Monday, June 17, 2013
Guest Blog and sexy excerpt with @PollyJAdams #erotica
Hello Naughty readers! Please Welcome Polly J Adams to the blog, she is here to share an excerpt from Four Temptations!
I never saw myself as the other woman. I always wanted to be the woman.
The other woman made secret trips away. She arranged discreet rendezvous. She had seen the insides of far too many of those shabby little hotels in towns nobody would ever really want to visit, which is exactly why they were perfect. All too well, she knew those parties where they couldn’t be seen together, where all she could hope for was a glance across the room, maybe a discreet touch as they brushed past each other.
My old friend Maggie Nolan’s book launch was the first time we’d been out together, fully in the public eye: me and Porter Swaine. The first time I had been the woman, and not just the other woman. It should have been more significant. It should have been a rite of passage. It should have felt as if I was growing up.
But, if anything, it felt even more seedy than how things had been up until then.
Allow me to backtrack a little...
Porter Swaine. Always the flash guy, the boy with the toys, the self-made man who liked to ruffle feathers. He was full of himself, distracted by his success, and when it came to women he had the willpower of a gnat. He was also – aren’t they always? – married.
I knew all that before I’d even met him.
He sounded like exactly my kind of man.
I didn’t set out to seduce him.
But then I rarely do. Things just happen.
Can I backtrack again? That makes me sound such a slut. But then, perhaps I am. In her eyes, at least. The wife. Mrs Rebecca Swaine.
She must hate me, of course.
She must have hated me even before she knew who I was, when I was still just a fragment of doubt in her mind; when I was no more than a few clues that finally gave substance to her fears.
A blonde hair on the jacket (she’s blonde too, but more mousey, more drab).
A smear of lipstick, perhaps; a trace of a scent she never used.
A Porter-lie that didn’t quite tally with all the previous Porter-lies.
Unexplained items on the credit card bill, or on the mobile phone bill (although Porter handled both of these online so there was no paper trail, no envelopes to open in his absence; he knew the ropes).
Taken singly: none of these were conclusive.
Taken together: me. Ellie Jordan. In my early twenties. Slim, blonde, perfect cheekbones, big blue eyes, perfect shape, legs to die for.
I was Rebecca’s worst nightmare and her husband’s wet dream. Does that make me a slut?
A paperback edition is also available:
Thank you for hosting today Polly! That's all for now folks! Grab this! Happy reading!