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M. Robinson & Rachel Van Dyken present Pillow Talk - LIVE!

6/13/2020

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FIRST time EVER that TRSOR has promoted anything but incredible books!  

M. Robinson  Rachel Van Dyken
two names we automatically recognize as talented authors
​are doing something else amazing
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​☆☆☆☆☆☆

Did you hear the news??
M. Robinson &  Rachel Van Dyken have  teamed up to bring us a brand new LIVE broadcast — Pillow Talk!
Pillow Talk is a LIVE lifestyle broadcast where they will be discussing the real life issues that all of us are dealing with.
We  are so excited about this duo and all that they have in store for us!  
Make sure you follow them on Instagram and subscribe to their YouTube channel (Don't forget to click the bell to get notifications!)

Keep scrolling for all the links! 

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INSTAGRAM
@pillowtalk.m.r
@authormrobinson
@RachVD

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@PillowTalk​

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​@AuthorMRobinson
@RachelVanDyken

Mondays @8:00pm EST
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​#MRobinson #RachelVanDyken #PillowTalk #PillowTalkLive #lifestyle #positivevibes #reallife #keepingitreal #yougotthis 
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New Release, Sneak Peek & Giveaway: Cheater By Rachel Van Dyken

2/28/2017

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 Lucas Thorn.  Easy to hate.  Impossible to resist. 
Cheater by Rachel Van Dyken is Live!
#GetThorned
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Five steps to his door.

Still. No talking.

It opened.

The lock clicked shut.

Darkness enveloped the entire apartment—the only light was the moon as it glowed across the Sound and stretched through the floor-to-ceiling bay windows.

And still no talking.

It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, which should have been my first clue that this wasn’t a one-night stand or a test to see if we were compatible.

This was Lucas and me following through with something we both had wanted a long time ago—something that we were never allowed to have because of factors that felt beyond our control. And something that involved feelings neither of us had ever admitted to out loud.

Until now.

My heart kept trying to remind me that there were other women, that he’d cheated on my sister, that this too was cheating—that I wasn’t different because tomorrow he’d be with someone else.

But stupidly, like I said, I was becoming the girl—the girl who did bad things, the girl who was convinced that she was different, that she was the game changer.

My mind reacted to that possibility in a completely logical way by reminding me of his calendar—of who he’d been on a date with just before he kissed me.

Warm hands cupped my shoulders and then slowly made their way down to my wrists. “You’re so soft.”

I leaned my head back against his chest. “What’s happening?”

“I stopped asking that the minute you kissed me back. Figured it would be better for my sanity.”

“So you admit this is insane, right?”

“Right.”

Protect your heart, protect your heart! Don’t be that girl, don’t be that girl! My brain screamed, and my heart thudded wildly. I turned in his arms. “I’ll be your Wednesday, but only for this week, only for tonight. And then this is over with, whatever this is, whatever itch that needs scratching or desire that needs to be fulfilled. Once I walk out that door, we go back to hating each other and under no circumstances do we ever discuss it. Ever.”

Say no. Please say no.

Give me more than one day.

Be different.

Let this be the game changer.

Instead, Lucas’s expression turned cold as he whispered the word. “Okay.”

I wasn’t different.

I was going to be just like the others, desperate for him, thrown aside when the sun rose the next morning.

One night.

It was all I needed anyway, right? It’s not as if he was going to really commit to me, marry me, offer to impregnate me and father all our children.

“Are you sure about this, Avery?” He cupped my face with his rough hands. “You still have a choice. You can turn that cute ass around and march out that door—hell, you can even slam it on the way out. I’ll even let you keep the steak.”

“Are you offering me an out?”

He nodded.

“Do you offer that to every girl?”

Another nod.

“Do they ever take it?”

“Sometimes.”

“What do you want me to do?”

He paused. “You know, nobody has ever asked me that before.”

Probably because nobody cared about what else he had to offer besides what was dangling between his legs.

“I’m asking. Right now.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “What does Thorn want?”

“You didn’t full-name me.”

“It seems to make you even more arrogant, God forbid.”

His grin made me weak, so weak that I had to hold on to him for strength. Funny how things come full circle. How he’d always been my rock.

Dependable.

Loving.

And now?

He held all the power. Lucas Thorn . . . could destroy me.

“Stay.” He brushed a soft kiss across my lower lip. “I want you to stay.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆

MORE About Cheater

Lucas Thorn wasn’t born a cheater. All it took was a single moment—say, a certain disastrous incident on the night before his wedding—and boom. Reputation destroyed forever and always. So now he owns it. He has a lady friend for every night of the week (except Sundays—God’s day and all), and his rules are simple: No commitments. No exceptions.

But a certain smart-mouthed, strawberry blonde vixen is about to blow that all to hell.

Avery Black has never forgiven Lucas for cheating on her sister. And suddenly being forced to work with him is pretty much a nightmare on steroids. Of course, it does afford her the opportunity to make his life as difficult as possible. But no good revenge scheme comes without payback. Because he didn’t become the Lucas Thorn without learning a few things about women.

Now Avery’s lust for vengeance has turned into, well, lust. And if Lucas stops cheating, it’s definitely not because he’s falling in love…

NOW AVAILABLE & FREE ON KINDLE UNLIMITED!

Amazon US
Amazon UK
Amazon CA
Amazon AU

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Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor. 

She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers!

                     Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads
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Never met a male siren before?  You're about to:  NEW from Rachel Van Dyken - Dark Surrender is LIVE!

12/12/2016

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​Dark Surrender by Rachel Van Dyken is LIVE and only $1.99! So snag this complete paranormal stand alone and read all about why having a male siren try to seduce you isn't all it's cracked up to be!  
​Read a sexy excerpt & grab your copy of this AMAZING paranormal series!
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Never met a male siren before?
You're about to....

