Who is the animal, Miss Dennison?

Publicist Ardelle Dennison and Professor Joseph Manning founded the Men and Women’s Club, an intellectual society devoted to the study of sexology. They are seemingly content with their lives and their accomplishments. But all is not as it appears to be. The honesty of one woman divides the members of their club and rips apart their very lives when they are subpoenaed to testify in court. Their careers, their reputations—the very club into which they pour all their passion—will be destroyed. Ardelle and Joseph have one night to reconcile their past and the secrets that will be revealed in the witness box. The love and intimacy they have denied themselves is their only hope for salvation…

Praise for The Men and Women’s Club
[The Men And Women’s Club] is so much more than erotica. ~HotMoviesForHer.com

[The Men And Women’s Club] is not what comes to mind when I think of erotica, although the sex scenes were really well done, and they basically talk about nothing but sexuality. Honestly, it’s so much more than erotica, because Schone tells a really fascinating story that deals with sexual repression and how dangerous it can be. Both Ardelle and Joseph are strong characters, with their own personal demons and their final confrontation before heading to trial is electric. ~HotMoviesForHer.com

Schone’s complex The Men and Women’s Club is inspired by her previous novel, Scandalous Lovers. ~RT Book Reviews

Schone’s complex The Men and Women’s Club is inspired by her previous novel, Scandalous Lovers. Joseph Manning and Ardell Dennison discover joy, and their true selves, through sex as the club prepares to close its doors. ~RT Book Reviews

Intense and full of emotional honesty. ~Romance Junkies

Robin Schone allows readers to step into the heart and minds of…two enchanting characters. Neither [Ardelle Dennison or Joseph Manning] have admitted their true feelings to each other or even [to] themselves therefore their time together is intense and full of emotional honesty. ~Romance Junkies

I found myself feeling for [Joseph and Ardelle] very much in what they had suffered in the past. ~Night Owl Romance

I found myself feeling for [Joseph and Ardelle] very much in what they had suffered in the past. ~Night Owl Romance

The Men and Women’s Club Excerpt

Vive memor leti,Miss Dennison.

The harsh greeting ricocheted around the twilight-blackened cornices, Latin words pulsing and throbbing over the muted grind of turning wheels.

Mr. Manning!  The feather-tipped silhouette whipped around, startled motion eliciting a kiss of cool air.

She did not see him.

A muffled gong pierced the thickly carpeted floor.

Rare uncertainty quavered her voice.  Is that you?

Silently he perused the pale outline of a nose and chin, all that the v-ed light bleeding through the boardroom door revealed of the twenty-nine-year-old woman’s beauty.

She had been twenty-seven when he first approached her, flushed with success at becoming the first female publicist for the London Museum.  He had been thirty-three, confident in his professorship at the University of London.

It was within their power to create a new order, he had told her.  A modern society of freethinkers unimpeded by conventional dialogue.

Together they had drafted rules for the Men and Women’s Club.  Together they had pored through professional journals and handpicked prospective members.

Together—he sitting at the head of the twenty-foot-long table where he now sat, and she sitting to his right—they had for two years weekly presided over men and women who coldly discussed sexology while overhead gas-light blinded them to their arrogance.

But tonight there was no light to blind him.  Tonight there were no men and women to redirect the desire that pumped through his groin.

Joseph Manning ignored Ardelle Dennison’s question.

“‘Live mindful of death,’” he translated instead in that harshly grating voice that came from his throat.  Immediately her head jerked toward the head of the table, blurred outline becoming an oval face pitted with black eye holes.  Joseph glanced down at the gavel in his right hand, a darker shade of shadow.  My students interpret Persius’s words as a motto to live each day as if it were our last.  A license to sin, they argue.  But I think his words are cautionary, a warning that if we aren’t careful in our day to day activities, we will suffer, and we will die.

Herded, sexless voices wafted up from beneath Joseph’s feet:  men and women he did not know, but who would soon know him.

You take pride in masculine reason, Miss Dennison.  Purposefully Joseph looked up; behind the feather-tipped silhouette, light slashed a squat credenza, turning anonymous black into gleaming mahogany.  Do you believe Persius’s words are a warning, or an invitation?

I believe it’s late.  Ardelle Dennison was frigidly forthright.  There was no sign of the vulnerability she had for one infinitesimal moment revealed.  The museum is closing.  Why are you sitting in the dark?

Through the v-ed door and down the dimly lit corridor, metal banged metal, the sliding gate of an elevator.

Memory gouged the throbbing twilight.

One man questioning.  One woman responding.

What does a woman desire?

Yet the woman had not asked what it was that the man needed.  And now they must each appear—every single member of the Men and Women’s Club—in a court of law.

Tomorrow we stand before a judge and jury.  Cold mahogany wood—an unwitting witness—pulsed against his fingers.  What do we tell them?

The feather-tipped silhouette visibly stiffened, even as distant laughter mocked his impotence, everything he had ever wanted lost in this room: his reputation; his position at the university.

The hope for love.

Do we tell them about the French postcards we didn’t look upon?

Naked men and women doing things he had imagined but never performed.

Do we tell them about the pornographic shop we refused to visit?

In his mind’s eye flashed the print of a woman who sat backward across a man’s hips, wearing only a smile of unfathomable mystery.

Do we tell them we sat here while five men and six women flaunted every decent moral known to man—the first in a series of dull bass bongs, Big Ben spitting out the hour, underscored his words—and we did nothing to stop them?

We did everything in our power to direct those meetings, shot through the deepening gloom.

Joseph was not fooled by the publicist’s righteous indignation.

Do we tell them, Miss Dennison, he asked, fingers choking the gavel that he had as president of the Men and Women’s Club wielded unsparingly, but which on the morrow would be used to direct jurisdiction in a court of law, that when I had you on this table two years earlier, you were not a virgin?

The Men and Women’s Club Series