Free A Preacher's Passion by Lutishia Lovely Page A

car onto the highway. “No,” she said before forcing herself to turn away from the tragic scene. “Whoever’s in that car is dead.”
     
    Several people looked on as firemen used their equipment to pry open the smashed door on the driver’s side. A medic stooped next to the body dangling upside down, held in place by a durable seatbelt. Careful of the broken glass and large drops of blood, he grabbed the accident victim’s arm. Holding his fingers against the victim’s wrist, he waited a moment, repositioned his fingers and waited another moment. Then he turned and gave a curt nod to the fire chief standing behind him. “I think I feel a pulse.”

13
Project Darius
    Stacy lay quiet and content in Darius’s arms. He was always good, but had been especially attentive in tonight’s lovemaking, giving Stacy several orgasms before enjoying a sustained one of his own. But as usual, it wasn’t long before he jumped up and headed to the shower.
    Stacy’s afterglow turned to an after “no.” After two years, she was tired of feeling like, like… How do I feel? Stacy wondered. It was hard to describe in words, in several words even. Darius would be totally into her one moment, and then totally disconnected the next—like now. She didn’t feel as if she were a part of him, as if she were really with him. A part of her always felt as if she were on the outside of Darius’s life looking in. She’d stewed on her situation ever since having lunch with Hope the month before—about the best way to handle getting what she wanted. Summer had given way to October and while she hoped the answer to the dilemma was in her womb, she wasn’t one hundred percent sure. She’d told Hope about the baby but hadn’t told its father. The timing, and his mood, had to be perfect.
    Stacy got out of bed and walked into the kitchen. She leaned against the counter, slowly sipped a glass of water, and thought of why she and Darius couldn’t seem to take their relationship to the next level, why after two years things seemed to be at a standstill. In every instance his manager, Bo Jenkins, was either the “stand” or the “still.” He was why she could never spend the night at Darius’s house—because roommates Bo and Darius had agreed to not have overnight guests. What kind of joke was that? Grown men splitting the rent telling each other who can do what? Why she could never go out of town with Darius—Bo always made it seem that while he was indispensable, she would only be in the way. And what was worse, Darius listened. What kind of business manager tells a client how to run his personal life? Stacy knew Bo had discouraged Darius from getting married as well, saying a wedding at this point in time would diminish Darius’s largely female fan base. At the root of every issue she had with Darius was one thing and one thing only: Bo.
    Stacy stomped into the bedroom. Darius sat on the bed, having just put on his shoes. She stopped directly in front of him, her unwashed punanny inches from his face.
    “We’ve got a problem, Darius,” she said, hands on hips. “And his name is Bo.”
    Darius kept his look neutral, masking surprise. Bo is exactly who Darius had been thinking of when Stacy walked in, and all while he showered and dressed. He stood up and brushed past her. “What now?”
    Stacy ignored the chagrin in Darius’s voice. This wasn’t the first time that Bo being an issue had come up—so what. Obviously Darius didn’t understand just how much his business manager worked her nerves.
    “This is what,” she said, sweeping her hand in a head to toe motion. “You being dressed, going home. Why can’t you spend the night at my house? Two years, and I can count the times you’ve spent the night. Bo, right?”
    Tonight especially, the reason was Bo. He’d told Darius that there would be a surprise waiting for him when he returned home. But Stacy didn’t need to know that. “I told you,” he said, walking over to