I grew up as a prince...
And lead the life of a King.
There isn't anyone or anything that doesn't want me, that isn't attracted to me. They can't help it. And I sure as hell don't want them to. I live for their lust, I crave touch like an addiction, I make them beg on their knees for one, simple, caress.
As a male siren it's my job to feed off emotion.
And I was happy to do it.
I am happy to do it.
What I'm not happy about? Being told I have to mate with some withering human and stay loyal to that one person for the next few centuries. There's a war coming and being the idiot I am--I offered to take one for the team in order to help a friend.
Now my sexual appetite is taking a freaking kick in the nuts.
And I'm left wondering if it's worth it.
If she's worth it, with messy hair and dirty human hands.
But I have a world to save.
A job to do.
Now, if only, she would just let me do it rather than fighting me at every turn. I've lived lifetimes as the most irresistible being on the planet.
Only to meet my match.
With one.
Measly.
Human.
They say hells hot. They're wrong.
Because Hope, my little human, is way hotter.
And before this is over--she may just singe me alive.
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The Dark One's Saga
(2 BOOKS ONLY $1.99)
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OH SO SEXY EXCERPT

Mason let out a guttural moan as he shuddered next to me. Hope’s mouth fused to mine, her free hand winding through strands of my hair, tugging them free.
Holy shit.
I locked eyes with Mason while kissing her.
A look of pure steel crossed his features.
We were at an impasse.
She wanted me.
But she needed him in order to get me.
I was selfish enough to be completely on board with him getting used — but at the same time, Mason… had been celibate for over a hundred years.
So the fact that he was getting hit with the force of my arousal coupled with hers? Not to mention that we were mates.
I was surprised he was still standing.
And not panting or at least trying to hump the dresser.
Hell, I was having a hard time not humping the dresser, and she was kissing me — kissing me.
She tasted sweet. I cupped her hips with both hands and cursed as her tongue slipped past my lips.
Her hand still firmly gripping Mason’s.
It wasn’t an unfamiliar situation to be in — and it wasn’t arrogance speaking, just science. All creatures wanted me. I couldn’t help it.
And right now, Mason was having a hell of a time not wanting Hope, even though he knew the rules.
Mine.
My mate.
I had to give him credit — he was holding strong. Not moving an inch while she kissed me, so I allowed myself to close my eyes and drink in her kiss. Just a few more seconds, and then she deepened the kiss, the tips of her breasts pressed up against my chest.
And I lost my freaking mind.
I grabbed her by the ass and pulled her toward me, which caught Mason off guard completely jerking him against her backside.
Leaving her between both of our bodies.
With a shaky sigh, Mason rested his head on the back of hers, his hands sliding down her hips, grazing over my fingertips. I shook as every part of his skin grazed mine before coming into contact with hers.
Swaying on my feet, I broke off the kiss and stared him down.
He gulped as a bead of sweat trickled down his temple and slid down his chin.
Can you handle this?
No.
Honest.
It may kill me.
Good way to go?
You have no. Idea.
Mason took a few ragged breaths and then slowly nodded at me, giving his consent, even if it was going to make him go insane.
I was already halfway there.
Twenty-four hours. Sirens hated going that long.
And Hope? Her taste was addicting.
She blinked up at me. “This works… right?”
Mason grunted behind her.
Guilt flashed across her face.
I tilted her chin up with my thumb. “Trust me, he’s not suffering.”
“Speak for yourself.” Mason gritted out. “I feel… everything.”
Hope looked drugged. Hell, she was probably in little elf heaven. She wasn’t just drunk off of the feel of me — her mate.
She was drunk off the power of being at the mercy of two immortals. Her eyes flickered closed as I ran a hand down her cheek and cupped her neck, and then I shared a look with Mason before he bent down and licked down the side, his tongue slowly ran down to her collarbone. I lunged for that exact spot, tasting the healing properties of his saliva right along with the fresh smell of rain on Hope.
Mason pressed his hand against my back pulling the three of us so tightly together that all I could do was inhale Hope, while watching his resolve crumble before my eyes.
He was losing it.
What did I expect? For Mason? A man more animal than anything? To survive a siren’s mating?
“Hell, Mason.” I gripped his arm. “Focus.”
“I’m trying,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Damn it, tell anyone and I rip your paw from your arm.” I growled before I pulled him closer, until his mouth was inches from mine — and sucked the air between us.
His horrified expression would have been priceless if it wasn’t so necessary that I take away some of his arousal.
“Go ahead,” I encouraged, releasing his finally relaxed body into the arms of Hope’s.
And then I was watching a jealous nightmare come to life, as I shared, not only part of my essence with him, but my mate.
Kiss her, I commanded, able to control his movements since I’d taken control of his passion so fleetingly and infused the air with mine. He wouldn’t be able to help himself, and she’d only feel me — not him. Because in her mind, I was kissing her. I was touching her. And allowing Mason free rein.
Because for a brief few seconds, I’d turned the wolf into a siren.
God, I was good.
When he broke away from her, he was sucking in air as if he hadn’t breathed a day in his life.
I gripped his hand, feeling a tremor of pleasure run through his blood at the contact.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“The hell you are,” he fired back.
It wasn’t me he was attracted to.
It wasn’t even Hope.
It was the sexually charged air. He couldn’t help himself. In fact, I was surprised that none of the others had made it upstairs.
Ah yes, an orgy. I’d been accused of worse in this house.
It wouldn’t be the first or last time — not that it had happened since everyone had started selfishly mating all over the place.
Hope’s eyes widened as she touched her lips. Both of us approached her on the bed. I placed her on the mattress slowly stripping every inch of clothing from her body while Mason watched.
With each movement, he cursed me.
He finally looked away.
Not that it would help — he still felt us.
He felt it all.
Every lick, I gave her.
Every kiss.
Every wave of pleasure as her hips bucked off the bed.

And still, he held her hand, like a lifeline
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Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.
She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers!
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads
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New standalone from Rachel Van Dyken - Paranormal Style! 

12/9/2016

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Dark Surrender is Rachel Van Dyken's highly anticipated paranormal release.  This addition to The Dark One's Sexy Vampire Series.... We love this series and are pleased to offer you a sneak peek.  Pre-order your copy before it drops on December 12th!  
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Never met a male siren before?
You're about to....

