Kate Hoffmann - Marcus

As he walked out to the car, Marcus’s cell phone rang. He yanked it out of his pocket, saying a silent prayer that Eden had decided to say goodbye after all. He frowned as he saw his home number on the caller ID. Marcus flipped open the phone. “Hello?”

“Marcus. It’s Ian. I’m at your place and I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to borrow your video camera.”

“No problem,” Marcus said. “It’s in the-”

“I’ve got it,” Ian interrupted. “Hey, I didn’t realize you bought a new one.”

“A new-” Marcus’s words died in his throat. “No, you can’t use that one.”

“Why not? It looks much nicer than your old one. Hey, thanks, bro. I’ve got to go. I have to tape a meeting for the town board. I’ll talk to you later.”

“No,” Marcus said. He heard the phone click on the other end. With a curse, he punched his home number. The phone rang ten times before he hung up. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “I knew we shouldn’t have made that video.”

Either Ian or the town board was about to get an eyeful. Marcus crossed back to the parking ramp. On the way home, he’d stop at the police department and talk his brother into giving him the tape. If he was lucky, there wouldn’t be any questions. Otherwise, he’d have an awful lot of explaining to do.

EDEN STOOD ON THE DECK of her mother’s Malibu beach house staring out at the Pacific, her coffee cup clutched in her hand. She’d been back in California for a week, and as the days had passed, she’d begun to grow restless. This wasn’t her home anymore, this sun-washed house with the fussy decor and the celebrity neighbors. Though she’d spent most of her youth holed up in the pretty lavender bedroom, nothing here felt right.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply of the salt air, trying to recall the only place in the world where she did feel right. Marcus’s loft. Now when she thought of her favorite place to be, it was there, above the boatyard in Bonnett Harbor, in the bed draped with old sails.

It seemed a lifetime ago, but it had only been seven days since she’d left. She’d picked up the phone hundreds of times, prepared to call him and just see how he was. But Eden had promised herself that she’d sort out her life before she contacted him again. He’d already suffered enough because of the mistakes she’d made, and she wasn’t going to add to his troubles by making more.

She reached up and touched her bottom lip, running her finger along it and recalling the sensation of his kiss. Time after time, she’d caught herself lost in a daydream about him, the memories so vivid that she could almost feel him. And then the ache would begin, the longing for the weight of his body on hers, for the hard heat of his shaft buried deep inside her.

As she remembered each perfect moment, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever experience such pleasure again. The prospect of living the rest of her life comparing every man to Marcus Quinn was enough to make her a bit crazy.

“Darling! You aren’t dressed yet?”

Eden turned to see her mother walking toward her, dressed in ultrafashionable workout wear. Pamela Ross was nearly fifty, but daily workouts and a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon had made it possible to shave off at least ten of those years.

Her latest husband-and soon-to-be ex-was a financial consultant for the Hollywood movie studios. He had been tossed out a few weeks before Eden’s arrival, and already Pamela had been in constant meetings with her lawyers. After her fourth failed marriage, it was clear that Pamela Kitteridge Ross Wilsing Antonini Frasier had turned marrying well into an art and divorcing well into a financial windfall.

Once the divorce was final, she would come away with at least five or six million, enough to keep her in Prada and Gucci until she found another man willing to take her on.

“You should have come to Pilates with me,” Pamela said. She lifted her warm-up, revealing her stomach. “There are twenty-one-year-old girls in class that don’t have abs like mine. I’ve got a yoga class this afternoon. It would do you good, darling. You seem so tense.”

“I can’t go out,” Eden said. “There are photographers everywhere.”

“They’re parked right outside on the road,” Pamela said, studying her French manicure. “But what harm can they do? Just fix yourself up, put on something pretty and let them take a few pictures. After that, they’ll go away.”

“No,” Eden said. “I won’t give them the satisfaction. They’re like vultures, always hovering, just waiting for me to step into the road and get flattened by an oncoming truck so they can pick my carcass clean.”

“How long are you going to continue to pout?”

“I don’t know, Mother. But when I’m finished, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Life can’t possibly be that bad.” She sighed. “Your father called last night and he’s decided to buy that silly tape for you. In a few days everything will be forgotten and you can get on with your life.”

Stunned, Eden stared at her mother. “You’re kidding. He’s going to buy the tape?”

Pamela nodded. “He was adamant. Was mumbling on and on about some letter you sent him. I think you ought to call him and thank him for his generosity. And make sure you tell him you’re calling at my suggestion. It always pays to keep that piece of bread buttered on both sides.”

Eden closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. She’d been prepared to fight this battle on her own, to go to court with expensive lawyers and plead her case.

“All your friends have been asking about you.”

“What friends?” Eden murmured. “I don’t have any friends. Once they find out I don’t have any money left, I’m sure they won’t be asking.”

“Well, then you’ll have to find a way to make some money,” her mother said. “And I think I have an idea. A job opportunity for you.”

“A job?” Eden’s interest was instantly piqued. She’d already come to the conclusion that she wasn’t really qualified to do anything. She’d attended college for only three semesters before leaving to pursue her life as a party girl. “What kind of job?”

“You’ll see. A friend of mine is coming over for coffee and she’ll tell you all about it.” Pamela wrapped her arms around Eden’s neck and hugged her tight. “I’m so glad you’re home, darling. Just think, we can go out to the clubs and have some fun now that I’ve given Harold the heave-ho. Good Lord, he was a stick-in-the-mud.”

“I’m not going clubbing with you, Mother.”

