Outstanding praise for the sexy and sizzling novels of
JOAN ELIZABETH LLOYD!
CLUB FANTASY
“This novel combines a well-written plot with sexually charged erotic scenes that are both tasteful and titillating. Readers will enjoy their trip to Club Fantasy.”
—Romantic Times
NEVER ENOUGH
“Lloyd’s steamy scenarios and passionate interludes will keep readers engrossed.”
—Booklist
“Kept me engrossed to the very end.”
—Rendezvous
“Be sure you have a fan handy, some of the scenes will have you experiencing hot flashes.”
—Old Book Barn Gazette
THE PRICE OF PLEASURE
“I devoured every page of this enthralling tale…the secondary characters were magnetizing and add their own special charm to this evocative yet heartwarming story of love and friendship. The passion absolutely sizzles and the sex scenes are vivid but tastefully written.”
—Rendezvous
“From the first page, fans of erotic romance will delight in Joan Elizabeth Lloyd’s sizzling signature fantasies. Her engaging characters come alive with dreams, hopes, disappointments and love. Although the romance is secondary to the story, readers will love following Erika’s page-turning tale from beginning to end.”
—Romantic Times
Books by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd
THE PRICE OF PLEASURE
NEVER ENOUGH
CLUB FANTASY
NIGHT AFTER NIGHT
THE SECRET LIVES OF HOUSEWIVES
Published by Kensington Publishing Coporation
The Secret Lives of Housewives
JOAN ELIZABETH LLOYD
KENSINGTON BOOKS
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Chapter
1
“It’s pouring,” a statuesque redhead with great cheekbones and an atypical, peaches and cream complexion moaned as she and the rest of the yoga class walked to the front door of the East Hudson Community Cultural Center, the 3Cs.
Housed in an old elementary school, the 3Cs was used for various activities. One side was devoted to a thriving senior citizens’ center which held activities such as craft sessions and art classes and also served hot lunches for those who needed them. Another set of classrooms was set aside for a small local museum. For the general population it housed free art and pottery classes, an amateur theatrical group that put on quite professional performances in the old auditorium, and the yoga class Monica Beaumont had found mentioned in the local Pennysaver. “Where the heck did that rain come from?” the redhead continued. Everyone knew that the weather at the end of July in New York was notoriously unpredictable but the sky had been hazy blue when she’d arrived an hour earlier.
“The weatherman said only scattered showers,” Angie Cariri, the woman who led the class said, staring at the fat drops covering the parking lot with a thick layer of rainwater. She’d introduced herself to Monica before the class and ascertained that Monica had done yoga previously, although not for many years. “I guess we’re in one of the scatters. Damn. I’ve got to get to the supermarket and then home to the kids.”
“I watched it roll in as the class ended,” Monica said, brandishing her oversized, blue and white paneled umbrella in long, carefully manicured fingers, “and I’m glad now that I thought to bring this thing. We won’t melt anyway. It’s just warm summer rain. I’ll lead. I think we can all fit under.” She had to get home. Lots of work to do: schedules to check, proposals to be meticulously edited, costs to be estimated.
Several men and women shook their heads at the offer of the umbrella, and pulling the hoods of jackets or scarves over their heads, dashed out into the torrents until only a few stragglers, including Monica, Angie, the redhead, and one other woman, a plain-looking brunette, remained behind the old wooden door. “Thanks for the offer but I think I’ll just wait a few minutes until it slows down,” the fourth woman said, pulling her lightweight windbreaker around her shoulders and settling her rimless glasses more firmly on the bridge of her nose.
“Anyone want to share my umbrella?” Monica said. When the three others shook their heads yet again, Monica paused, her hand on the doorknob, ready to run to her car.
A few days earlier she’d had a bit of a scare, chest pains and a bit of difficulty breathing. She’d gone to her doctor, a stick-thin, middle-aged man whom she hadn’t seen in much too long.
“Monica,” he’d said, “you’d better slow down or you’ll have a coronary before you’re forty.”
“This wasn’t a heart attack?” Monica had said, relieved. Coronary was such a scary word.
“Not this time, but your blood pressure is much too high.” He finished writing orders for blood tests and a prescription for a hypertension medication, then leaned back in his chair. “Women have heart attacks, just like men. It’s less common but not unheard of, and you’re heading there at breakneck speed. You’ve got to slow down. You’ve told me you work hundred-hour weeks. You can’t do that and not have your body protest. You don’t get enough rest or enough exercise and as a result you’re killing yourself.”
“Come on, doc, I can’t take time off. I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am and I like it here.” Monica was senior account executive for a large Madison Avenue advertising agency. The term senior wasn’t awarded for length of service but for the annual gross dollar billing of the business she brought in. That meant that to keep it, she had to not only keep her existing clients happy but pitch new business, as well.
“It’s your body and I know you’ll do as you please so I can only offer you advice. Slow down. Take time off, at least on weekends. Work only eighty hours a week, not a hundred. Make friends. See your family. Learn to meditate. Take a yoga class. Go to a concert. Learn to relax!”
Gazing at