I grew up as a prince...
And lead the life of a King.
There isn't anyone or anything that doesn't want me, that isn't attracted to me. They can't help it. And I sure as hell don't want them to. I live for their lust, I crave touch like an addiction, I make them beg on their knees for one, simple, caress.
As a male siren it's my job to feed off emotion.
And I was happy to do it.
I am happy to do it.
What I'm not happy about? Being told I have to mate with some withering human and stay loyal to that one person for the next few centuries. There's a war coming and being the idiot I am--I offered to take one for the team in order to help a friend.
Now my sexual appetite is taking a freaking kick in the nuts.
And I'm left wondering if it's worth it.
If she's worth it, with messy hair and dirty human hands.
But I have a world to save.
A job to do.
Now, if only, she would just let me do it rather than fighting me at every turn. I've lived lifetimes as the most irresistible being on the planet.
Only to meet my match.
With one.
Measly.
Human.
They say hells hot. They're wrong.
Because Hope, my little human, is way hotter.
And before this is over--she may just singe me alive.

Pre-order!

iBooks
Nook
Kobo

Book One

Book Two

EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT 
**can be read as a standalone**

I wiped the sweat from my body with the cool sheet and stood as the moon shone into the room, casting a silver glow across the white sheets.
She belonged next to me.
But every time I closed my eyes, I saw her blood on my hands.
I would be her death.
With a curse, I stomped over to the window and pushed it open, taking a much needed deep breath.
My car was still gone.
I glanced at my nightstand and let out an irritated sigh. It was late at night — too late for her to be by herself. Who the hell took a job watering plants anyway? Especially a defenseless human?
Elf.
Of course.
It made sense that she would be drawn to life — because a small part of her was always consciously aware that her one and only job was to produce life — and then die.
What a miserable existence.
A weak existence.
I had at least another ten hours before I needed her again.
Wanting her? That was an entirely different story. My body shook with want like I was a drug addict, my mind told me that one taste was all I needed and the burn would stop. But I knew the truth.
The burning hadn’t stopped since I’d turned fifteen.
The burning would not stop.
Until my death.
A loud knock on my door jarred my thoughts.
The door opened.
Of course it did because privacy wasn’t exactly something that was freely given at Ethan’s. But I was too much of a menace to society to live out on my own. Cassius had created a nice little protective barrier around my room making it so that the trees didn’t try to uproot themselves in an effort to fly through my window and fall prey to my seduction. In all my years living it had only happened once, and it was awkward as hell getting pinned to my own bed by a freaking branch.
“What?” I barked.
“You’re a giant asshole.” Mason seethed and then shook his head like he was trying to clear his thoughts. “Damn it, turn it off!”
“Like I can!” I yelled back at him. “You think I want you to—” I made a face. “Mason, that’s a physical impossibility and you know it.”
“OUT OF MY HEAD!”
“You need to get laid.” I smirked. “If I wasn’t mated I would do you a solid and—”
“Finish that sentence and I’m killing you. To hell with what Cassius says.” Mason growled. “I’m perfectly fine, you’ve just been… running too hot lately.”
“You’re telling me,” I whispered under my breath as a flicker of power burned beneath my skin. I thought I could hide it. But in the last few hours it had gotten worse, the need, the want, the desire to explode everything around me into tiny little fragments for my own pleasure. “Now what’s this asshole business about?”
“She fell down the stairs.” Mason lifted his chin in defiance and then smiled wickedly. “But don’t worry, Siren, I licked her wounds.”
Color exploded in my line of vision. “I’m sorry, you did what?” I rasped.
“Licked.” He took a step toward me and crossed his arms. “She tastes good, no?”
“Son of a bitch!” I charged at him slamming his body against the nearest wall as cement crumbled to the floor. “You touched mine?”
“And…” Mason wasn’t deterred. If anything, he looked downright cheerful. “I liked it.”
My fist came down on his face so hard that blood spewed from my knuckles and caked his cheek.
“That tickled.” Mason laughed through a mouthful of silver blood.
I was pulled away from him by both Ethan and Cassius.
Genesis and Stephanie came running into the room just in time to see the show.
“He licked her!” I accused.
“So?” Genesis shrugged. “Ethan bit her.”
“HE WHAT?” I roared as the room shook beneath my feet.
“If he turns into a rainbow you owe me ten dollars.” Stephanie elbowed Genesis, who nodded her head in agreement.
I couldn’t control the colors.
Pinks. Reds. Blues. Purples. They all flashed as a buzzing built in my body, my blood roared to life.
“He looks like a unicorn.” Genesis said in awe.
“Quick, a saddle!” Mason snapped his fingers at Cassius.
Vision blurring, I fell to my knees, in a desperate attempt to control my emotions. I didn’t want to kill my friends.
But it felt like a good idea.
It felt necessary.
Yes. Necessary.
Reach your full potential! A voice screamed in my head.
End them all! Just as I taught you! The pain only goes away when you lose control, Alex.
“No.” Cassius pulled the word into existence and then placed a hand on my head. “Alex you must learn to control yourself.”
“Don’t. Want. To.” I snarled. “Let me kill them!”
“They healed her when you did not.” Cassius leaned down to my eye level; his irises were a bright white. “Is that not friendship?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Bullshit,” came Mason’s reply.
“Downstairs,” Cassius whispered. “All of you.”
For once, nobody argued.
And I was left alone with the stupid angel.
The last person I wanted to be left with. Cassius saw too much. Because he saw everything, and thanks to his good ol’ angelic dad — the blood that ran through his veins was so pure it was a miracle he was able to even exist on the human plane without destroying everything in his path.
“You withhold yourself from her.” Cassius tilted his head. “Why?”
“Elf,” I managed to get out. “She is an elf.”
Cassius was quiet and then stood. “I see.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.” His tone was damned irritating, so calm, so rational. All of the things I wasn’t and would never be.
“I am her death.”
“No.” Cassius shuddered as he lifted his eyes heavenward, an icy mist began to fall from the ceiling. “I cannot see the future, you know this, only possibilities.”
“Mine is death.”
“You’re wrong.” Cassius’s eyes flashed white before the mist fell to the ground coating my room like an ice skating rink. “I see… Hope.”