“Why not? I need to be around exciting people again. I’m thinking my next man will need to be younger, ten, maybe twenty years. Can you imagine me with a boy toy?”

Eden fought back a shudder. “Are you interested in spending time with me or spending time with the people I seem to attract? If it’s with me, then why don’t we just sit here and talk?”

“About what, darling? You and I have nothing in common-except maybe your father. And I don’t want to talk about him.”

Eden felt tears of frustration pushing at the corners of her eyes. She’d hoped that she and her mother might be able to forge some type of relationship now that she was back. But the longer she stayed in Malibu, the more she realized it wasn’t possible. Pamela craved the celebrity that Eden had, and Eden couldn’t wait to rid herself of it.

She thought back to the conversation she’d had with Marcus’s mother. Had she been born to Emma Quinn, perhaps Eden might have become a different person. But she couldn’t blame her troubles entirely on her parents. By the time she’d turned eighteen, she’d known that the choices she made were entirely her own. “I’m sorry I’ve made such a mess of my life, Mother. I never wanted to embarrass you and I’m going to do my best to make some positive changes.”

Her mother blinked, taken aback by Eden’s apology. “Are you seeing a therapist, darling?”

“No,” Eden replied. “I’ve just had some time to think. You and Daddy gave me everything I could possibly want. But you never gave me what I needed.”

“What could you possibly have needed? Your father and I gave you everything.”

“I needed parents who cared about me. You gave me things, possessions.”

“And what’s wrong with having nice things?” Pamela asked.

Eden sighed softly. Her mother would never understand. “I think I’m going to go lie down. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

She turned and walked toward the French doors, but her mother reached out and grabbed her hand as she passed. “You’re a beautiful young woman,” Pamela said. “Isn’t that enough?”

Eden shook her head. “No, Mother, it’s not. Not nearly.” She wandered back into the beach house, unable to continue the conversation. As she passed the phone, she again fought the urge to pick it up and call Marcus. He would understand how she was feeling. She could tell him anything and he always listened.

“You can’t take a nap,” Pamela cried, following Eden inside. “Sally Petzell will be here in a few minutes and she wants to talk to you about that job.”

“What kind of job is it?” Eden asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Something in television.” Pamela ran her fingers through Eden’s hair. “Why don’t you go put on something pretty? And comb your hair.” She wrinkled her nose. “This color really does nothing for you, darling. I’ll take you to Nando and he’ll fix this for you.”

“No!” Eden said, pulling away. “I like my hair the way it is.”

Pamela hitched her hands on her waist. “Get dressed, Eden. If you meet Sally looking like that, you will be an embarrassment to me.”

Sighing, Eden walked back to her bedroom and rummaged through her closet for something decent to wear. Her wardrobe was scattered around the world, some on the boat, some at Andreas’s apartment in Paris, some at her favorite hotel in Monaco. Once she found a new place to live, she could finally put a life together and gather all her belongings in one place.

She found a taupe silk blouse and a little navy skirt that looked simple and conservative. A pair of embroidered mules completed the look. Eden was just combing through her hair when she heard the doorbell ring.

When she returned to the living room, her mother was already deep in conversation with their visitor, a tall bleached blonde with a husky voice. She was dressed exactly like Pamela; in truth, they looked like sisters.

Eden held out her hand. “Hello,” she said. “I’m-”

“Eden Ross,” the woman said dramatically, rushing toward her. “Who doesn’t recognize you? Sally Petzell. I’m a producer over at the Entertainment Network. I understand you’re looking for a job.”

“I-I am.”

“You’ve never done television before,” Sally said.

Eden shook her head. “I’ve been on television but never on purpose.”

“So what do you think you could do for the Entertainment Network? How would we use your…talents?”

Eden considered the question for a long moment. “Maybe I could do something with fashion. I’ve been to all the runway shows in Paris and Milan and New York and I have a very good eye for what’s going to be big. I’m known for my fashion sense.”

“Interesting,” Sally said, pursing her lips. “Go with me on this. Fashion is…boring. Everyone thinks they know about fashion, but who really cares?” She grabbed Eden’s hands and gave them a squeeze. “You have something special. You’re much more.”

“More than what?” Eden asked.

“Just more. You’re parties and champagne and handsome men with expensive European sports cars. Here’s what I have in mind for you. It’s a quirky take on a dating show. Reality television is so big now that we’d have no problem selling the concept. We’d call it Eden’s Adventures in Paradise. You’d travel the world to romantic locations looking for that perfect man. Every week you’d go out on a fabulous date with some heir to a European fortune or maybe even a prince or a Venezuelan polo player. You know, the kind of guys you’ve always dated. I hear the king of Spain has a son who’s available.” She pulled out her BlackBerry and typed a quick note to herself. “I’m going to have Katie give him a call.”

“You want me to date on television?” Eden asked.

“Not just date. We want you to party. We want you to get crazy and wild, all those things that you do so well. We want you to show these men the best time they’ve ever had.”

Pamela clapped her hands giddily. “Doesn’t that sound like fun, darling? You’ll travel, you’ll stay in wonderful hotels and be catered to morning, noon and night. And you’ll get paid for being yourself. What more could you ask for?”

“No,” Eden said flatly.

“No?” Sally frowned. “No to what? The prince of Spain? That was just an example. How about the prince of Wales? Now there’s a man you could loosen up.”

Eden shook her head, backing away. “No. I’m not going to do this. I’m not going to make a fool of myself anymore, especially not for the public’s enjoyment.”