When he eased out of her and rolled off the bed, Eden did not utter a word and remained completely still, trying to become one with the mattress he’d just viciously fucked her on. She even tried to keep her breathing minimal and simply listened to his movements around the bedroom. He would go to the bathroom first and rinse off his brutality like it was a coat of dirt that could be washed off with soap and water. Then he would return to the room, twenty or so minutes later, freshly clean and head downstairs to his home office where he would remain locked away for the duration of the morning. Eden anticipated that moment, waited patiently for it, and when she heard the hushed click of the door closing behind him, she finally allowed her body to unfurl from its fetal position.
Knowing she had the next few hours all to herself, Eden sat on the edge of the large sleigh bed, her smooth caramel legs dangling from the edge, her feet barely touching the cream carpet. She’d always been short, standing no taller than the woman who’d given her birth. A sad smile touched Eden’s lips as she thought about her mother. She wouldn’t be happy if she knew this was how Eden had ended up.
A rich man’s blow up doll.
Helen Mercer had always wanted more for her daughter, believing, as all ’mothers do, that her child was special and could reach the stars if she wanted. And while she was alive, Eden had bought into her mother’s dream, had believed that her voice could change their lives, could bring them out of the poverty that was all around them. But a senseless tragedy neither one could’ve predicted stole not only Eden’s mother, but her voice as well. It’d been a drive-by shooting, and in the ghetto of South Rochester, an everyday occurrence. The stray bullets had ripped through her mother that summer evening while she’d been walking home from her night shift at the local burger joint on Third Street. She’d died before the ambulance was called. Eden turned eighteen the following day. She’d stopped celebrating her birthday the day her mother died. After that, it’d been a series of horrible misfortunes brought on by too much debt and not enough money to pay them off. Graduating high school had not been without its efforts, and she’d gone through high school long enough to receive her hard earned diploma. She’d owed her mother at least that, a small honor that would, at the very least, overshadow the shameful way she was going to make money. Learning the finer points of stripping at the Crazy Pussy downtown had been a real low point.
College was put on the backburner for a part time job at Lou’s as a waitress in the morning and her full time gig at the Crazy Pussy at night. The money had been good for a while, but not enough to cover the substantial debts that her mother had kept hidden from her. Life had seemed pretty bleak until the moment Lucas came stumbling into the strip club. Lucas had been an obnoxious, entitled, spoiled asshole with too much time on his hands and an entire inheritance he’d seemed determined to unload at the club. He’d treated the dancers like meat, harassed the waitresses, and made the bartender’s life hell, but he’d always been welcomed because he’d been extremely generous with his money. Eden had not only seen the scope of his generosity with the way he showered the stage with cash when she danced, but he’d made sure to lavish her with extra gifts. Lucas had wanted her but Eden hadn’t taken his pursuit seriously. He’d been incoherently drunk for most of the time he’d spoken to her anyway. But then with Lucas came Dominic. Imperious, indomitable and ruthless, Dominic Armstrong had ridden roughshod through her life. The moment she’d seen him, Eden had known things would never been the same for her. There had been her unimaginable attraction to him, tall, dark and handsome as he’d been, every single female inch of her had prickled with awareness of him. Lucas’s half-brother had looked nothing like his inebriated, slovenly sibling.
Dominic had come with an offer, which Eden has capriciously countered with one of her own. She’d done it simply to knock him off his high horse because she knew people like him would never marry below their station. He’d been so bold, so sure that she would jump on the opportunity to become his mistress that she’d wanted to see how far he was willing to go to have her. Apparently he’d been willing to go quite far. Eden had never expected him to agree to the marriage proposal, but then she quickly saw the advantages it would bring her when he offered her entry to his world. He flaunted his money and she’d been greedy enough to jump on the opportunity. Accidental gold-digger. She laughed humorlessly; she’d done the one thing her mother had cautioned her against doing. Stripping had been one thing, but Eden had sold her soul for wealth and the horrible part was that it hadn’t even been for her voice.
Eden came to her feet wincing when a slight bit of pain shot between her legs. The shower felt great, but the soreness would remain for a few days, along with the bruises that marred her skin.
