Blurred Lines by Breena Wilde
(Blurred Lines #1)
Publication date: July 5th 2013
Genres: Adult, Erotica, Romance
Volume 1 in Blurred Lines Serials
Genre: New Adult Erotic Romance Series
*** Cadence lives her life without holding back. She's all in. Her life is raw, real, and unapologetic. If you aren't afraid to experience all Cadence has to offer, read this series. ***
Hooking has four important rules.
1. Cash only.
2. Use protection.
3. Carry mace.
4. Don’t fall in love.
Twenty-year-old Cadence is a prostitute and she lives by the rules. They keep her alive and they keep her heart protected. But when she agrees to take one last job to get out from under her pimp, she discovers some of the rules might be worth breaking.
My pimp told me to wear a party dress. The only one I have is tight, lacy red, and cuts about mid-thigh. I style and dry my hair until it’s shiny and curls gently at the ends. When I’m finished I walk out of the bathroom.
“What do you think?”
Jessica, who’s still sleeping, rolls over and groans. She pushes her hair off her face and smiles. “You look smokin’ hot. Dayum. I’d tap that.”
“Thanks. Which shoes though? The red ones?” I hold up seven-inch platform shoes. “Or these black ones.” They’re also seven-inch heels and patent leather.
“The black ones, for sure. They’ll look perfect with your outfit and hair.” She climbs out of bed. She’s wearing a black thong and a white tank.
I slide on the shoes and grab my black bag.
“You got enough condoms?” she asks, taking her shower bag into the bathroom. “I bought a new box yesterday. They’re under my bed, or maybe on my bed.” She shakes her fingers through her hair. “They’re somewhere over there.”
“Thanks, Jessica. I’m still good.” At the door, I pause. Jessica turns on the water. The automatic coffee pot—our one splurge—kicks on and I sigh contentedly. When I come home in the morning, I’ll no longer be someone’s bitch. I’ll be my own person, obligated to no one. That one thought pushes out any worry about what Fileze has in store with the man I’m seeing tonight.
John turns and smiles, flashing a dimple in his right cheek. I can’t get over how hot he is. My knees weaken of their own volition and I curse myself. Gorgeous doesn’t mean good. He could be a total asshole.
“Everything’s taken care of. My only rule is you must always wear a condom.” The way he looks at me, like I’m a new and exotic bird, makes me nervous. But no matter what, I can’t break that rule. “Is that acceptable?” I hold my breath, waiting. Hoping, even.
He steps forward. “Works for me. Do you mind if I shower first, um… what’s your name?”
When I first started this whole prostitute thing I debated going with different names with every guy, and I usually do. Just whatever name that comes to mind. But when John asks, the only name that comes to mind is my own.
“Cadence,” I blurt, and blush.
He steps forward and I realize he’s still a head taller than me, even with my seven-inch heels. I glance up.
“You’re John, right?”
He chuckles warmly. “That’s me.”
“Awesome,” I say and breathe. John seems really nice.
“I’m going to shower now. Make yourself at home. There’s wine and cheese on the table over there.” He points toward a wall, but it isn’t a wall at all. It’s windows. The curtains are open and I can see the glow of the lights from the city.
John turns away and walks through a set of double doors.
“Okay,” I respond. It’s strange that he seems nice. And I can’t help but wonder where the catch is. Fileze wouldn’t have made this easy on me.
I check my phone. There’s another text from Fileze: You there yet?
I quickly text back: Yeah. Gonna sign off for the night. Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of him.
Once my phone is off, I set down my purse and walk to the window. The view is kick ass beautiful. Dark sky against the bright city lights. It’s amazing and takes my breath away. I stare at the scenery, lost in my thoughts. Then notice the cheese platter. I take a piece and chew slowly. It’s good. Creamy.
It seems like John has been in the shower for a long time. I walk to the entrance of the bedroom. There’s a king-sized bed with luxurious bedding and pillows covering it. The water from the shower is still running and I make a decision.
Running back into the living room, I grab my purse. Then I kick off my shoes and unzip my dress, sliding out of it. I walk into the bathroom feeling bold. This is my last night as the bitch to Fileze the Sleaze. I’m going to rock this guy so hard there won’t be any excuses.
I gently open the door. It’s steamy. The mirrors and the glass on the shower door fogged over. I place my purse on the counter and walk over to the shower. I can see his head. His blond hair darkened by water. I pull the door open. He turns my direction and his blue eyes slowly drink me in.
“Mind if I join you?” I wait, suddenly shy for him to agree, wondering if he’d rather have some privacy.
Breena Wilde has been writing for more than ten years. She’s sold more than half a million books in the last year under another name. Breena’s had a lot of jobs. She’s flipped burgers, worked in a hotel, and spent time managing people in customer service. She’s lived everywhere, from Taiwan and New York, to California and Virginia, but Wyoming is home. Writing is the best job ever!!! BLURRED LINES is the first of many in her erotic new adult series.
“So how are we going to do this?” I ask, feeling slightly woozy.
“I’ve got that worked out too.” John puts an arm around my waist and helps me into the waiting wheelchair. He pushes me down the hall. “We’re going to go out the back door. There’s a limo waiting. I’ll drive you back to the hotel so you can get your stuff and then we’ll drive you home.”
“So do you,” he responds.
We reach the doors and he struggles to push them open.
“I can walk,” I say, feeling frustrated.
“No, I promised the doc I’d wheel you all the way to the car. It’s hospital policy.”
“Fine,” I grudgingly agree.
As soon as the doors are open, we’re swarmed with paparazzi. Apparently going out the back door doesn’t deter anybody.
“What happened?” one shouts.
“Is it true she’s a prostitute?” another asks.
John doesn’t say anything. He whispers in my ear. “Keep your head down.”
I’m already doing that. I’ve no desire to be on the cover of some tabloid.
“John, there are millions of women who would happily spend time with you. Why did you feel it was necessary to pay a whore?”
We’re at the limo and a guy has the door open. John locks the wheelchair and helps me in.
I study his face, worried. He looks angry.
“You okay?” I ask him quietly.
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