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Perfect Alibis

Perfect Alibis

by Wenham-Jones

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The story you've always wanted to read about infidelity


The story you've always wanted to read about infidelity

Product Details

Accent Press, Ltd.
Publication date:
Edition description:
Product dimensions:
5.19(w) x 7.93(h) x 0.86(d)

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Read an Excerpt

How to feel happy, strong, uplifted, tingly, light, free and altogether bloody fantastic:

Drink champagne

Eat chocolate

And have three orgasms in the afternoon…

Patsy stepped from the shower, deliciously sensual, beads of water bouncing off skin still slippery with oil. She ran light fingers down her belly, wriggling pleasurably at the memory of the hands that had smoothed and massaged, teased and caressed. The set of muscular buttocks she’d admired pumping up and down in the dressing-table mirror, while she’d writhed beneath them.


This was sex at its best. The moments when doubts dissolved and she was invincible. She was high and exhilarated, so fortunate to have it all… Her body gleamed in the huge mirror. She struck a pose, hand on hip, back arched, pouting as she winked appreciatively. Not bad!

Body quite firm, boobs still holding up, bottom not sagging. None of that disgusting cellulite stuff to be seen in vast quantities wobbling its way along the side of the pool at the Health club. Her face was still damp with steam. Her hair curled in fetching tendrils around her post-orgasmic flush.

She preened. Not bad at all for thirty-eight.

She picked up one of the fluffy towels and wound it around her shoulders, savouring the feeling of elation that hummed beneath her skin. Never mind Prozac! What one needs, girls, is a bit of Afternoon Delight…

She rubbed the towel down the length of one smooth golden leg and grinned.

This one was a bit different. He had energy and vitality. He thrust her down onto the bed and he went at it for all he was worth. Bit of a change to feel a hard lean body on top (behind/to the side/anyway she damn well wanted it!). The last time she’d had sex with Dave she’d run her hand across the soft layer of jelly over his stomach and she’d actually shuddered. Dave clambered on, grunted a bit and clambered off again. This one, well, this one…

Kicking the towel aside, she threw open the bathroom door, one hand cupping a thrusting breast, her thumb circling the already interested nipple in a way that she knew would give him an instant new hard-on.

“It’s no good,” she called as she strode into the bedroom beyond. “You’re just going to have to shag me again!”

He was standing – still naked – at the other side of the bed. At the sound of her voice he swung round. She saw the startled panic cross his features.

For a moment they hung there frozen. Both staring stricken at the mobile in his hand. From which was emanating a strange series of strangled squawks.

His wife? How had she found out he was here?

He put a frantic finger to his lips.

Bit late for that now.

Despite his height, there was suddenly something vulnerable and baby-like about his naked body hunched over the phone. His voice had a hoarse note that wasn’t usually there. His mouth twitched as he spoke into the receiver.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

She heard the roar as he jumped.

Christ! Dave!

Patsy clutched at her stomach. He flapped his free hand at her, signalling her not to speak. Goddammit she could barely breathe!

He sounded as if someone had hold of his balls – (As soon they might well have). “Of course your wife’s not here. I’ve told you, you’ve got the wrong number! Calm down…”

She saw his fist clenching and unclenching. She stood, one hand to her mouth, heart thumping.

He was sounding desperate. “I don’t know who you are but I can assure you…”

The squawking had stopped. He looked from the phone in his hand back to her. “He’s coming round!”

For a moment they just stared at each other. Then he dropped the mobile and she made a mad grab for the chocolate wrappers.

Her heart was hammering painfully; adrenalin roared around her body, making her fingertips tingle. She could hear her breath coming in pants as she scurried about the room gathering clothes and belongings.

Knickers! Where are they? “My bra! What did you do with it?”

“You weren’t wearing one.”

“I was!”

They dashed to and fro, stumbling and fumbling in their panic, screeching recriminations at each other as they scrabbled frantically for clothes, pulled at bed-sheets, swept up wine glasses and tissues.

“Why on earth did you speak?”

“How did I know you were on the phone? Oh Jesus where’s my mobile?”

“Didn’t you hear it ring?”

“Of course I didn’t. I was in the shower. Shit, there’s only one stocking here. Why did you answer it?”

“Why shouldn’t I? It’s my phone. I thought it was Robbie. He always withholds the number.”

“Robbie? Who the bloody hell’s Robbie?”

“It’s his house! He told me he’d warn me when he was coming back.”

“You stupid bastard! Where are my shoes?”

“I’m stupid? How the hell did your old man get my number? And how does he know where we are?”

“I have no idea!”

“But he’s got the address! Couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

“It wasn’t me!”

She’d got everything but her footwear in her arms now. He had on a T-shirt and socks. She didn’t fancy him at all. “You’d better get some clothes on,” she said.

He stood dithering in the middle of the room, his palms rubbing against each other. She saw the fear on his face as he howled, “What are we going to do?”

“I am going to get the hell out of here,” she snapped, “and you’d better get downstairs and come up with something bloody good!”

“But how…?” he began plaintively. Ignoring him, Patsy carried her clothes into the bathroom and slammed the door.

She leant back against the blue tiles, her fingers barely able to turn her skirt the right way out. Shakily, she picked up her mobile phone and scrolled through for the right number, pressing the send button, holding her breath as she heard ringing at the other end.

She felt a rush of relief as it was answered immediately. “Get M! I need her. It’s all gone wrong. I’m here and – ”

Patsy threw back her head in frustration as she was interrupted.

What?? Her voice shot up several octaves, “What do you mean? You know very well what I’m talking about! This is Patsy. Patsy King.”

Christ! These bloody trainees. In her panic she’d forgotten. She took a deep breath and started again, her voice icy.

“Mrs K here. Calling for assistance. Red Alert!”

Operation Caught-with-your-fucking-trousers-down.

At the other end of the phone, there was a click and another, more familiar, voice spoke quietly and calmly. “Control. Where are you?”

Right in the shit. 

Meet the Author

Jane Wenham-Jones is the author of four novels – Raising the Roof, Perfect Alibis, One Glass Is Never Enough and Prime Time which have received wide acclaim. She also writes for women’s magazines and the national press and has a humorous weekly column in her local newspaper.

She has also written two writing guides Wannabe a Writer? and Wannabe a Writer We've Heard Of?

She lives with her husband and son in Broadstairs, Kent.

Find Jane at:

Twitter: @JaneWenhamJones and @UWannabeawriter

And her blogs:



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