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Perfect Whore
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An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Perfect Whore
ISBN 9781419911569
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Perfect Whore Copyright © 2007 Sahara Kelly
Edited by Briana St. James.
Cover art by Syneca.
Electronic book Publication August 2007
This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written
permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-
3502.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales
is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
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P ERFECT W HORE
Sahara Kelly
Acknowledgements
Thanks must go to my patient editor, Briana, for this book. Nursing an author
through the birth of a new novel can’t be easy at the best of times. When it’s a difficult
delivery—as it was in this case—it must be a nightmare. Her encouragement and
support mean so much to me and have done for the past several years. I hope she’ll be
there for many more. Thanks, Bree.
And to my muse, my ever-present ear, the only person who’ll listen without
complaining as I bitch and moan my way through each and every book I write—well, I
have yet to adequately find the words to tell him how his friendship enriches both my
writing and my life. Thanks, Partner.
Trademarks Acknowledgements
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the
following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Blackberry: Research in Motion Limited Corp.
Hermès: Hermès International Corporation
Macy’s: Macy’s Department Stores, Inc.
Mercedes: Daimler-Chrysler AG Corporation
Taittinger Champagne: Taittinger Company
Tonka: Hasbro Inc.
Wal-Mart: Wal-Mart Stores, Inc.
White Shoulders: Evyan Perfumes, Inc.
Perfect Whore
Prologue
My name is Scarlet Angel.
I am a whore.
You won’t find me on a street corner after dark in a miniskirt and stiletto-heeled
boots—I’m not that kind of whore. You won’t find my phone number scrawled on the
wall of some nightclub. I’m not even listed in the directory or on the Internet.
I’m not that kind of whore either.
You’ll have to know somebody who knows somebody to hear of me and even then
it’s doubtful you’ll get an appointment to meet me.
I’m in demand, you see. I’m at the top of my game. There aren’t many women who
can say that and know that it’s true. I’m one of them.
I was born Angel Jones. Now I’m Scarlet Angel.
And I am a whore.
I speak two languages fluently and can converse comfortably in a third. I read the
newspapers every day, visit my exclusive spa twice a week and have a standing
appointment with a top hairdresser whenever I need it.
My shoes are designed for me by a Fifth Avenue artist specializing in leather, my
clothes—well, let’s just say they aren’t off the rack at Macy’s. I have a personal trainer, a
car and driver available to me when I need them and a life that includes fine wines,
excellent meals and plenty of financial security.
And sex. Lots of sex.
Because, as I mentioned earlier, I am a whore.
And I like being who I am.
I’ve always liked sex. The first fumbling attempts when I was a teenager didn’t do
much for me, but a couple of years, a couple of better lovers and I was well on my way
to appreciating the pleasures and nuances of humankind’s most basic activity—fucking.
From that point on, becoming a whore was a combination of chances and choices.
There were no traumatic childhood events driving me down the path to sin, no
shattered dreams or tragic love affairs. I fucked when I felt like it and said no when I
didn’t.
College simply fed my interest in learning along with offering me an additional
glimpse into the expanding world of sex—experimentation with a variety of new ways
to fuck, a brief dabble with chemical stimulants, the intricacies of bondage and
domination—I was building a portfolio of erotic techniques along with my GPA, even
though I didn’t realize it at the time.
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