I am introducing a new author name for a venture into non-erotic writing (only temporary, for those who enjoy the hotter stuff!). I am now, in addition to Rachel and Juliette, ELIZABETH WOOLLEY


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Do any of us know what goes on behind other people’s front doors?

Do we really know what happens behind other people’s front doors? After an unpleasant event in her parish in Liverpool, Grace Bennett takes a job in the quiet Oxfordshire town of Swinbury as the vicar of the local church. The Bishop thinks it will be the ideal place for her to recover her confidence and forget what happened in her earlier post. Little did they know the dramas she would encounter.

One by one, the characters who make up some of the townspeople are revealed to us. Some are native born; others arrive to be with friends and family in the town. We meet a retired British journalist—a former foreign correspondent, who grew up in the town and had a difficult childhood there—and her lover, an American man who was once a member of the US Special Forces, and subsequently became a war photographer; a teenage couple, still at school, who meet tragedy at an early stage in their lives; a female murderer, now released from jail; a local builder who falls in love with her; a US former soldier who comes seeking revenge against the man he thought had abandoned him behind enemy lines; his daughter, a New York student, who loves him, no matter what; a woman who turned to drink after her daughter was killed; and a young woman whose life is transformed by a heart transplant. These characters, and a few minor ones, exist in isolation, until they are gradually drawn together as events unfold.

This is a slow intermingling of people whose lives are more unusual than you might think. They contain love, loss, happiness and tragedy. But then, knock on the doors of houses near you. You may uncover just as many fascinating stories behind closed doors. Their stories will warm your heart.

The extraordinary stories of ordinary people.



As her mother screeched at her from the other room, Dorinda gritted her teeth and supressed the urge to scream back at her. Dolores Lake had been irritable and cantankerous all her life, it seemed, but the dementia had now made her worse. She and her mother had lived together for the past eight years, since it became clear that she could no longer take care of herself because of the illness that was eating away at her brain. Dorinda had hardly known a day’s peace since. 

As a child, Dorinda had taken refuge in books, despite her hobby being disparaged by her mother.

“Books are a waste of time, my girl. They just give people fancy ideas. Why don’t you do something useful like knitting or sewing? At least you will have something to wear at the end.”

Dorinda stubbornly refused to allow her mother to spoil the enjoyment she took in the books she had once borrowed from the library, but more recently, bought for herself. She became completely engrossed in the stories, of love and romance, of adventure, of thrills and spills—she read widely and voraciously. They were her escape from her mother.

People wondered why she put up with her mother’s treatment, but she thought she had probably become somewhat immune to the sound of Dolores’ voice; which had changed little since she was a child. Her father, when he was alive, took refuge on his allotment, at the other side of the main road, where he spent every hour when he wasn’t working as a postal worker, growing fruit and vegetables for the family. He, too, seemed deaf to the screeching sound of his ever-critical wife.

“These carrots you’ve brought me, they’re strange shapes and have worm holes in them. Can’t you grow nice straight ones like they have in the shops.”

He could have responded that carrots didn’t grow well in his heavy clay soil, and that he didn’t use any chemicals to repel pests—but he remained silent. Dolores had her say, and he continued to read the newspaper throughout her tirade. He had his escape, however, on the day, ten years earlier, when he was found dead on the allotment, by a neighbouring gardener. His heart had stopped beating. Since then, Dorinda had to face the onslaughts from her mother alone, and was slightly annoyed that her father had left her in this situation. 


Grant awoke with a start. It had been the dream again; the one featuring his lucky escape many years earlier, when he had been part of an American Special Forces unit, conducting clandestine reconnaissance in Yemen—a godforsaken, impoverished country, few back then had even heard of. He had been known as Mac at that time, and not by his real name of Grant Le Fevre. His surname was courtesy of his father, a French national, whom his American mother had married shortly before Grant’s birth. Unfortunately, the marriage hadn’t lasted, and Grant’s mother took her son back to the US, to bring him up as an American. He often wondered what had happened to his father, who lost touch with them quite quickly after the divorce. His mother told him he had been in the French Foreign Legion, and Grant sometimes wondered if that was the reason behind his desire to join the armed forces. He had served eight years in the army, before applying to transfer to special forces. Yes, it had sometimes been exciting, often dangerous, but after his time in Yemen, he had decided that the life was no longer for him.

