I’d love you to come and say hi on Twitter (@Cafe_Crumb) or on Facebook (where you can like ‘The Naughty Girls Book Club’ page). There’s always lots going on – there’s an online book club, competitions, fun games and lots of racy chat!
Have a brilliant summer,
Sophie xx
Read on for an exclusive extract of Sophie Hart’s novel, The Naughty Girls Book Club:
1
‘You’ve been a bad girl, Christina … A very naughty girl …’
Christina gazed up at Alexander, her eyes dark with longing, her face flushed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she panted helplessly. ‘I won’t do it again.’
‘I need to make sure of that,’ Alexander said, as he stalked across the room. He’d removed his shirt, and his torso was taut and muscular. ‘I need to teach you a lesson.’
His gaze turned to the candle that blazed on the bedside table, the flame dancing and twisting.
As Christina stared, the wax spilled over from the slim, white candle down to the antique silver holder. She watched as it cooled and hardened.
‘I think you know exactly what I have in mind,’ Alexander murmured, his voice low and husky.
Christina could only nod, mute with longing.
‘But first – the sweetness,’ Alexander promised, as he moved towards her, bending down to kiss her lips, her neck, her collarbone.
Christina moaned in delight as his mouth moved lower … past her navel … over the soft, white mound of her stomach … and then lower still, before finally, exquisitely, she felt his hot lips on the delicate, pink flesh of her—
Estelle Humphreys glanced up in panic and slammed the book shut, hastily shoving it beneath a pile of papers. Her heart was pounding wildly, while her ears strained to listen.
The noise came again – thump, thump, thump – and Estelle realised with relief that it was just her fourteen-year-old son, Joe, in the flat upstairs. The racket meant that he’d finished his homework and turned on his music – Kasabian, by the sound of things.
She stood motionless for a moment, feeling her heart rate return to normal and her cheeks turn from flaming red to their more usual milky shade.
Guiltily, she removed the copy of Ten Sweet Lessons from underneath the distinctly less exciting pile of HMRC forms, and stared at it. The cover was deceptively innocent – a dark grey background, with a single red ribbon looped across it – but Ten Sweet Lessons was an erotica novel that was currently causing a sensation up and down the country. Selling thousands of copies every day, it had topped the bestseller lists for weeks. And it was the closest Estelle had come to a shirtless man with hot lips and an unbridled desire for a very long time …
With a sigh of longing, she stashed the book in her handbag, tied her mousey-brown-with-a-hint-of-grey hair back in the scruffy ponytail it was trying to escape from, and turned to the worksheets that were spread across the counter in front of her.
Back to reality.
The accounts for her little cafe made grim reading, as she calculated the day’s receipts and entered them on a spreadsheet. The takings had plummeted in recent weeks, and it didn’t seem as though anything Estelle did could reverse that trend. She knew that this time of year was always tough – after the Christmas rush, everyone cut back on their little treats, and no one wanted to venture out in the chilly February weather. But if business didn’t pick up soon … well, it didn’t bear thinking about.
Forty-two-year-old Estelle had opened Cafe Crumb five years ago when she and her husband, Ted, had got divorced. Married life had left her feeling as though her own identity was slowly being swallowed up by the demands of being a wife and a mother, so after she and Ted had split (realising they made much better friends than spouses) Estelle had resolved to do something for herself.
And she had, she thought proudly, surveying the little cafe with its red and white checked tablecloths, a single red gerbera in a white vase on each table. As it was now the end of the day, everything was wiped down and perfectly clean, the window cleared of its usual delicious-looking selection of cakes and pastries.
It might not be much, but it was hers, Estelle thought with satisfaction.
But for how much longer? she wondered with a shudder, as she looked down again at the depressing figures. They seemed to swim in front of her tired eyes.
Of course, she had her regular customers – the businessmen who rushed in for their morning latte with a buttery croissant for their daily commute into Bristol city centre; the yummy-mummies who dropped by for gossip, green tea and a low-fat muffin after dropping the kids at school; the lunchtime rush who chomped their way through piles of toasted sandwiches; and the afternoon pensioner crowd who loved their traditional cream teas – but there just didn’t seem to be enough of them anymore.