Enter to win Signed Paperbacks of The Dark Ones & Untouchable Darkness 
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Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.
She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers!
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads
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NEW Romantic Comedy:  The Bachelor Auction by Rachel Van Dyken

10/6/2016

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Are you ready to Meet Brock Wellington?
The Bachelor Auction by Rachel Van Dyken
is NOW AVAILABLE.  

Download your copy of this fun and witty RomCom,
read an excerpt & enter to win a Kindle Fire 10.

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Jane isn't entirely sure that Cinderella got such a raw deal. Sure, she had a rough start, but didn't she eventually land a prince and a happily-ever-after? Meanwhile, Jane is busy waiting on her demanding, entitled sisters, running her cleaning business, and . . . yep, not a prince in sight. Until a party and a broken shoe incident leave Jane wondering if princes---or at least, a certain deliciously hunky billionaire---maybe do exist.

Except Brock Wellington isn't anyone's dream guy. Hell, a prince would never agree to be auctioned off in marriage to the highest bidder. Or act like an arrogant jerk---even if it was just a façade. Now, as Brock is waiting for the auction chopping block, he figures it's karmic retribution that he's tempted by a sexy, sassy woman he can't have. But while they can't have a fairy-tale ending, maybe they can indulge in a little bit of fantasy . .
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Excerpt:  Chapter Four
​​The Bachelor Auction