Returning to civilian life, in his mid-thirties, he swapped his gun for a camera, and continued to roam the world as a freelance war photographer, supplying iconic pictures to some of the world’s media, and winning two awards on the way. As he lay in a foxhole in Afghanistan, alongside a unit of British Royal Marines, he wondered what he was doing, still putting his life on the line, and trying to interest a largely disinterested world in what was happening beyond their shores. 

As he listened to the British accents around him, he thought back to a woman he had met while briefly living in London; Jennifer Blake, a journalist with The Times. Like him, she travelled the world, and it was hard to make a relationship work under those circumstances. He had been very struck with her, he remembered. He loved her British sense of humour and her intelligence—not a bad-looker either, he recalled. She had joked with him.

“One day, when we’ve both got the travel bug out of our system, and we end up in the same country, we must carry on this conversation.”

That was said in a Paris hotel room, where they had stayed for a dirty weekend. Neither of them was in a committed relationship; he separated, she never married; and he wondered if she had meant it. Perhaps, when he returned from this trip, he would look her up. It had been several years since they had last met, and neither had been good at keeping in touch. He hoped nothing bad had happened to her. He was sure he would have heard on the grapevine if it had.

Some people’s lives are stranger than fiction.


My recently published book has a NEW COVER but same great story

After receiving a couple of comments from readers, who said that the cover of my book didn’t match up to the quality of the story, I decided to change it. My previous blog contains the details and excerpts from the book, (so please do scroll back) but I wanted to share with you some of the great reviews I have received for THE ENGLISH PROFESSOR.

Universal Link:


 A very intelligent, thoughtful, erotic, evocative, thrilling and moving story

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book. The characters, situations and experiences were very well fleshed out, extremely relatable and engaging on a deeply emotional level. I found this book to be a compelling read all the way through. I was actually incredibly impressed at how much content was packed into it, along with how vivid the descriptions and finer details were.

The erotic romance interludes within were very believable, stimulating and endearing on many levels. They never once felt forced but did come off as sensual and well observed. The twists that unfolded in the story kept me very keen to want to know more, I became very invested in the fates of everyone and I genuinely wanted to know how their lives were going to turn out in the end. To me that is very important in a piece of writing, if you truly care about the characters and their lives then the author has done a marvellous job to put us right there in the universe they have created.

Read this book if you want to dive into a very intelligent, thoughtful, erotic, evocative, thrilling and moving story. I definitely want to read a lot more of Rachel’s work thanks to this stellar piece of fiction!

A Wonderfully Written Love Story. (5 stars)

You know that feeling when you finish a book and then you’re a bit sad because it means you can’t read that book any more? There’s probably a term for it – Reader Drop, or something. Anyway, that’s exactly how I felt when I finished Rachel de Vine’s The English Professor.

This is a wonderful book. The story spans twenty years and envelops the reader so completely that by the time you reach the last page, you don’t want to leave.

Eleanor is in her final year of university when she meets English professor, Dan Jamieson. His admiration for her as a talented English student develops into something more and their feelings for one another develop over a mutual love of literature, classic erotica and, eventually, kinky sex.

Their brief love affair is beautifully described and scorchingly hot. Unfortunately, it is also inevitably doomed. Because he is her professor after all, and recreating scenes from ‘The Story of O’ with one of the students in your class is generally frowned upon by University authorities.

The book begins with Eleanor expressing regret for the mistakes of the last twenty years and tells the reader that ‘having met up with Dan again’, she wanted the opportunity to tell both their stories. This serves as warning from the very first page that the paths of these two protagonists isn’t going to be a straightforward journey to sexy, kinky true love.

And, my god, it really isn’t. This book will tie your heart up in knots, then break it and then put it all back together again. In a good way.

Alongside Eleanor and Dan, there are a host of wonderfully realised supporting characters. The best of which is literary agent, Betty Conway, a no-nonsense lesbian with a fantastic line in dry humour and caustic comments who is nevertheless an understated champion of Eleanor and Dan’s love.

The cover of this book – although very pretty – almost does it a disservice. This isn’t a “Seduced by my Sexy Professor” XXXX bit of porny fluff (although to be fair, I do like a bit of porny fluff too sometimes).

This is a story of love, of life, of missed opportunities and a message to the reader that something that has been lost does not have to stay lost forever.

