Secret Confessions: Sydney Housewives - Lana

By Cate Ellink

From the hottest writers in Australia comes a scintillating new series. Enter the world of Sydney's elite, and find out what goes on behind the doors of the most exclusive addresses in the country…

Meet the Housewives of Sydney. They are wealthy, elegant, poised, and constantly in the public eye. But what goes on behind closed doors, in the private homes and parties where the cameras and paparazzi aren't welcome? Delve into the most personal details of their relationships, their friendships and their lives. The only question is: can you handle the heat?

Lana lives her life by her own rules – and she has very few. What she wants, she goes for, and she very rarely fails. So when a young, handsome waiter at her favourite restaurant catches her eye, she has no hesitation in asking him to escort her home.

But one night of passion opens up exciting new possibilities, and a chance for Lana to enact one of her deepest, most illicit fantasies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Nov 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9780857992000

Cate Ellink

Cate Ellink became intrigued by the erotic when her grandfather used to pass books to her father saying, "Don't let the girls read page X." Although her mother and sisters never bothered to chase those pages, Cate always did. Invariably, her imagination was better than what she read. While pursuing a career in science, Cate amused herself by writing about ordinary events and giving them an erotic twist. It's taken more than a few years to bravely expose her mind to the public. While the events in her stories may have occurred, it's highly likely that her imagination is far more exciting than the reality. Cate lives near the beach in NSW with her long-suffering husband. This is Cate's first novella. She has two short stories published.

Book preview

Episode 2—Lana

You smell good enough to eat. Lana Driscoll raised her right eyebrow in her signature move as she whispered to Tom, the young waiter who’d been serving them. His attention had been delicious. Her luscious lips lifted into the killer smile she was known for. She’d bestowed a few on him tonight and they seem to have had the desired effect, although she could barely remember a time when they hadn’t.

Her show business friends, used to her conquests, were leaving, while she wove a bit of Lana magic on the young man.

Ms Driscoll, my mum is a huge fan. She knew he was going to say that. Most of them did. She should be used to it but it rankled. Another jab about how long she’d been around and she didn’t want to think about that.

She met his eager gaze. Call me Lana. Her outstretched hand, along with her husky tone, were invitations to intimacy.

He clasped her ring-laden fingers and she closed her other hand around his, squeezing for a few moments before sliding both hands away. She gave him a tiny pout followed by a miniature smile. She waited until he leaned a little closer and then she pressed her left index finger to his pectoral muscle and dragged it down his chest. Not heavily, not hard, but with enough pressure so he’d feel the slight burn of fingernail and cotton shirt against his flesh. A crisp white cotton shirt that his mother probably washed and ironed. He had the look of a young man still living at home—crisp, clean and crease-free. She planned to leave her mark on not just his shirt.

Could I sign something for your mother? Would she like that? Lana’s fame came from years as the star of a popular television soap opera, along with some well-attended theatre and stage shows. She was a household name, especially among women of her own age, which was the other side of forty, not that she announced that. Fame had bought her this lifestyle and she would never forget her fans.

Tom’s eyes widened and his smile bloomed. Lana was almost there.

You’d do that? Oh, Ms, I mean, Lana, thank you. His hands trembled as he gave her his order pad and a pen. She clasped his hand and let her fingers linger a little longer than necessary. There was nothing like the venation of a young male hand, or the sinewy strength, the ridges and bumps, the tight skin. Her fingers made their way unhurried across his hand.

What’s your mother’s name?

Lorraine. His smile gave her the impression that he was close to his mother, which helped her decide on the message.

"Shall I write, ‘Dear Lorraine, Thank you for raising such a lovely young man in Tom. With love,’?"

Tom scuffed his foot against the wooden floor and shifted uneasily. I’m sure she’d love whatever you wrote. He sounded so timid, so pleased, so unsure.

Lana signed with a flourish before handing him back the pad and pen, making sure she held his wrist for an extended period before releasing him and taking a step back.

And is your name really Tom, or do you use that only for work? She used a quip to make him relax, help him laugh and feel comfortable with her.

His laugh was not the raspy chuckle of a mature man used to flirty banter, nor the uncomfortable giggle of a schoolboy, but it belonged somewhere along that continuum. It’s Tom. I’m really Tom. He shuffled his feet, shifting his weight