The memorable men and women of P.G. County are back in Connie Briscoe's wickedly funny and deliciously daring novel of romance and betrayal, dangerous choices and seductive second chances.
"This romp of a read combines lush settings, humorous dialogue and outrageous behavior . . ." Ebony magazine wrote of P.G. County, Connie Briscoe's first excursion into the world of the overprivileged and undersatisfied inhabitants of an elite suburb of Washington, D.C. Readers will be delighted to learn that their mischievous machinations and meddlesome ways reach new heights--and sink to new depths--in CAN'T GET ENOUGH, the much-anticipated follow-up to P.G. County.
Barbara Bentley, the grand dame of P.G. County, is tentatively embarking on a fresh approach to life, abandoning the alcohol that served to soften the edges of her marriage to her bimbo-loving millionaire husband, Bradford. She's been sober for nearly a year, her part-time work as a real estate agent has boosted her self-confidence, and the unexpected attentions of a handsome young colleague have done wonders for her ego. For Jolene, Bradford's ambitious, conniving ex-mistress, the status she covets remains tantalizingly out of reach. Her decent, hard-working husband, Patrick, has left her for Pearl, a woman proud of her success as a beauty shop owner and eager to create a loving home for Patrick and his two mixed-up teenage daughters. Royalty comes to Silver Lake in the form of Veronique. She's rich, fabulous and everyone's new friend, or is she?
As the characters slip in and out of their Pratesi sheets and stride into mayhem and misdeeds in their Jimmy Choo shoes, CAN'T GET ENOUGH will hold readers spellbound. A delectable and scrumptious page-turner, it ushers in spring with the fabulous force of a Gucci-clad lion.
Lust, greed and revenge continue to drive the well-to-do African-American residents of suburban Silver Lake, Md., in Briscoe's entertaining sequel to P.G. County (2002). Grand dame Barbara Bentley, a recovering alcoholic, is enjoying a new career in real estate and the attentions of her colleague, Noah Woods, who makes her wonder why she bothers to stay with her philandering husband, Bradford. High-ranking government employee Jolene Brown, one of Bradford's former lovers, feels she's too good for Brian, the office painter, with whom she's having an affair. Much to the social-climbing Jolene's annoyance, her ex-husband, Patrick, has become involved with Pearl Jackson, a successful hair salon owner. For his part, Patrick struggles to make a home for his teenage daughters, Lee, rough and street smart, and Julliette, a snob still hurt by her parents' divorce. Meanwhile, Baroness Veronique Valentine, a rich newcomer, plots mischief behind the facade of a beautiful smile and charming manner. Briscoe keeps the plot rolling, but her steamy story is still Peyton Place with a new color scheme. Agent, Victoria Sanders. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title. -- PUBLISHERS WEEKLY.
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April 25, 2005
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Excerpt from Can't Get Enough by Connie Briscoe
The doorbell rang and Barbara Bentley moaned, lifted her black silk eyeshade, and glanced at the clock on her nightstand. 8:00 a.m. She frowned with frustration. Who on earth would be rude enough to ring the doorbell at this ungodly hour on a Friday morning, a full hour before her usual wake-up time unless she was going to work out at the country club?
She shut her eyes and listened. Maybe, just this once, the temporary housekeeper would do something right and answer the damn door. Her husband was at work, and Phyllis, their regular housekeeper, was on her annual two-week vacation visiting her family in Bermuda. The new woman was never where she should be or doing what she should be doing. She was lazy and worse, she blasted that horrid hip-hop music when she worked. Barbara didn't understand how the agency could send out such shiftless help.
The chime rang again. Barbara hissed between clenched teeth and tossed the silk sheets aside. "Trifling woman," she muttered. She slipped her toes into a pair of sensible black velvet Stubbs & Wootton slippers and grabbed her bathrobe from the foot of the bed.
The floor-length robe flowed behind her as she strode briskly down the hallway and glanced in each bedroom, looking frantically for the help. Barbara worried that she was not presentable, with her hair in rollers and cream on her face. She had to find the help. What was that woman's name again? Aleesha or something. The new ones all had such odd names.
Aleesha was not in any of the seven bedrooms or the kitchen or the family room below. Nor was she in the great room. Barbara walked quickly back toward the kitchen, and as she entered, she heard a thump behind the closed door of the laundry room. Could Aleesha be doing the laundry? Miracles did happen, Barbara thought wryly.
She walked past the granite kitchen countertops, opened the door to the laundry room, and jumped back a foot. Aleesha was spread out on the floor with her legs wrapped tightly around a young man. The two tan bodies were so absorbed in each other that they didn't even notice Barbara standing there. Then Barbara saw something totally appalling. They were having sex atop her precious $1,500 Pratesi sheets! Barbara gasped.
"What the devil is going on here?!"
Aleesha and her guest scrambled to stand up. Barbara clenched her fists and glared in fury as Aleesha tugged her denim skirt down and the young man zipped his blue jeans. Barbara had been reluctant to keep the woman when the agency first sent her. She'd had a bad feeling about her. Aleesha had the exotic sensual look that often came from mixed Hispanic and African-American ancestry and she was no more than twenty-five. The last thing Barbara needed around her wayward husband's roving eye was some pretty young thing like this. Attractive younger women never went unnoticed by Bradford, and they generally found her husband--a dashing, wealthy black business owner--hard to resist when he laid on the charms.
But she had learned that Aleesha was married so Barbara thought it was safe. Aleesha's young Hispanic husband picked her up and dropped her off for work every day, but this young man, with a short Afro and goatee, was not Aleesha's husband. The saddest part was that Barbara didn't dare fire the woman, even now, even after this. Who would do the laundry, make the beds, and cook the meals? She couldn't possibly keep a seven-bedroom, eight-bath home clean herself. She would call and have the agency send a replacement as soon as possible, but for now she wanted Aleesha to get to work.
Barbara turned her attention to the young man. "You!" she exclaimed between clenched teeth. "Get out of my house now. And use the back entrance." Barbara pointed hastily toward the kitchen door, and he ran past her.
"And you, Aleesha," she said as the woman reached for her G-string from atop the washing machine. "Get back to work this minute."
"My name is Ayisha, miss."
"Whatever!" Barbara glared at her with icy eyes. "Just get back to work. And pick my damn Pratesi sheets up off the floor!"
Barbara stormed out and raced to the front door just as the chime rang for the third time. "Slut!" she murmured as she yanked the sponge rollers from her hair. She took a deep breath to calm herself then opened the door only to see a courier heading back down the walkway. He turned when he heard her, ran back, and handed Barbara a letter-size envelope. It was a rich creme-colored linen paper with a gold-embossed script addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Bradford Bentley of Silver Lake, Maryland. Barbara thanked the courier and shut the door against the chilly spring air.
She turned the envelope over. There was no return address. How odd, she thought, as she stuck a perfectly manicured forefinger, courtesy of Pearl's Salon and Spa, beneath the flap and tore the envelope open.