And if she lost the business, Estelle realised, hardly even daring to consider the possibility, she lost their home too – the flat above the shop where she and Joe lived. Poor Joe. He was a good kid, but he seemed to be at that stage where every time she turned around he’d grown another six inches, none of his clothes fitting him for more than a month at a time. He tried not to ask for too much, but Estelle knew what it was like at that age – to fit in, you had to have the right trainers, the newest phone, the latest games console. It was all just so expensive.
Anxiously, Estelle reached for a slice of lemon drizzle cake, breaking off a corner and popping it into her mouth. Mmm, she sighed in satisfaction. It was moist, tangy and delicious, just as it should be. At least there wasn’t a problem with her baking. She just needed to get more people through the doors to try it out …
A movement from across the road caught her eye, and she looked out through the cafe windows which were dotted with droplets of condensation. It was dark outside, but in the amber light of the streetlamp she could see two people coming out of Bainbridge Books, the local independent bookshop.
Estelle’s heart lurched as she realised it was the owners, Mary and Alan Bainbridge, and that the couple were locking the door for the very last time. A few boxes of books stood forlornly on the pavement outside – the ones they’d been unable to get rid of in the closing down sale – and even from here Estelle could see that Mary was close to tears as Alan fished the key out of his pocket.
Instinctively, Estelle grabbed one of the stiff, white cake boxes from the shelf behind her – usually reserved for her big-spending customers – and began filling it with an assortment of goodies. Two slices of pecan pie, a large slab of ginger cake, a couple of glazed doughnuts topped with hundreds and thousands. Oh, and some of her special double-chocolate brownies. She knew how much Alan loved those.
Hurriedly, Estelle snatched up the cakes and dashed outside, the bell clanging behind her.
‘I brought you these,’ Estelle blurted out as she crossed the street, proffering the box, which Mary took gratefully.
‘Thank you, Estelle,’ she said, her voice wobbling dangerously. ‘It’s very kind of you.’
‘It certainly is,’ echoed Alan, as he took the box from his wife and peeped inside.
‘I’m just so sorry to see you go,’ Estelle told them helplessly, wishing there was something more she could do. Mary and Alan had run Bainbridge Books for over thirty years, but they simply couldn’t afford to keep it open any longer. They were moving down to Devon to be closer to their grandchildren, and though Estelle knew they’d been planning their retirement for a while, they certainly hadn’t wanted to leave like this – unable to sell their business, and forced to close due to lack of custom. It was a chilling reminder of what could happen to her if things didn’t pick up.
‘Well, we all have to move on,’ Alan replied stoically. ‘Times change.’
‘I’ll miss you,’ Estelle swallowed, feeling overcome with emotion. She’d loved the atmosphere in the cosy little bookshop, and had whiled away many a happy hour with the friendly owners, chatting about books over a cup of tea and a generous slice of battenberg.
Mary was shaking her head
sadly. ‘Oh, we’ve had some wonderful times in there,’ she sniffed, staring through the window at the now-abandoned shop, with its bare walls and rows of empty bookshelves. ‘You know what I’ll miss the most?’ she confided, her eyes glistening with tears behind her oversized glasses. ‘Talking to all of our customers every day. Everyone thinks that reading is such a solitary occupation, but it doesn’t have to be,’ she insisted.
Estelle nodded in agreement as Mary continued speaking, warming to her theme. ‘All the best books should be shared and discussed and debated. It’s a centuries’ old tradition. People have always loved stories. Oh, I’ll miss this place so much!’ she sobbed, dabbing at her eyes with a soggy tissue.
Estelle reached out towards her, enfolding Mary in a comforting hug. It was so true what Mary had said, she thought, remembering all the chats they’d shared, from debating their favourite Jane Austen novel to discussing the merits of Mr Rochester versus Heathcliff as a romantic hero. Not that she’d have admitted to Mary about reading Ten Sweet Lessons, Estelle thought guiltily, remembering the creased paperback hidden at the bottom of her bag.
Suddenly, she pulled away from Mary as though she’d just had an electric shock. ‘That’s it!’ Estelle exclaimed. Her eyes were sparkling, her face shining with enthusiasm.