 The English Professor is a satisfying summer read of substance!

With a start that keeps you turning the pages right out the gate, The English Professor is not what one expects from its cover or its opening chapters. It is a beautifully written introspective novel told in first person by two separate points of view over the course of twenty years. It’s about discovering one’s true desires. But it’s also about the obstacles that arise when we settle in life rather than following our true passions or feelings when it comes to love.

Round and interesting characters, the female protagonist is strong, smart, and likable, the male protagonist more likable as the story progresses. With the ability to get into the minds of both characters, more so the woman’s, we can understand the decisions they make, and both scream at them for their stupidity at times and cheer for them at their successes. Without spoilers, there are unexpected twists along the way that keep the reader page-turning and surprised, even when it ends. It even begs for a sequel!

The settings and descriptions are also what one comes to expect from Rachel de Vine’s skilled writing, and I particularly loved the London moments and the excitement surrounding the publishing world a writer only dreams of! The English Professor has some beautifully written erotic moments as well, but it’s its story line and secondary characters that make de Vine’s novels stand out among her peers. She is an adept story-teller, and this one has it all! A satisfying summer read of substance!

Don’t just take the. reviewers’ word for it, take a look for yourselves!



She had the confidence of youth, that many men find hard to resist


From the moment I first looked into his eyes, I knew I was in trouble. He was a man I found impossible to resist—someone who drew me in like a moth towards the light. He found the part of me that craved the enticement he offered. But our relationship was forbidden. He was my university English Professor and he paid a high price for our affair. But would I pay an even higher price if we never met again?


I knew I should have walked away, but I was weak. At first it was just the thrill of the illicit sex. But it became so much more—until disaster struck. Our lives were destined to intertwine, but the timing was never right. Had I had lost the love of my life? Could I ever recapture the feelings I only had with her?

Note: This book contains some steamy excerpts. If this offends you, please do not buy.

Universal Link:

He was willing to teach and she was eager to learn

Excerpt: One


From a distance of nearly twenty years, it is easy to see the mistakes we both made, and how it could have been different. But of course, hindsight’s a wonderful thing. I’m sure Dan too would want to rewrite history if he was able. It would have saved a lot of heartache. But we are where we are. As a writer, I decided to write down our story, as I remembered it. Having met up with Dan again, I asked him to write down his thoughts about the early part of our relationship. These are our stories.

 I thought the English professor was going to be old and staid and…boring—as we imagine an English Professor would be. Surprisingly he turned out to be younger than I was expecting, and somewhat intriguing too. No more than forty I guessed—which was, I suppose, old when compared to my youthful twenty-one. I was beginning my last year at university, and he was new to the faculty. As soon as we met, I knew there was going to be trouble. I was usually good at sensing trouble. He had beautiful hair and “come-to-bed eyes”, with a rich, chocolaty voice. I wasn’t as naïve as some of the girls in my year. He had the look of a predatory fox, let loose in the henhouse—although he never misbehaved in lectures, as some of the guys did. He was perfectly correct, in words or manner, no matter how provocative was the teasing by some of the students. They were cruel, knowing that if the Professor responded in kind, he’d be in trouble with the Dean. I hated their behaviour, which made what happened rather ironic.

I saw him a couple of times at lectures, although we never spoke. It was only when I went to his room to deliver an essay that we had our first conversation. I should have given it to him in class, and was worried about missing the deadline. He was one of the few staff who lived at the college, in a separate block from the students—perhaps because of his single status. It was cold, and he had an open fire burning in his room. There was a smell of toast and old books. Piles of papers and pamphlets lay on top of his desk, and his filing system appeared to be heaps on the floor. I quite liked that sort of disorder. I shared a room with a neat freak, and her obsession with reorganising our limited space drove me wild.

“How can you find anything among that lot?” she would wail, in despair.

“Easy. I rummage through the pile, and by a miracle it appears…eventually.”

Professor Jamieson, Dan, as I later called him, was lean and energetic, with eyes that seemed to see right through any defence his young students employed. He seemed aware that his youthful good looks would make him a target for flirtation by his students, but never responded to it, as far as I knew.

“Ah, Miss Grainger, please come in.” Professor Jamieson grinned at me, and swept a couple of old newspapers from a chair so I could sit down. Students were addressed more formally in those days than they are now, when staff and students are on first names – best mates – terms.