Jane was pressed so tightly against the wall she would have sworn her body was starting to blend into the wallpaper. Most people didn’t give her a second glance. Then again, she wouldn’t give herself a second glance either.
Women with fake boobs and injected lips mocked her while rich men in three-piece suits completely ignored her.
She self-consciously tugged at hem of the short black dress. In a last ditch effort to modernize the dress, or at least add a bit of spice, she’d grabbed her mother’s long pearls, wrapped them around her neck twice and called it good.
But the minute they’d arrived at the party she’d wanted to disappear. Her sisters were already semi-drunk, thanks to the vodka they’d had in the car. Against Jane’s protests they’d taken shots while she drove. And then she’d paid for parking only to hear them whine that she had parked too far away.
They’d been here for twenty minutes and already she wanted to leave, or at least sit down, but most of the available space was taken by couples talking, eating…kissing.
She was surrounded by the beautiful and rich.
The only reason her sisters had even been invited was because they were complete and total social climbers, and had managed to gain an invitation from a friend who was an heiress to some french fry company.
A waiter passed by with champagne.
She grabbed a glass and downed the entire thing. It didn’t help her nerves, but at least the bubbles semi-calmed her stomach.
Her sweaty feet slid in her too-big red pumps as she pressed harder against the wall to alleviate the ache in her toes.
The music shifted to a loud techno song as the lights went from red to a bright white, and with a gasp she covered her eyes and then blinked a few times to clear her line of vision.
The jumbled sweaty bodies moved aside as the music changed to a slow song. There was just enough of a break for her to see across the room.
“Oh.” It was all she could utter, really the only word she was capable of as her breathing picked up. Without thinking, she grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing waiter, suddenly awkward. What was she supposed to do with her hands?
Thick wavy auburn hair fell in disarray over his forehead. It was lush, shiny, perfect. Were guys born with hair like that? Or was his somehow chemically engineered? His full lips pressed together in a secret smile as the equally handsome man next to him said something, then erupted in laughter.
The first man stiffened, then shook his head. His broad shoulders seemed to grow tight as a drum. A slight tic in his jaw was the only clue that he was irritated or maybe outright angry.
And then his shoulders slumped as he was handed another drink and then another.
Nervous. He must be nervous. But what could a man like that possibly have to be nervous about?
He easily towered over most of the men in attendance. Suddenly his posture changed, then he smiled.
Jane felt her mouth drop open in shock.
Dazzling.
He was…like a duke or a lord or a prince from a storybook. Clearly, she read too many romance novels, but his entire presence demanded attention; screamed authority, importance, and sex. Lots and lots of sex.
Yes, his virility was a tangible thing, as if she could reach out and grasp it with her fingertips.
“What are you doing?” Esmeralda yelled in her right ear, interrupting her blatant sexual fantasy about a complete stranger. Great. That’s what her life had come to. And sadly? It was the most fun she’d had all night.
Jane turned to Esmeralda, prayed for patience, and answered. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”
“You’re so boring.” Esmeralda rolled her eyes. “No wonder you got dumped.”
Another fun fact? Esmeralda was mean when she was drunk.
The reminder of the breakup burned like acid.
It had been a year ago, not that it mattered. It still hurt that the last guy she’d dated had told her that although she was cute, she wasn’t really doing it for him anymore.
Right. Doing it.
Maybe that was because she hadn’t done anything for him or with him, and he found that lacking. But they’d only dated for a few weeks. Did normal girls do that? Put out after a few weeks? Apparently.
She wasn’t normal.
But if that was normal, maybe she was better off being strange.
“Jane, are you even listening to me?” Esmeralda whined. “Essence needs you to dance next to her for a bit. I’m tired and tipsy. I want to sit. Plus your dress blends in enough that it won’t take attention away from her.”
No way. What? What had she just said?
Jane wrapped her arms around her middle. “I’m sorry, what?”
Without warning, Esmeralda grabbed Jane’s hand and jerked her toward the dance floor, causing Jane to lose her footing and crash directly into Esmeralda’s back. Then, like a domino, she slammed back into Essence.
Jane opened her mouth to shout out an apology, but Esmeralda was already too drunk to listen to reason. With determination in her eyes, she reached for the pearls at Jane’s neck but grabbed the fabric of the dress instead.
Her poorly sewn dress ripped instantly, causing the fabric to slink past her strapless bra. A diagonal slit split up her thigh almost all the way to her hip. In an  effort to cover herself, she took a step and tripped, thanks to her clunky shoes.
And then she fell to the floor.
Hard.
Her sisters watched in horror—but neither of them offered a hand. They were probably kicking themselves for forcing her to come. Esmeralda leaned over but missed Jane’s shoulder by a mile, grabbing her hair and giving it a tug, which only made Jane wince harder.
Both sisters were completely tanked.
And she was less than two minutes away from being trampled by the other sweaty bodies around her.
She glanced up.
And into the eyes of the man she’d just been lusting after.
Oh God, the humiliation was complete.
That one glance told her he’d seen it all. She swallowed back the thickness building in her throat. Of course the only time he’d notice her would be when she’d ripped her dress and nearly took out a few guests on her way down to the dance floor.
The crowd gathered around her.
And the sexy man disappeared—probably off in search of a girl with perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect clothes.
She really should have stayed home.
Tears filled her eyes as a heel pressed into her right hand. With a jerk she tugged her hand free, struggling to get up to stand on her wobbly feet, when suddenly she was pulled to a standing position and then swept up in strong arms.
Jane’s eyes were still so blurry from unshed tears she couldn’t make out the man’s face as he carried her out of the crowd.
He smelled like heaven.
She fought the insane urge to press her face against his chest and just…close her eyes.
Because he felt safe.
Pathetic, when a stranger’s arms provided more safety than her own family. And yet he felt…right.
In a world where things for the past ten years had felt so wrong.
He felt right.
Maybe she’d had too much champagne.
“Are you all right?” he whispered in a deep voice with a hint of a southern drawl. He’d brought her into a private room where the music wasn’t quite so deafening.
He set her on one of the black leather couches and shut the door, muffling the music on the other side.
Blinking, Jane glanced up and gawked, like a starry-eyed teenager. He was the same man she’d seen earlier, the one she’d been captivated by. “Yes.”
“Yes?” He looked confused. His amazing eyebrows drew together, and a small line creased the center of his forehead. Even the line was gorgeous, just as gorgeous as the rest of him.
His thickly muscled body screamed power. Her hands slid down the front of his chest. Even his shirt was smooth. She didn’t realize she’d been basically petting him until his muscles tensed beneath her palm. Oh crap.
“I mean, yes, I’m fine.” She tried to stand then fell back down; her stupid heel was broken. “Or I was fine, until I got trampled.”
The line in his forehead deepened. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
Jane shook her head then pressed her hand to her chest and gasped out, “My pearls!”
“Wait here.” He held out his hands. “I’ll get the necklace, I’m sure it’s where you fell and—”
“No.” Jane slumped, defeated. “They broke off when my sis—” She corrected herself, not wanting to claim the crazies in the other room. “They broke apart when I fell.”
The man sighed loudly and ran his fingers through his perfect hair. “I’ll talk to the club manager and see if anyone turns them in.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to give him all the many reasons why they were irreplaceable, but instead she settled with, “That’s really not necessary. It’s not your fault I was a victim of the techno craze.”
His upper lip curled. “I hate techno.”
“Me too.”
“Is there something I can do? Anything? You promise you aren’t hurt?”
“Careful or you’re going to have me believe you got me trampled on purpose in order to trap me in a private room,” she joked as a smile tugged at her lips.
“Had I known you were willing, I wouldn’t have had to go to such extremes to orchestrate it.”
He appeared stunned by his own answer.
Her breath hitched. Was he flirting with her?
His crystal blue eyes twinkled with amusement.
“So…” Her voice was hoarse, like an old woman’s. Great. “I should probably get back to the party.” Why did she need to go back again? All the reasons seemed to disappear as he maneuvered around the couch and popped a bottle of champagne that had been chilling in a nearby crystal bucket.
“Why don’t you and I have a drink first?” He peered around the table. “I’ll need to send for some shoes. It’s the least I can do.” His gaze heated. “Shoes are appropriate to purchase for a stranger. A dress, I’m afraid…” The corners of his mouth tilted into a sultry smile as his eyes slowly raked over the scraps of fabric barely covering her breasts. “Not so much.”
Did people do that these days? Just send for shoes? Who was this guy? “Really, it’s not necessary. I’ll just stick to the shadows so I don’t scare anyone with my limp and I’ll be okay.” She sounded more confident than she felt, and her lower lip trembled a bit. Next time she was going to hold her ground, stay home, read a book, and be plain boring Jane. This wasn’t her scene. Not by a long shot.
He leaned in close, so close she could smell his aftershave again. “A woman like you doesn’t belong in the shadows.”
Uncomfortable, she tried to make light of the situation again. “Wow, a hero and good with words. I bet you’re just a regular handful, aren’t you?”
“Me?” He laughed as if the thought was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “No, that would be my twin brothers. They’re the handfuls. I’m…” He seemed to think about it. “Just Brock.”
“Well, Just Brock…” Jane held out her hand. “I’m Just Jane.”
His hand completely engulfed hers as their palms pressed against one another. He was so warm. And big.
Huge.
Huge hands. That meant something, right?
Crap, she was still shaking his hand, and he was grinning at her as if it was the funniest thing that had ever happened to him. And he was looking at her. At her eyes, not at the fact that she was half-naked on a couch, with a broken shoe.
With a jerk, she pulled her hand back and nervously reached to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
“So, Brock.” Jane looked down at his shoes. That was safe. Shoes. Nothing sexy about a man’s feet, right? Except his were inside shoes that she ventured probably cost more than she’d ever see in a lifetime. “About those shoes.”
“Shoes.” He repeated the word and then quickly stood. “Right, just wait here.”
He disappeared, giving her the breathing room she absolutely positively needed, only to re-appear a few seconds later.
Without shoes.
She frowned; then again, what had she expected? That he’d bang some plastic Barbie over the head with his cell phone, steal her shoes, and then toss them to Jane?
Brock studied her. “Your shoes should be here within the next fifteen minutes. I just sent my degenerate brother across the street. Saks is still open. The night is young.”
Saks?
Shoes from Saks?
She’d never owned anything from Saks. Ever. But she knew the store; didn’t every woman? Still, the most expensive thing she’d ever owned had been the pearls.
“That’s really…” She waved her hand in the air and stood. “Not necessary…you can tell him that—”
Brock reached for her hand and lightly tugged her back. “Sit. It is necessary. And although I typically wait until the third date to buy a woman gifts, I think your nearly getting trampled allows me to break that rule.”
Still tense, Jane nodded and took a shaky look around the small, private room.
“To new shoes?” Brock grabbed his drink and lifted it in the air toward her.
She lifted her glass and clinked it against his then took a small sip. The champagne was pink and sweet, with a tart aftertaste. “It’s good.”
“You sound surprised.” Brock’s lips lifted in a smile.
She scrunched up her nose. “I’m not much of a drinker, and I typically don’t like drinks that are the same color as my underwear.”
The minute the words were out of her mouth, she froze, barely managing to suppress the urge to clap a hand over her mouth. She wanted someone to run her over with a car.
With a choke, Brock nearly spit out the sip he’d just taken. Face flushed, he stared her down and then whispered, “You’re making me regret my decision to send out for boring black shoes.”
“I didn’t…I mean, pink is fine.” Stop talking, stop talking. “Not all of my underwear is pink. I have black, too.”
Brock’s lips parted with a greedy exhale, and he downed the rest of his drink. “Oh?”
Hell in a handbasket.
Why was she giving him a rundown of her lingerie drawer? As if he were a naughty Santa with a checklist in front of him, putting down little marks on the little boxes that read “red lacy thong”? Check. “Black boyshorts”? Double check.
“I’m more of a boxer brief sort of guy,” he said smoothly, bringing her back to the present.
“Huh?”
“Too far?” He chuckled. “I figured if I knew the color of yours…I should at least show you mine.” He leaned forward.
Had he said show?
Just how drunk was he? Maybe that was the reason his eyes were zeroing in on her mouth. He blinked, and then seemed to sway a bit.
Was he okay? And why was he still staring at her mouth? Did she have something on her face?
Self-consciously, she pressed her fingertips to her lips only to have him suck in a breath and lift his right hand from his thigh as if wanting to touch the place where her fingers had just been.
“Got the shoes!” a male voice yelled as Jane jerked away from Brock.
What had just happened?
“Holy shit, you’re hot.”
She recognized the man from before. He was about an inch shorter than Brock, but had the same perfect auburn hair. “I’m Bentley, and since this one’s about to get married, I feel like it’s only fair to let you know that out of the two of us, I’m the single, available one, who’s also—lucky for you—been given a higher rating in the sack.”
Married?
He was getting married?
And hitting on her?
Or was she hitting on him? After all, she was the one who’d mentioned underwear. Ugh, she wanted to crawl under the table and die.

