A light drizzle and a leaded sky with scudding clouds greeted Lonnie Carmel when she awoke in the half light of the early morning. She had left the bedroom window open slightly, and the cool air which blew through the crack rustled the flowers on the nightstand and rippled across the thin sheet which covered her. She stirred; frowning at first as she unconsciously tried to cover herself with more, then became fully awake and saw that the blanket was knotted at the foot of the bed.

Damnation, she thought, sitting up abruptly to grab the blanket. Another night of tossing and turning. She hated to sleep alone, and that was the problem. Her husband, Roger, was gone on another trip. Business, always business, him and his new job at Skopos, Incorporated. He never had time to be a husband to her any more, and she… well, she was little more than a pretty doll for him to use when he was around. She wasn't a wife, she was just someone – almost like a whore – for him to have sex with, always available.

Piqued, she stopped unfolding the blanket. Sleep was gone now, impossible in spite of the early hour of the morning. She stretched languidly on the bed, releasing the last of her stupor.

Lonnie Carmel was a wife any man would be proud to have. Her husband called her a "sex machine that can cook", and said it with a grin. Her long, raven-black hair cascaded down over her shoulders as she stretched, curled around her full breasts and made a contrast to her blush-red nipples and aureole. Her breasts were still firm and taut, even though she was the mother of a fifteen-year-old daughter, and she was increasingly glad that she had followed her doctor's regimen when Jennifer was born. The exercises she'd done faithfully had prevented the slightest trace of stretch marks from the birth, and she could walk around in a bikini and still look like she was Jennifer's older sister and not her mother.