that sky-rocketed his mind almost daily through myriad abrupt mood swings. He could read minds, easily, effortlessly, as a gentle breeze stirs a blade of grass. But it was refraining from it that constantly sapped his energy and strained his nerves. It was tricky to stay out of peopleâs minds, but in the last years, he had forced himself to do so out of self-preservation.
Flinching, he rubbed his forehead vigorously. Of course, since the headache had come, his precognition had been blocked in all ways. He didnât understand why, or what caused it, but a small part of him felt immense relief. For the first time since he was ten, he had absolutely no idea what tomorrow would bring. For him. For Muriel. For the children. He enjoyed the emptiness a moment longer, then heard a discreet cough and glanced up.
Halfway down the aisle, Muriel sat decked out in her Sunday paisley dress with matching brimmed hat. She was staring his way, a burst of sunlight outlining her gentle face. God, he loved that face. Small, oval, moderately wrinkled, with sparkling blue eyes and genial mouth. Even if now at the age of seventy her once trim shape had meta-morphasized into overly plump, he
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