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Meet Rachel Van Dyken 

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Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.

She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers!

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

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Rachel Van Dyken Pre-Order Giveaway:  The Bachelor Auction

9/30/2016

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Are you ready to meet Brock Wellington?
The Bachelor Auction by Rachel Van Dyken will be released on October 4th,
but…
Did you know you can Pre-order your OWN
​ paperback for a January delivery! 

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Cinderella never had to deal with this crap.

Jane isn't entirely sure that Cinderella got such a raw deal. Sure, she had a rough start, but didn't she eventually land a prince and a happily-ever-after? Meanwhile, Jane is busy waiting on her demanding, entitled sisters, running her cleaning business, and . . . yep, not a prince in sight. Until a party and a broken shoe incident leave Jane wondering if princes---or at least, a certain deliciously hunky billionaire---maybe do exist.

Except Brock Wellington isn't anyone's dream guy. Hell, a prince would never agree to be auctioned off in marriage to the highest bidder. Or act like an arrogant jerk---even if it was just a façade. Now, as Brock is waiting for the auction chopping block, he figures it's karmic retribution that he's tempted by a sexy, sassy woman he can't have. But while they can't have a fairy-tale ending, maybe they can indulge in a little bit of fantasy . 

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NEW ROMANTIC COMEDY:  The Bachelor Auction by Rachel Van Dyken

9/22/2016

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The Bachelor Auction by Rachel Van Dyken

“Bentley!” Brock barked and shook his head.
“What?” Bentley shrugged then smoothly walked over to Jane and pulled out a box of black high-heeled pumps in a size eight and a half. “Your foot, milady?”
Brock rolled his eyes. “Give it a rest, Bentley. She can put on her own damn shoes.”
Bentley completely ignored him. “I love a woman’s foot.” He grabbed Jane’s broken shoe and tossed it to the side while his hands danced along the arch of her foot. His fingertips danced along her skin. Seduction by foot rub? That was new.
“It’s sexy, the arch.” He leaned over her, his lips parting just enough to give her the impression he was thinking about kissing her. “The curve of a woman’s foot reminds me of her body…see? Sexy.” He slid the shoe on a very terrified looking Jane and stood. “Perfect fit.”
Jane’s mouth opened then closed as a rosy flush crept over her face. “Th-thank you.”
“I bought you my favorite brand.”
Her eyebrows arched. How did he know about Manolo Blahnik? “Oh.” And then she nodded and said loudly, “Ohhhh! That makes sense!”
Bentley’s eyes narrowed. “Me buying women’s shoes?”
“You wearing them,” she explained. “That’s great. I mean, good for you. I’m sorry I’m so awkward at things like this, but it’s good you’re…you know…” She bobbed her head and sputtered. “Out and…comfortable with it.”
“Out?” Bentley repeated. “I’m confused.”
“Of the closet,” she said slowly then saw the scowl on Bentley’s face. “Or maybe you just like to dress like a woman?” She straightened her shoulders and tried again. “In either case, congratulations on your choice to wear women’s clothing!”
Brock about died laughing as Bentley’s horrified expression went from stunned to genuine confusion.
“You heard her.” Brock held his laughter in check. “Congratulations, brother. I’ll take care of the press release: Bachelor Playboy Bentley Wellington and his private women’s shoe collection.”
Bentley let out a strangled laugh. “Yes, and while we’re at it why don’t we remind the press that the clock is ticking on that auction of yours? Hmm?”
“Auction?” Jane asked.
“Don’t.” Brock shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”
“But she probably already does.” Bentley pointed out. “Unless she doesn’t read the news…?”
They both stared at her, waiting for an answer.
“I, uh…” She ducked her head, blushing again. “I read books.”
“How pure.” Bentley smiled and sat down next to her. “And just so we’re clear.” He leaned in as though he was going to kiss her. “My bat only swings one way…and I can assure you, every time I get thrown a pitch, I hit it out of the park.”

