From national bestselling author Niobia Bryant comes a sexy, unforgettable novel about love, infidelity, and the importance of keeping your friends close—and your enemies closer. . . Through good times and bad, longtime friends Jaime, Renee, Aria, and Jessa have shared just about everything. But all hell breaks loose when Jessa texts them a shocking revelation: she's been sharing her bed—with one of their husbands. Worse, she refuses to name which husband. And all three wives believe they have reason to worry. . . The betrayed trio vow to stick together. But before the identity of Jessa's lover is revealed, each woman's deepest secrets will be exposed for all to see—and they'll need each other more than ever. "A fast-paced, sexy romp." —APOOO Book Club "Grabs your attention from the first page." —The RAWSISTAZ Reviewers "This novel is packed with unbelievable drama that will capture readers from page one." — Books 2 Mention Magazine Niobia Bryant is the national bestselling and Romantic Times award-winning author of more than thirty "Sexy, Funny & Oh So Real" novels. When it comes to writing, Niobia dabbles in many genres, her ideas are unlimited, and the ink in her pen is infinite. A proud native of Newark, New Jersey, Niobia currently resides in South Carolina where she writes full-time. For more on this author who "can't stop, won't stop," visit www.niobiabryant.com, follow her on Twitter @InfiniteInk, or search for her on Facebook: Niobia Bryant. Message from a Mistress By NIOBIA BRYANT DAFINA BOOKS Copyright © 2010 Niobia Bryant All right reserved. ISBN: 978-0-7582-3822-1 Chapter One Jaime Hall enjoyed the feel of the steam pressed against her shoulders and her legs where she sat in the glass shower of their bedroom suite. The thick swirling vapors felt like a lover's gentle touch against her skin and those intimate parts of a woman's body. Her breasts. Her nipples. Her thighs. Her lips—both sets. She relished it. She needed it. Sadness weighed her shoulders down and soon she felt tears fill her oval-shaped eyes and race down her cheeks. Jaime brought her shaking hands up to hug herself close. "God, I can't take much more of my life," she whispered into the steam as her head dropped so low that her chin nearly touched her chest. She heard a sudden noise in her bathroom. Her head jerked up as she immediately swallowed back any more of her tears and frantically wiped any traces of them from her face. The last thing she wanted was for him to see or hear her crying. "Eric," Jaime called out to her husband of the last seven years. No answer. Nothing to acknowledge her. Seconds later the bathroom door opened and then closed. Disappointment nudged the door to her heart shut as well. The body's automatic defense mechanisms were amazing. Jaime rose from the bench, turned off the shower, and walked out of the stall. The vapors swirled around her nude curvaceous frame like fog as she stepped down onto the plush white carpeting that felt like mink against her pedicured feet. As she wiped a clear spot in the grand oval mirror over the pedestal sink, she came face-to-face with her unhappiness. She forced a smile and put on her usual mask, but even she could see it didn't reach her eyes. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her frame. She raced out of her bathroom suite through their spacious cathedral ceiling master bedroom and out to the hall. As she raced down the curved staircase, her towel slipped and fell behind her on the stairs, but she didn't break stride. Thank God she was home alone, because she wouldn't want anyone to see her stark naked and racing through the house like she was crazy. "Eric!" she called out, striding through the circular foyer to the kitchen. The house was quiet. She covered her exposed breasts with her arms as she looked out the kitchen windows over the driveway. The sun was just starting to rise. She just made out his tall and slender figure headed down the street toward their friends' home with his tackle box and fishing rods in hand. He left to go deep-sea fishing and didn't even bother to tell her good-bye. How much more can I take? She turned and let her body slide down to the polished hardwood floor as tears racked her body and she could do nothing but wrap her arms around her knees and rock to make herself feel a little better. "Shit!" Renee Clinton swore as the gray acrid smoke rose from the frying pan with fury. She hurried to turn off the lit eye of the Viking stove before shifting the pan to one of the remaining five burners. "Damn, damn, damn it all to hell." Renee could only shake her head in shame at the blackness of the bacon she'd been frying. It was beyond crispy. "Is something on fire, Ma?" Renee looked over her shoulder as her fifteen-year-old daughter, Kieran, walked into the kitchen on dragging feet in her oversized fuzzy pajamas. "Just breakfast." " You were cooking?" she asked in d