She wiped the condensation from the bathroom mirror and found a pair of honey gold eyes staring back at her from a round, somewhat attractive face. She wasn’t ugly honestly, although she could say that her mouth was a little too wide and her eyes a little too sunken, but those were features she’d inherited from an unknown father. Her mother hadn’t spoken much of the man who’d been in her life for only period of time, but she did tell Eden that she’d inherited the “music” from him. He’d been a jazz musician from what she knew, and they’d shared a supernova romance that had come and gone, leaving Eden as a result.
Her mother had been in love with him, but he’d already devoted his life to music. And so he’d gone, and she’d been left to raise Eden by herself—a white mother raising a biracial child in the heart of crime central. They’d had more than a few challenges to say the least. It was with her mother’s eyes that Eden assessed herself further, grateful the bruises were not substantial this time. She could hide them well. She was petite but well proportioned, with breasts that were still perky and full, although she’d been on the smaller side when she’d been at Crazy Pussy. Her ritualistic morning jogs kept her fit, her stomach flat, arms and legs well-toned, and a cute little butt she thought to be her best feature. Dominic liked her hair long so every few weeks Eden paid a ridiculous amount of money to have a few pieces added to her wavy, shoulder length hair so that it nearly reached her butt when it was done. She’d gathered the mass of chestnut waves into a topknot for now. Eden stepped a little closer to the mirror, her fingers shooting up to her neck and sighed at the bruise forming from the collar. Dominic was bastard.
Chapter Two
Exercising helped. Putting her body through its paces eased her troubles, helped her forget that she wasn’t bruised and aching from Dominic’s horrible mistreatment of her, that she wasn’t some mindless blow up doll who catered to Dominic’s every sick need. For an hour, Eden could pretend that she hadn’t married prematurely, and that she was just a twenty-thee-year-old woman doing normal twenty-three-year-old things. The pain melted into the sweat glistening off her skin, the burn was inconsequential, and all that mattered was finishing strong. Raising her hand, she tapped a finger on the treadmill to accelerate the speed. When the machine beeped and gradually slowed for her cool down, reality seeped back in. She headed upstairs to shower, grateful that she didn’t run into Dominic. She didn’t know where he was today—Eden had woken up and he’d been gone—but she really didn’t care. The days were hers; he seldom bothered her when the sun was up. She was a lady of leisure, so she dressed, set her oversized, designer sunglasses on her face, and went about putting her husband’s credit cards to work.
She returned later in the afternoon to Dominic promptly informing her that they were going to have guests, and she was to be well prepared to play hostess. It was while seated in front of her vanity, freshly showered and wearing a newly purchased royal blue satin robe that he came to her again. She felt his presence instantly and tried not to stiffen. In the attempt to ignore him, Eden concentrated on her reflection. Having chosen to keep the makeup minimal; she’d accentuated her eyes with liquid eyeliner, making sure to pull slightly at the end to give her a cat-eye effect. Mascara made her lashes exotically lush, while the slightest bit of blush to her cheeks gave one the mistaken impression of innocence. She could feel him watching her, examining her every move with a criticalness that always set her on edge. Eden didn’t miss the slight tremor of her hand as she picked up the YSL tube of lipstick.
“I prefer the red,” he said tonelessly, and as hard as she’d tried not to meet his gaze in the mirror, her eyes inadvertently slid up to those hooded green eyes. His expression revealed nothing of what he was thinking as he silently strode towards her, his leonine grace making her feel every bit the prey she was. Her heart picked up speed and she hated that he had the ability to affect her this way. He came to a stop behind her, and she locked her spine, sitting ramrod straight, she refused the gasp that threatened to escape at the whisper of his touch. It was the slightest of caress, his large hand whispering ever so gently down the column of her neck. Tension locking her bones, anxiousness arresting the air in her lungs, Eden watched bemusedly as that large hand crept lower, nudging away at the satin robe until one side slide down, pooling at her elbow, and exposing the swells of her macchiato cleavage to his avaricious gaze. It was achingly sensual watching him as that skillful hand slid down until he cupped her breast.