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Book Summary 

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Jane isn't entirely sure that Cinderella got such a raw deal. Sure, she had a rough start, but didn't she eventually land a prince and a happily-ever-after? Meanwhile, Jane is busy waiting on her demanding, entitled sisters, running her cleaning business, and . . . yep, not a prince in sight. Until a party and a broken shoe incident leave Jane wondering if princes---or at least, a certain deliciously hunky billionaire---maybe do exist.

Except Brock Wellington isn't anyone's dream guy. Hell, a prince would never agree to be auctioned off in marriage to the highest bidder. Or act like an arrogant jerk---even if it was just a façade. Now, as Brock is waiting for the auction chopping block, he figures it's karmic retribution that he's tempted by a sexy, sassy woman he can't have. But while they can't have a fairy-tale ending, maybe they can indulge in a little bit of fantasy . . 

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Meet Rachel Van Dyken

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Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor. 

She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers!

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads
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Exclusive Excerpt & Signed Paperback Giveaway of RIP

10/9/2015

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Rip is the newest mafia romance from Rachel Van Dyken releasing on October 20th.  We love Rachel's intense, witty and sexy storytelling and are excited for the opportunity to provide you with a sneak peak that will have you anticipating more.  

Read an EXCLUSIVE excerpt and enter to WIN a SIGNED PAPERBACK!  

