About The Book:
Title: In His Silks
Author: Patricia D. Eddy
Genre: Erotic Suspense
Elizabeth Bennett never dreamed that a sudden downpour could change her life. When she falls across the feet of Boston's richest playboy, Alexander Fairhaven, that's exactly what happens. Rescued from the rain, Elizabeth finds herself in Alexander's limo, unable to stop him from seeing through the pain that's made her strong but kept her alone.Alexander recognizes the untrained submissive inside Elizabeth immediately. The golden-haired beauty consumes his thoughts and dreams like no woman ever has. He wants her in his silks, bound to his bed, screaming his name as he pleasures her. Can a woman with her strength and her scars trust him to be her Dom? Can she trust him with more?
When danger comes for Elizabeth, Alexander is there. Forced to rely on this man who both thrills and frightens her, will she embrace her submissive side? Will she give him her trust? Her heart? Will she let Alexander bind her In His Silks?
*This book is for mature audiences only due to several hot scenes of bondage, spanking, and mind-shattering orgasms. All participants are over 18 and all sex is completely consensual.
Excerpt:
The snow started to fall around mid-afternoon, but she barely noticed. Her back ached. The tension behind her eyes spurred her on. After dinner, she brought her laptop to bed. She was surrounded by tax forms that she’d printed out from the Internet and filled in from memory. She’d checked and rechecked the math and she knew that she’d filled out the returns correctly in the first place. It hadn’t been her mistake. At least not when it came to the Red Sox. So why had they paid more than three million extra in taxes? She was so distracted by the numbers that she didn’t see the caller ID when she answered the phone.
“Hello?”
“Elizabeth. I have missed hearing your voice.” Alexander’s deep tones sounded odd, echoing over the line, but the joy in his voice was hard to mistake.
“Oh, hi. Are you still in London? You sound so far away.”
“As do you, chérie. But not physically. You are distracted. Another book?”
“No, I’m—” This wasn’t his concern. If he knew, he’d interfere. Rich and powerful men were like that, she’d learned long ago. Her father never could leave well enough alone either. “It’s nothing. It was a long day.”
“What did you do? And, if you would indulge me, are you in bed?”
“Excuse me?”
Alexander cleared his throat. “It is 7 a.m. here, Elizabeth. I am sitting here in my hotel room after another sleepless night aching to know what you are doing. What you are wearing. Anything about you. I cannot stop thinking about you.”
“Alexander, we can’t do this. I’m . . . what I mean to say is that . . . shit. Men like you don’t date women like me. You shouldn’t be thinking about me at all.”
“Women like what? Intelligent? Witty? Am I some sort of cretin? An ogre with such poor manners that I would embarrass you at dinner?”
“No, but I’ve been in your type of social circle before. Long ago. You need someone who’ll stand up to scrutiny in the press. Someone who doesn’t live on Hollander Street and shop at Goodwill. Regardless of my former station in life, right now I don’t have a job and my bank account is hemorrhaging.” And I’m involved in a sticky situation with your accounting firm.
“I do not care what your financial situation is,” he snapped. His voice softened. “That came out wrong. I care very deeply that you are struggling, Elizabeth. But not for the reasons you believe. Do you know how long it has been since I found a woman I could converse intelligently with? A woman who did not want me only for my bank account? My position in life?”
“I don’t know. The society pages aren’t my home. They’re yours. Didn’t you date Pippa for a time? How am I supposed to follow that?”
“You don’t have to. Pippa is a dolt and a bore. I did accompany her to the theater once at my mother’s urging, The Book of Mormon, but Pippa found it offensive and boring. I thought it was hilarious. Nary a peck passed between us.”
“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, Alexander. I’ve no claim on you.” She didn’t want to hear about his dates, whether they were innocuous or salacious.
“Bugger it. Can we simply chat? I have several social obligations this morning, none of which promise to offer me anything stimulating in the way of conversation. Being needled by my mother’s old bitty friends is not my idea of a rousing good time. I hoped you would provide a bright spot in my day. A bit of sunlight amid all of this dreary rain we are having in London. And I hoped that you would agree to have lunch with me on Monday when I return.”
“It’s not a good idea,” she said quietly.
“Lunch is almost always a good idea.”
Elizabeth couldn’t stop herself from laughing at the matter-of-fact tone he’d used. “Touché. Skipping meals is often a necessity, but never a good idea. Still, what are you expecting from me?”
He deflected. “I enjoy hearing you laugh. Will you stay up for a bit? I realize it is late there.”
“I don’t have a job. There isn’t exactly a reason for me to get up early in the morning. Why will your mother’s friends needle you?”
“Because I am thirty-five-years-old and have not had a relationship that lasted more than three dates in almost a decade. My mother is nearly eighty-four now and she feels as if she is entitled to a grandchild. Neither my brother nor I are inclined to give her one.”
“Your brother is older?” She set aside her laptop. River had taken residence on the piles of papers she’d been working on. Elizabeth slid down so she was curled on her side and laid the phone on her ear. The cat rolled over and purred.
“Yes. He just turned forty. We both have certain . . . unconventional requirements in a partner. Nicholas needs a woman with an extreme submissive nature. He lives his life as a Master. You know what that is, yes?”
“You’re talking about BDSM.” Something in Elizabeth’s core warmed at the thought, but she didn’t know why. She’d always preferred her sex vanilla and quick. Orgasms were nice, but they were messy and usually left her wanting.
“Yes. But while Nicholas wants a complete power exchange, I do not. I prefer a true partner. One who enjoys my silks, the tools I use as a Dom—for I am one as well—but who does not wish me in control of her life outside of the bedroom. Only her sexual satisfaction.” His voice oozed heat and Elizabeth squirmed under her cheap cotton sheets.
“Oh.”
“Does this frighten you, Elizabeth?”
“No. Because I’m not the one for you. I’m not a submissive, Alexander. I’ve thought that it might be fun to be blindfolded once or twice, but that’s as far as I’d ever take it.”
“You are indeed a submissive, chérie. I knew it the very first time I spoke to you. When I return . . . I will show you the truth of your nature, if you will allow it. I admit that the vision of you in my silks has haunted my dreams each night since we met. Perhaps this is why I have not slept.” He sounded amused. A knock echoed through the phone. “I will be a moment, Elizabeth. I believe my breakfast has arrived.”
Elizabeth hung up on him. How dare he? She was no one’s plaything or wet dream. Especially not his. She fired off a quick text.
I’m not yours, Alexander. If you’d like to ‘chat’ as friends,
that’s one thing, but nothing will ever come of it.
No more talk of sex, or submissives, or whatever the hell your silks are.
And stop fantasizing about me when you jerk off. I’m going to bed now.
The phone rang again immediately, but Elizabeth sent it to voice mail. Two more texts came through.
Please do not deny me the only light I have had in my days,
Elizabeth. Your voice, your wit, your sense of humor.
I am sorry that I have offended you. You unsettle me.
A feeling I am quite unused to.
She turned the phone off completely.
About The Author:
Patricia D. Eddy has been a writer all of her life. She used to sit at her parents' kitchen counter at an Apple IIe typing out short stories. She even wrote a few on their old typewriter. But it wasn't until NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) in 2011 that she ever came close to finishing a story she started.Once that dam broke, the flood waters never receded. Patricia sits down to write every evening after dinner and quite often sees midnight come and go before she heads to bed. She doesn't sleep much. But she wouldn't have it any other way.
In her spare (HA!) time she runs, bikes, swims, yogas, pilates-es, reads, and is terribly addicted to Doctor Who and Sherlock. Apparently she has a thing for quirky British men.
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