Vow of Silence

It's an exciting day for me! Vow of Silence has a face:)

And as hoped, it's darker and edgier than previous Chronicle covers...

So, here it is! What do you think??

Coming May 2011 from Lyrical Press!

And to give you a little peak at the three main characters I have included a brief character summary and a short excerpt from each of their perspectives since this novel, as the previous novels, was written in each character's point of view...however, unlike the previous novels the characters don't immediately love each other. You might even say they each repel the other because of their own inner struggles. I really loved writing this book and I hope you enjoy this small peek...

George Kirkpatrick was originally introduced in Sacred Secrets as Doctor Psycho. You might remember some of his story: a young teen was responsible for destroying his psychiatric career...well, guess what...she's back to further complicate his life!

Excerpt George POV:

Six months ago I inherited Lewd Larry’s, a fetish fantasy nightclub and BDSM play place. Its original owner, Garrett Lawrence, built the very successful business from nothing. I can’t believe he is gone. When a lawyer showed up and explained he’d died I didn’t believe it. It only got worse from there. Supposedly, Celia and Thomas, his two lovers who were integral to the workings of the club were also dead. I know Thomas’s beach house exploded, the news coverage was quiet extensive, a gas main leak, but there were no bodies recovered. And although there was a brief community memorial service, my mind refuses to accept it. Every day, I think they might walk through the front doors…

Once upon a time, years ago, in what now seems like a different life, I was a successful psychiatrist. As a result I see too deeply into people. I expect more from some and less from others based purely on what I see as their mental and emotional stability. I’m afraid I’ll never fill Garrett’s shoes. He was so beloved by everyone in the BDSM and LGBT communities. He was a leader, an activist, a teacher. He was the man I will never be.

Lin Kuan, a renowned San Francisco metal sculptor, met George Kirkpatrick under false circumstances and believed she was dating a psychiatrist, not a sadist…too late she discovers she loves the man… and determines to change him.

Excerpt Lin's POV:

George draws me like a moth to a flame. He is holding two glasses of champagne and hands me one. I down the glass of bubbling amber in a single swallow, then trade him my empty for his full glass and down it as well.“I’m a slut.” Oh God! Why did I just say that?

“Maybe we should find someplace where we can talk quietly?”

I nod. Please. Take me away from here. But George doesn’t head for the exit. Too late I realize he has pushed us deep into the middle of the dance floor.

“Dance with me?”

I just admitted to the man I love that I am a slut and he wants to dance? He whisks me into a waltz, and I find myself enjoying dancing in spite of the seriousness of the conversation we need to have. George is an amazing dancer, which only means we dance well together. So many men have tried to dance with me and left me with bruised toes; it’s a relief to find a man who can handle himself on the dance floor.

“I should have told you the truth,” I admit.

“What truth?”

I lean nearer, whispering, “I think I’m a nymphomaniac.”

George tries hard to control his facial expression but I know he is laughing at me as we wind around the room, weaving expertly around the other dancers.

“After my husband died—I went a little crazy.”

He arches a brow.

“I fucked a lot of men.” So many that there isn’t a man of Chinese descent in all of California who will even consider me.

“I don’t think that makes you a nymphomaniac.”

“A slut at least.”

“By whose definition?”

I’m growing frustrated and stumble. George pulls me closer, covering my disastrous dance moves with his own perfection.

“What happened when I left you alone in that hallway?”

“I saw a man and a woman fucking. I recognized the man as someone I’ve been with before.” I meet George’s gaze and realize he isn’t judging me, but then, why would he? If anyone would fall under the label of promiscuous, a professional Dominant would surely fit the bill. “Why aren’t you furious?”

“You’re a sexually active, single woman. Why would I be?”

He nuzzles my neck, kissing, biting. I can feel my blood starting to boil in my veins. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Watching that man and woman made you horny?”

“Watching them made me wish it was you and I in that alcove.”

Pulling away, he looks down into my face. “It’s always the quiet ones that take me by surprise.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“Never,” he says solemnly. “Show me this hiding place.”

I give him a look to see if he’s serious and obviously he is. “Now?”

“Right now.”

If I thought I was aroused a moment ago…

Gigi Marconi seeks penance in pain, but not for the life of the man she ruined professionally. Will the vow she made as a child destroy her before she has a chance to face the truth? Or will the love of the man she once betrayed be her salvation?

Excerpt Gigi's POV:
Darkness holds me suspended. I’m uncertain how much time has passed since entering this hotel room. Hours? It could as easily be days. It feels like forever.

That’s what I wanted, wasn’t it? Yes. Bound. I am prisoner of someone else’s wants, needs, desires. I don’t have to think, I can just be.. Theirs. To do with what they will. Tease me, torture me. I deserve so much worse than I get.

I don’t deserve the pleasure, but bound my body responds. Twisting, writhing, climbing—falling. I don’t seek the pleasure, only the pain.

Pleasure always finds me though.

Blindfolded and gagged, I ride his erection, squeezing him with my thighs and vaginal muscles until I am shaking and spent. The true problem is the asshole is so focused on finding his own pleasure, he forgets why he is here. Punish me! Humiliate me! Only his commands keep me in motion.

“Harder, bitch!”

“Faster!”

“Goddamn it, whore, fuck me like you mean it!”

A hard command to follow since I stopped meaning it awhile ago, not giving a rat’s ass right after my third orgasm and just before my mucus membranes started screaming for relief.

I reach for the pain and embrace it. That’s why I’m here.

Pain.

And although he stopped whipping me with the riding crop when his own pleasure started rising, he’s created a sort of livable purgatory without even realizing what he’s done. The soft pillow-top mattress beneath my knees no longer provides the heavenly comfort promised by the hotel’s ad campaign. My knees ache. Worse, they feel raw from the constant rub against stiff Egyptian cotton sheets. This is the stuff dreams are made of. Suffering, discontentment.