Excerpt

“So.” She plopped into the seat next to me and crossed her long legs. I fought hard to pull my eyes away. “Catch me up, what exactly are we doing in Chicago.”
I opened a folder and slid it across the table. “We are doing nothing. I, however, am making a speech at…a church.”
I didn’t miss her snort, or the way she tried to hide her amusement.
“Something funny?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “In church.”
“Where did this attitude come from?”
“You kissed me.” Her eyes narrowed as she leaned back into her seat, not missing a beat as she let her gaze wander across my body like a caress. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good, to be desired, wanted, and it was a welcome distraction from the pit in my stomach. I really, really didn’t want to go to Chicago.
“You kissed me back,” I retorted.
“Doesn’t matter, you still kissed me. The line between beast and his little toy has been crossed, therefore I kind of own you like you own me, just in a more...irritating way. I have your balls in a vise.”
“Let’s leave my balls out of the speech if you don’t mind,” I said ignoring her little ploy to get under my skin again.
“Hey.” Her grin spread smugly across her pretty face. “It may just inspire the crap out of them, you never know.”
This was a conversation that Andi would have loved, in fact, the more Maya talked the more I saw Andi in her, which just made it that much worse. Here Maya thought I was going to Chicago to slap hands with rich doctors and make speeches, when really, I was going because I made a promise, to a dying girl.
Just one more girl, I’d failed to save.
“Let’s leave all references to body parts out of my speech, hmm?”
“I’ll try.”
“I am the boss.”
“So you are.”
“I’ve created a monster. Had I known feeding you would gain this response I would have tied you up in the basement with a protein bar and some Gatorade.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s Netflix. Orange is the New Black combined with the nightmares…” She yawned and it was then that I noticed how tired she looked.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat wanting to press things further, what kind of nightmares had she been having?
“I haven’t been sleeping much. Then again I blame you for keeping me from technology for so long.”
“Which brings us back full circle. I should have never given you such privileges.” My voice came out in a bark.
“It’s a right, not a privilege,” she snapped.
“So this…” What the hell was it? A eulogy? Not really, that was Sergio, but he’d asked me to say a few words. Shit. I struggled with how to ask, I didn’t know the first thing about being at a funeral, I put people in the casket, I didn’t visit them after they took their last breath. My eyes stung with exhaustion. “I need you to help me write it.”
“Wait...” She visibly paled. “What did you say?”
“Write.” I nodded encouragingly, my anger surging, breaking through all of my carefully constructed walls. Anger had no place in my business, in my life, and anger toward her, did nothing but put her in danger. “You know, words on a paper, you put them down, I say them.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“Maya…” I tsked. “I am what I am.”
“Put that in your speech.”
“Maya.” I grit my teeth together to keep myself from snapping at her. “I need a speech, something…encouraging, inspirational, happy.”
Maya pulled out her laptop and opened it up. “Inspirational…I can do inspirational. When was the last time I was inspired…?” Her cheeks bloomed red.
“What was that?” I breathed, my eyes lowering to the expanse of cleavage, it was a welcome distraction from my morose and jumbled thoughts. “Didn’t catch what you just said.”
“I, uh, didn’t say anything.” She nervously tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, her cheeks pinkening even further.
“Your mouth didn’t…your face did.”
“Let’s not talk about my mouth…”
“Why?” I leaned in. “Does it inspire you too much?”
“Ass!” she hissed.
“I think you’re on to something…” I chuckled, bracing my hands on the armrests. Six inches, and our mouths would touch. I wasn’t just toying with breaking the contract, I was ripping it up, burning it. Just as our mouths were about to touch, I paused, lingering where our breaths mingled, hers warm on my lips, mine ragged and needy. I was right about one thing; she would be a welcome distraction, one that wouldn’t allow me to feel sad, or bothered by the fact that I was flying to a friend’s funeral.
And that history, if I wasn’t careful could repeat itself.
She moved, dislodging her water bottle. It landed with a soft thump on the floor.
I reared back and stared at it.
What the hell was I doing?
And as luck would have it, the water droplets had cascaded against my left hand, my tattoo—the mark of the sickle, the mark that would tell anyone who knew anything about the darker side of life.
What I did.
Who I worked for.
What I was capable of.
What I would do—to protect not just my own identity but those closest to me.
My phone rang.
I reached down to silence it—ready to silence it, when I noted the number. Cringing, I answered it with a smooth hello.
“You know I have eyes everywhere.”
“Good afternoon to you, too.”
Maya pretended not to eavesdrop.
The last thing she needed to know was that I was talking to her father—correction, receiving another threat.
This one not so baseless as the rest.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I said, waiting for his response.
“She’s been touched.”
I rolled my eyes. “You sure about that?”
The line crackled.
“She flushes when you’re near.”
“Most women do.”
“Cocky son of a bitch.” He chuckled. “Remember the terms of our agreement, Nikolai, I scratch your back, you scratch mine. She means nothing to me. You are the one who has everything to lose. You’ve developed a god complex, but I know all your secrets. It would take nothing for me to destroy you. You signed in blood. And it will be your blood that is spilled if you go back on your promise.”
My nostrils flared, heat surged through my body as I watched Maya happily pull out a magazine and cross her legs. Damn it, he was right. What the hell was I doing?
My lack of self control would end up getting her killed.
I knew that just as much as he did.
I was stuck.
And he knew it. Part of me wondered if he was aware that I’d developed a conscience—then again, I’d stopped working directly with him long ago, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t still owned.
“We’ll be in touch.” The phone went dead.
Damn Russian mafia.
And damn me for being one of the best. I didn’t get the nickname The Doctor because I had a good bedside manner.
And I wondered, as I tried not to stare too hard at Maya while she read through her magazine, would she still be alive if I hadn’t have taken the job that changed everything?
Had I damn her, then?
Had I truly saved her?
I let out a low growl of frustration; clenching my phone in my hand, ready to break it in half. I wanted so desperately to protect her from Andi’s fate, but would it be better that she died?
My body tensed.
Would I be extending her mercy, by snuffing out her life?
Maya frowned down at the magazine, her eyebrows furrowed as the plane rose to altitude.
I didn’t shake, didn’t so much as tremble. I was a doctor, after all, and whenever I made a decision of life and death, I was calm. Humanity didn’t slip through. I didn’t have a come –to-Jesus moment, where I wondered if what I was doing would sentence me to the darkest depths of hell.
It was…clarity.
The only way I could explain it.
“Something else to drink?” I asked Maya while she popped her knuckles again. Shit, twice in a few minutes? Was there something about the plane? Or my conversation?
“Wine.” She said quickly. “If you have it.”
I nodded, already walking to the bar. I glanced to my left to make sure she wasn’t watching me, then reached into the cupboard and pulled out a syringe of sodium pentothal. It wouldn’t harm her. If anything, it would relax her more, make it so that I would be able to hold a conversation with her…without her remembering a damn thing, though the dosage needed to be precise. The last thing I needed was for her to end up unconscious.
“What time is it?” I asked while I poured the wine, keeping the small syringe in my right hand.
“Oh.” Maya yawned then glanced at her watch. “It’s nearing four in the afternoon, why?”
“Just thinking about our dinner plans,” I lied. Two and a half hours since she’d last eaten. I mentally went over her stats, weight one-forty, height five seven. She’d need a half dose at the most.
Clearing my throat, I turned, sliding the syringe into the top of my sleeve and bringing over the two glasses of wine; hers was more full.
“Wow, generous in all areas aren’t you, Nikolai?” Maya eyed the wine glass and took a long sip.
“Drink it all,” I instructed with a half smile. “Doctor’s orders.”
“All of it?” She laughed lifting the glass into the air. “This is at least two glasses.”
“At least half,” I said in a more gentle tone. “You seem stressed, and I know…I’m not the easiest to travel with.”
Maya blinked then took another sip of wine. “No, you think?”
“It’s a…” I coughed into my hand letting the syringe slip out to the tips of my fingers. “It’s not you. It’s me.”
“Okay,” she said slowly, setting her wine down on the arm rest.
“Nope.” I offered a encouraging smile. “A few more sips, trust me, you’ll feel so much better.”
Maya rolled her eyes but drank deeply.
The alcohol would work beautifully with the sodium pentothal. Truth serums, didn’t necessarily work by themselves, they were used in conjunction with other tools and drugs, allowing the human mind to be open to suggestion.
But no human mind or body was the same, meaning, the outcome was always different.
If Maya had any sort of…secret she was keeping close, something she wanted to tell me, but couldn’t or refused to, it would most likely come out at some point in the next half hour.
If she were harboring memories, dark ones, ones that scared her, and I offered her a caring ear, she’d jump at it.
And I’d know.
If she was getting triggered and how.
It sounded sick.
But it was of the utmost importance that she be kept in the dark, especially since her father clearly was still keeping eyes on her.
I told myself that as she drank more wine.
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Book Summary

​Pretty things aren't meant to be broken.
But I broke her, and now we both have to pay the price.
I'm her nightmare.
I'm her savior.
And now that I have her signature on an ironclad contract, I own her body and soul.
She doesn't remember me.
She will.
It's inevitable.
Because as much as I know I need to stay away, for fear of unlocking the memories I helped her father bury--I can't.
She was the apple in the Garden, dangled in front of me, her core so tempting and sweet. A voice whispered. Just. One. Bite.
I bit.
I tasted.
I fell.
Welcome to the world of the Russian mafia, where death, is your only future.

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Meet Rachel Van Dyken

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Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.
She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers!
Want to be kept up to date on new releases? Text MAFIA to 66866!
You can connect with her on Facebook www.facebook.com/rachelvandyken  or join her fan group Rachel's New Rockin Readers. Her website is www.rachelvandykenauthor.com .
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