“I’ve brought the essay you wanted, Professor Jamieson. I’m sorry it’s late.”

He looked delighted to see me, however, and not at all annoyed by the lateness of my work. Was his subsequent behaviour in any way predatory? Perhaps, by some standards, it was, but if so, he wasn’t the only predatory person in the room. I had brushed my long, thick hair until it shone, and was wearing a short, tartan skirt with over-the-knee socks, which left a tantalising couple of inches of bare thigh, and my new black Doc Martens. Of course, I would shudder to dress like that now, even if, at the time, it seemed cool and sexy. We all dressed in what we thought was an individual, non-fashionable way—and ended up all looking alike. How I laugh now. Back then, however, we were desperate to make our mark; to look different from everyone else; especially the few older women on campus, who we mocked in our arrogant, juvenile way, as we swore we would never become as boring as them.

Perhaps I was naïve, but more likely I was a bit provocative as I flashed my bare thigh and maybe even a glimpse of my knickers as I sat down in my short skirt. I knew he was aroused. I could feel it in the air. And because he was aroused, I was too. There’s nothing that makes a person feel sexier, than to sense the effect they are having on another. It made me feel powerful, back then. In fact, it still makes me feel powerful, even though I know the power is slowly slipping away from me as I move away from youth and into middle age. Not that I consider nearing forty to be middle age. As an older woman, I still have a half-decent figure and attractive face; though I need to rely a lot more on my brain and personality these days—oh, and experience, of course. There’s no-one more powerful than a sexually experienced woman, in my opinion. The confidence radiates from us. No need for childish games any more. We tell it as it is. And if some men back away in fear, then we say “adios” and ask them to close the door on the way out.

Excerpt Two:


I knew as soon as I met Eleanor, she was a woman I would find hard to leave alone. I was completely aware of the dangers lurking for a reasonably young professor, amid large numbers of young, attractive and impressionable female students. I had seen a couple of colleagues in the past, fall victim to temptation, and it rarely ended well. Until now I had managed to avoid such attachments, even though the opportunity had presented itself more than once. But I knew the risk to my reputation and career, as well as the damage such infatuation could cause to the young women involved. But meeting Eleanor had knocked me for six. It was more than her physical appearance, attractive as it was. There was something in her eyes, her demeanour, her expressiveness, that shrieked of sensuality. Something I had not seen in a woman of her age before. It drew me in like a magnet.

Despite meeting and becoming attracted to Eleanor, I wasn’t a man who only had eyes for younger women. I’d dated plenty of women of my own age. It was inevitable, however, when surrounded by nubile young women with perky breasts, long, bare legs and flirtatious manner, that the temptations to stray were strong. I had managed to ignore the obvious come-on signals from my current students. And had succeeded admirably until Eleanor. She wasn’t even one who made come-on signals. I can’t explain why I had such a strong reaction to her as soon as I saw her. She had an aura of sensual sexuality that went straight to the thinking part of my anatomy—my cock. I’m being facetious here, of course. I did try to use my brain in matters of sex, but I was simply bowled over by this girl—or young woman, should I say? At twenty-one she wasn’t a child. And at thirty-nine, I couldn’t be described as a dirty old man, could I? The fact remained, however, that there were strict rules back then regarding fraternisation between staff and students. In the years since, there seems to have been a relaxation in these rules—too late for me however.

Twitter naked man


 A very intelligent, thoughtful, erotic, evocative, thrilling and moving story

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book. The characters, situations and experiences were very well fleshed out, extremely relatable and engaging on a deeply emotional level. I found this book to be a compelling read all the way through. I was actually incredibly impressed at how much content was packed into it, along with how vivid the descriptions and finer details were.

Read this book if you want to dive into a very intelligent, thoughtful, erotic, evocative, thrilling and moving story. I definitely want to read a lot more of Rachel’s work thanks to this stellar piece of fiction!

Star-Crossed Lovers

A lot happens in this relatively short novel, and the plot never lags. The writing careers of the two central characters are enviable, and Eleanor is a kind of Cinderella heroine who rises into a higher social class than the one in which she was raised.

 Fans of erotic romance are likely to enjoy this one because it has all the necessary features: sexual heat, secrecy, moral dilemmas, jealousy, and a well-earned happy ending.


