Free Passion's Hope (The Doms of Passion Lake Book 3) by Julie Shelton

around her knees, curled up in a little ball of misery, not even noticing the water pelting her until it turned from hot to cold. Too exhausted even to dry herself off, she’d simply wrapped the towel around her and crawled up onto the nearest bed. She’d pulled the flowered chintz bedspread over her and slept.
    Four hours later, groggy, still in pain, she’d taken another shower. But she still hadn’t felt clean. At that point she’d feared she would never feel clean again. Her rumbling stomach told her just how hungry she was. She hadn’t eaten all day.
    The instant she’d opened the car door, the heavy, cloying scent of Perry Bradford’s cologne assaulted her senses. Realizing that his pillowcase probably reeked of it, she’d made a mental note to get rid of it as soon as she got back to her room. Supper consisted of a burger and fries from the nearest fast food drive-through, which she took back to the motel. Grabbing the bag of food and the pillowcase full of clothes, she went into her room. Even before she unwrapped the food, she dumped the clothes out of the pillowcase onto the bed. That’s when she’d realized that her clothes stunk of Perry Bradford just as much as the pillowcase they were in. And that’s when she also discovered the invitation to this Open House. Stuffing the clothes back into the pillowcase and holding it between her thumb and forefinger, she’d carried everything out to the Dumpster. Back inside, she’d wolfed down her cold food and propped herself up against the headboard, Indian style, with Mr. Floppy sitting in her lap. Opening her laptop, she’d checked the classifieds in several major cities in the general direction she was heading, finally finding what she was looking for in Charleston, West Virginia. A country crossover band was holding auditions for a female singer. She had called the number and set up an appointment for nine A.M. a week from Saturday morning. She was pretty sure she’d be able to find a decent waitressing job there, too. Thanks to Perry Bradford, she’d lost her last job. Of course, not calling in or showing up for three weeks would tend to do that.
    That had been Friday. Today was Monday. She’d only spent that first night in the motel, because her need to feel safe, behind locked doors, had far outweighed her need to be frugal. The next two nights, however, she’d slept in her car, because she was terrified of running out of money. She’d parked in an Interstate rest area toward the back of the parking lot. Yesterday, before leaving the Richmond area entirely, she’d drummed up enough courage to drive back into town and go to the police station to report Perry Bradford for kidnap, rape and assault. The sergeant who’d taken her complaint, Sergeant Mario Sanchez, had been less than helpful. Especially after she’d had to admit that Perry Bradford hadn’t actually kidnapped her, that she’d gone to his place of her own free will. He’d practically laughed her out of the precinct. She could see him now, ticking off points on his fingers.
    “You have no proof. There are no witnesses. Sure, he has a reputation for being slightly kinky. But a lotta women seem to like that sort of thing. How do I know this isn’t just a case of ‘buyer’s remorse’? After all, it’s your word against his, and he’s gonna say it was all consensual. A classic case of he-said, she-said. He’s rich and powerful and a fixture on the Richmond social and charitable scene. You’re just a waitress working for tips in a greasy-spoon diner. Who do you think a jury’s gonna believe?”
    So here she was, on her way to Charleston, West Virginia to audition for a country/pop band looking for a lead singer. With this one slight detour to Marshall’s Creek, Virginia—to get some free food at this BDSM Club Open House.
    It was a cockamamie plan, but it was the best she’d been able to come up with on such short notice. She’d hatched it up when she’d discovered Perry’s