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Books by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd
THE PRICE OF PLEASURE
NEVER ENOUGH
CLUB FANTASY
NIGHT AFTER NIGHT
THE SECRET LIVES OF HOUSEWIVES
NAUGHTIER BEDTIME STORIES
HOT SUMMER NIGHTS
MADE FOR SEX
THE MADAM OF MAPLE COURT
TAKE ME TO BED
TEMPTING TAYLOR
FLESH FOR FANTASY
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
FLESH for FANTASY
JOAN ELIZABETH LLOYD
KENSINGTON BOOKS
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
CONTENTS
SLOW DANCING
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
MIDNIGHT BUTTERFLY
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
Dear Reader
Chapter
1
“Maggie mine,” Paul Crowley’s voice echoed through the phone, “please marry me.”
Maggie Sullivan’s laughter warmed the miles of wire between them. “Paul, you’re so sweet and you know I love you, but be real.” She spread her voluminous purple silk robe out on the wide satin-covered bed and pressed the phone against her ear.
“I am being real. Marry me. Or, if not, let’s run away together. We’ll find an island with no one there but the two of us. We’ll live on fish and mangos.”
Maggie pictured Paul’s deep brown hair and could almost feel its softness. He was in his midthirties and had a body that told everyone he worked out and prided himself on his physique. “Lord, after a bad day that’s such a tempting offer.” Maggie tangled her fingers in her black curls. As she twirled one strand around her index finger, she remembered when her hair had been that color without the help of her stylist. “But sweet, you’re who you are and I’m what I am.”
“That doesn’t matter, Maggie mine. Let’s forget all that and do what makes us happy for a change.”
“Paul, we’ve been over and over this. I’m a prostitute. A hooker. Very high priced,” she added, tucking the phone between her ear and her shoulder and leaning back against her collection of primary-colored pillows. She flipped one Mondrian-print curtain from in front of the air conditioner with her toe so the fan blew more cold air in her direction. “But still a hooker. And you’re a banker. Very straight.”
“I don’t care. I just want you.” She heard his sigh.
“And what about our ages. I’ll begin to collect Social Security just about the time you reach forty.”
“Sweet thing,” he moaned. “We were just born at the wrong time. Anyway, what difference do a few years make?”
“What are you wearing, Paul?” Maggie purred, stretching her long, shapely legs and crossing her ankles. She spread the sides of the robe and looked at her body beneath it. Still slender, with muscular thighs from working out daily, and full breasts that sagged only a bit.
“What difference does that make?”
“I just opened my robe and underneath it I’m wearing a lilac teddy. It’s a smooth satiny material and I’m running my palms up and down my side right now.” Maggie’s hands were, indeed, rubbing the slick material.
“Oh, sweet thing,” Paul groaned.
“I had my nails done today, you know,” Maggie said, gazing at her hands. “They’re extra long and bright red now. The color’s from a series called Romance. This shade is called Slow Dancing. Like we do when we’re together. That’s why I chose it. Now I’m running my nails over the front of my thigh. It feels really good.”
Maggie could hear Paul drag air into his lungs. “The inside of my thigh is so soft, but I’m making bright red marks with my nails.” She smiled. “Talking like this always makes me hot. I wish you were here.” Paul was on a business trip and was calling Maggie in New York from his hotel room in Denver.
“I do too. But…”
“What are you wearing?”
“Jeans and a blue shirt.”
“Take them off, baby. Please.” She could hear his resigned sigh. Again she had deflected the conversation. Maggie could hear the rustling of Paul moving around his room.
“I’m pulling off my jeans and shirt even as we speak. You always do this. I propose and you reject me in the nicest way possible.” There was a pause, then Paul said, “Now I’m only wearing my shorts.”
“What color are they? I want to be able to picture you.”
“Black. With a white waistband.” Paul’s voice was ragged.
“Is your cock big and hard?”
“Oh, Maggie,” Paul groaned. “Why do you do this to me?”
Her