Amazon Countdown Deal on my latest two books


I’m sorry I have been ‘missing’ on this site for so long. 2019 was a challenging year for me, but I am still battling on!

I decided to make a new cover for Sabine, and the end result is above. I hope you like it. In honour of the new cover, I am running a two day Amazon Countdown Deal on March 5 to 7, when this book, as well as the first in the series, Nothing to Regret, are both on SALE for just 99c / 99p each. (Sorry, only available on e-books in the USA and UK.)

SABINE price countdown Insta size

If you haven’t already bought these two, I hope you will take advantage of this special deal. The books can be read as standalones, but for a better experience, I suggest you read them both.

ALSO, if you are not yet signed up, why not receive a FREE regular monthly copy of Rachel’s Retreat? This month’s issue contains a yummy Easter sponge cake, a free steamy short story, some humour, and other goodies. Just send an email to and quote Rachel’s Retreat, and I will be happy to send you a copy.


To keep in touch with me, here are my links:

Amazon Author Page (Rachel)

Amazon Author Page (Juliette)





Happy Reading!


Rachel's Retreat.png PROMO XMAS


usually containing:


A short, erotic story

A (sometimes decadent!) recipe

Poetry by me

Book offers

News and excerpts of my books


Sensual pictures


All you have to do is email me at (quoting Rachel’s Retreat)

and I will send you your FREE copy.


One lovely subscriber sent me this kind message today:

“I absolutely love your newsletters….you manage to fit so much in, without being boring or staid….the content is a wonderful blend and I’m amazed at the short story….it’s like having an entire book right there, from start to finish ….it’s incredible how you can do that…you are very talented, in my books ….keep up the fantastic work.”

If you reply in the next few days, you will get the bonus Christmas issue + the December issue.

SABINE by Rachel de Vine



When the man she loved, let her down, could she trust anyone again?


Finding herself alone again, after a passionate three-way romance, Sabine is overjoyed to make a fresh start in the South of France with a new job and a new man. It is 1961, and the post-war world is changing fast. Rich people begin flocking to the French Riviera in search of the good life. But criminals are also attracted to this new source of money. Russia is still a closed Communist state, but some are able to bribe their way in and out of the country for the rich pickings of the Mediterranean life. Sabine’s world comes crashing down, when she finds herself a pawn in a power game, and is taken hostage by a gang of Russian criminals. There begins the most tumultuous year of her life. A year packed with love and tragedy. This is a fast-paced, hot and steamy story, that will have you on the edge of your seat, as Sabine tries to overcome danger and heartache. Will she ever find her rainbow’s end?

Sabine is the follow-on book to Nothing to Regret, but can be read as a standalone.


SABINE is now available for pre-order at the price of 99c, to increase to $2.99 after the publication date of November 2.

How could she be attracted to the man who had kidnapped her?

Excerpt 1. (Steamy!)


It was after five p.m. when Alexis returned. He seemed like a man on a mission; and I recognized the look on his face. He wasted no time, and turned to lock the shop door and drew down the blind.

“That bastard, Sergei. I can’t stand the man, but I have to do business with him. I wouldn’t trust him further than I could throw him. But now, let’s forget him. I want to do some business with you.”

I saw the familiar glint in his eyes. He was not the most romantic of men, in terms of words, but the language that came via his eyes was easy to understand and impossible to resist. He grabbed my hand and led me into the stock room behind the shop. Taking hold of me around the waist he drew me towards him.

“I’ve been thinking of this moment all day, and I can’t wait a second longer.”

He kissed me hard, leaving me with no doubt as to the urgency of his need. His lips forced mine apart, and his tongue entered my mouth. Lowering his hands to my hips, he pulled my body in tightly to his, his arousal very obvious.

I responded with equal enthusiasm.

“You mean I didn’t satisfy you enough last night?” I demanded.

“My love, I could fu*k you three times a day, and still want more. I take one look at your beautiful breasts, or your delicious ass, or your sweet face, and I want you every time.”


He might have killed her, but he fell in love with her instead.

Excerpt 2

“Max, it’s Sabine. I’m sorry to wake you, but I’m worried about Alexis, er, Monsieur Dubois.”

Well that’s a bit stupid, I thought, calling him by his full name, when Max knew very well that I was ringing from Alexis’s apartment. Max seemed immediately awake and at attention.