‘That’s what, dear?’ Mary asked, looking at her husband in confusion. Alan simply shrugged, staring nervously at Estelle as though she’d gone mad.
‘The solution to my problems,’ Estelle squealed. ‘You, Mary Bainbridge,’ she declared, throwing her arms around her once again, ‘are a genius!’
2
‘Bruce Willis would definitely be in my top five favourite action movie heroes of all time. Don’t you think?’
‘Mmm-hmm,’ Rebecca answered her husband distantly. It was Friday night and they were walking home from the cinema, arm-in-arm against the cold night air. There was a light frost on the pavement, and overhead the stars dazzled in the inky black sky.
‘Bruce, definitely,’ Andy confirmed, nodding thoughtfully. ‘Then Arnie, of course. And Sly Stallone. Who else?’
‘Hmm?’
‘Who else would you have in your top five favourite action movie heroes of all time, darling?’
‘Umm … I’m not sure,’ Rebecca replied uncertainly.
Andy glanced across at his wife. ‘Are you okay, sweetheart? You seem a little preoccupied tonight.’
‘No, I’m fine,’ Rebecca insisted. She pulled her knitted beanie hat further down over her choppy brunette bob, and hoped Andy would change the subject.
‘All that marking to do this weekend, eh?’ he commented. ‘What was it again – Year Ten coursework on the Tudors?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘Never mind. I’ll stay out of your way. I wanted to make a start on stripping the wallpaper in the spare room anyway.’
‘Right.’
‘And then next week,’ Andy broke into a beaming smile as he turned to Rebecca, ‘there’s a big treat in store.’
‘Is there?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Oh yes. The new Spiderman movie is being released,’ he grinned, not noticing the way his wife’s face fell. ‘Whaddya think? Me, you, a medium-sized bucket of popcorn …’
‘It’s a date,’ Rebecca replied weakly.
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Andy pressed after a few moments. ‘You just don’t seem as excited as I thought you would be.’
Immediately, Rebecca felt bad. ‘I’m fine,’ she repeated, forcing a smile. ‘I’m just feeling a little bit out of sorts. It’s been a long week, I suppose, and work’s been really busy …’
‘Righto.’ Andy seemed satisfied with the explanation. ‘At least you’ve got me to cheer you up, eh?’ he grinned, giving her a friendly nudge.
They carried on walking in silence, as Rebecca tried to work out just what exactly was wrong with her. She’d been like this for weeks now, and couldn’t shake the general feeling of … what? Restlessness? Boredom?
Rebecca and Andy had been married for over a year now and everything was … fine. Not amazing, not incredible, just … fine. They’d quickly adapted to their little routine of quiet nights in during the week, a Friday night trip to the cinema, and weekends spent doing DIY. There was nothing wrong per se; it was just that it never changed, with every week becoming a carbon copy of the one before.
Everything had seemed so exciting after Andy proposed, Rebecca remembered with a pang. She’d revelled in her role as the bride-to-be, throwing herself into scoping out venues, trying on dresses, choosing the exact flowers for her bouquet. She’d been rushed off her feet, juggling her job as a history teacher with planning her dream wedding, but she’d loved every minute of it.
The wedding day itself had been perfect, the honeymoon in Sorrento utter bliss, and then … reality hit. Was it so unfair to admit that she was finding her life now a little dull?
It wasn’t Andy’s fault, of course. He was easy-going (perhaps a little too easy going at times) and nice looking too, even if his sandy hair was starting to thin, and that cute little belly she’d teased him about at first was becoming a permanent fixture. All of their friends said they made a great couple, and Rebecca knew she should be grateful for her settled, untroubled life.
But there was part of her that couldn’t help but wonder if this was all there was from now on. She was only thirty-three, but she was starting to feel old before her time, and recently she’d had the horrible suspicion that she was turning into her mother.
It was abundantly clear to Rebecca that she and Andy needed to put the oomph back into their relationship – and soon. There was no way she wanted to turn into one of those couples you sometimes saw in restaurants, the ones who sat together in silence because they’d run out of things to say to each other some time back in 2005 …
‘Hey, why don’t we go to the pub?’ Rebecca burst out suddenly.
Andy looked at her doubtfully. ‘The pub?’
‘Yeah!’ Rebecca tried to inject some enthusiasm into her voice. ‘It’s not too late – we could still make last orders. It might be fun … something different …’
She trailed off, as Andy broke into a huge yawn.
‘The thing is, I’ve had such a long week and I was really looking forward to my bed tonight. Maybe next week, eh?’
‘Uh-huh. Maybe next week,’ Rebecca echoed, forcing a smile. Inside, she felt herself deflate like a punctured tyre. What had happened to the pair of them? They hadn’t been like this when they were dating. She desperately wanted to do something spontaneous, but Andy’s idea of going wild seemed to be ordering an extra-large popcorn on their weekly cinema trip. Not to mention his DIY obsession – recently, stripping the wallpaper was about as exciting as it got in the bedroom too …
Yes, Rebecca was realistic, and knew that the initial throes of passion would fade over time, but she hadn’t expected her sex life to dry up quite so completely. Since they’d got married, sex was a rarity. They hadn’t even consummated their marriage on their wedding night; Andy had got roaring drunk with his old university friends and passed out, fully clothed, on their four-poster bed before Rebecca had time to unlace her corset. Perhaps she should have taken that as a sign, she realised with a sigh.
Even when they did find the time and energy to make love, it had become somewhat … routine. Rebecca could predict the two or three positions they’d work through, before cuddling briefly, turning off the light and falling asleep. She was too embarrassed to talk to any of her friends about the situation, and too scared to bring up the subject with Andy. What if it meant that she was abnormal? Or that Andy didn’t fancy her anymore? But the truth was, Rebecca was becoming increasingly frustrated – in more ways than one.
‘Bex, come and look at this!’
She heard Andy shout and realised that she’d walked on without him. He was browsing in one of the shop windows, reading a poster that had been tacked up.
‘What is it?’ she called.
�
��Come and see!’ He waved her over, grinning excitedly.
Reluctantly, Rebecca retraced her steps. Knowing Andy, it was probably a plant sale at the local church, or an announcement that the Phoenix Cinema was running a back-to-back showing of the Star Wars movies.
‘What is it then?’ she asked wearily, as she came up alongside him.
Triumphantly, Andy pointed to the poster in the cafe window:
Hungry for books?
Join the Cafe Crumb book club!
We’ll be meeting every other Thursday to talk
books, life, everything …
Email [email protected] for details
The coffee and cake at our first meeting will be free
‘You want to join a book club?’ Rebecca asked in confusion. Andy was more of a newspaper guy, occasionally reading the biography of some sporting hero. She’d never known him to willingly pick up a novel.
‘Not me!’ he burst out. ‘You!’
Rebecca rolled her eyes at him. ‘Why would I be interested in that?’ she snapped, feeling another wave of disappointment at just how hopeless her husband could be sometimes. ‘It’ll be a load of old fogies rambling on about War and Peace,’ she complained, as she stomped off down the street.
Andy looked hurt as he ran to catch up with her, and they fell into step outside the butcher’s. ‘Oh. I thought you might enjoy it. It’d be a chance to get out of the house, meet some new people. And you like reading, don’t you?’
‘True,’ Rebecca admitted. Not that she had much time for it these days. Pretty much the only things she read now were badly written history essays from her Year Tens.
‘Never mind. It was just a thought,’ Andy said cheerily, recovering his usual easy-going demeanour. Sometimes it was this that annoyed Rebecca the most. She wished he’d show some passion occasionally.
She remembered when they’d first started dating, how Andy hadn’t been able to get enough of her. She recalled them falling out of a bar or a nightclub, the way he would pull her into an alleyway for a passionate kiss and perhaps a cheeky fumble … It was all so thrilling, so illicit – the feeling of his hands on her body, and the knowledge that they could be discovered at any moment. Even the memory got her juices flowing, Rebecca thought excitedly, looking longingly at the shop doorways as they passed. She wished Andy would grab her masterfully, press his body against hers and have his wicked way … But those days seemed to be long gone, and the fantasy was all she had left now.
The Perfect Escape Page 16