“Is he not there, Madame?” He always called me by my formal title. Max didn’t believe in too much informality, even where his fellow employees were concerned.

“No. He went to the casino for dinner, with some business associates, and told me he would be back at ten p.m., but he hasn’t returned. The casino closes at two. Even if he wanted to gamble, he would have been back long before now.”

There was a brief pause, while Max was clearly reviewing his options. He resumed the conversation.

“I’ll immediately alert the hotel security guard, and I’ll ring the police to see if an accident has been reported. Did Monsieur Dubois leave in the hotel car, or in that of his dinner guests?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Very well. Stay in Mr Dubois’ room. I’ll ring you back when I have anything to report.” He put the phone down.

I replaced the receiver and sat up in bed, my mind in a turmoil. I knew Alexis didn’t much care for gambling, and I knew he was in the company of that awful Russian man, Sergei. I was doubtful that he would have wanted to remain in his company for any longer than necessary. Maybe he was engaged in a poker game? He did occasionally play – but usually only with good friends, and not at the casino – usually either here, in his apartment, or in the villa of one of his friends. It would be so embarrassing if I raised the alarm, and something like that had happened; Alexis might be annoyed with me checking up on him. After all, I was not yet his official girlfriend. On the other hand, if something had happened to him, they needed to find him as soon as possible. Any delay might prove costly.

It was a long fifteen minutes before Max rang back.

“The hotel car took M. Dubois to the casino. But received a call a few hours later that he wasn’t required to drive him home—that he had alternative transport.”

“Was it Monsieur Dubois himself who cancelled the car?”

“No, someone else called him.”

“So, what can we do now? Do you think we should call the police?”

Max’s calm, reassuring voice came over the line.

“Not yet. One of the security staff has gone to the casino, to see if he can find out where he went. He will ring with any news. Just stay and do nothing until you hear from me again.”

I prowled the apartment, not wanting to get back into bed. I’d never been there alone before. Alexis had always been present. Part of me wanted to look around to see if I could find any clue about the man I thought I knew, but actually knew little. I was reluctant to snoop into any of his cupboards and drawers. My guilty look would give me away immediately if Alexis asked me. But this wasn’t a normal occurrence. The man might be in danger, in need of help. Or was I just being melodramatic?

I knew Alexis kept a handgun in the drawer of the bedside table. I’d seen it once when he went in there for something, and he laughed at the shocked look on my face.

“It’s my wartime revolver,” he told me. I never handed it in when the war was over. It’s just for my peace of mind—in case an intruder breaks in.”

I sat on the side of the bed and looked at the closed drawer. Should I take a look? The temptation was too great. I reached out and slowly opened the drawer. The gun was missing. I bent to see to the back of the drawer, in case it had been pushed backwards. Still no gun. My heart skipped a beat. Alexis must have taken it with him, and if so, he must have been expecting trouble.

“I want to take you to the edge; make you cry with need for me.”

Excerpt 3

I had to admit that I was coming to like the enigmatic Russian more and more. There was no doubt he possessed a sexual aura, a mixture of good looks, power and a physical presence. Under other circumstances I would be sexually attracted to him, for sure. But these weren’t ordinary circumstances, and I tried to ignore him when he was watching me with those dark, smouldering eyes. The last thing I wanted to do was fall for my gangster captor.

The sexual tension got to me sometimes, and in the privacy of my darkened room, I indulged in stroking and massaging myself to rid myself of the frustration I felt. Sex had always been an important part of my life, but right now survival was more important. Nevertheless, I sometimes became aware of my body becoming heated and on edge, when I saw he was studying me in his intense manner. If I was sexually frustrated, I was sure he was too. Perhaps he went with women, on the occasions he was absent from the house. I had no idea.

One day, in the late afternoon, I was coming from the bathroom, wearing a thin robe they had given me, and with my wet hair wrapped in a towel, and carrying my clothes. In the corridor, Gustav was approaching from the opposite direction. He stopped in front of me.

“Ah, good, you’ve finished in the bathroom. I feel sticky from the heat and need to bathe before dinner.”

I was embarrassingly aware that my thin robe was sticking to me because of the heat and the moisture, and that the front of the robe was gaping a little. I couldn’t really do anything about it because of the clothes I was carrying. I could see admiration in Gustav’s eyes. I’ve been around men long enough to know when they are sexually aroused. I lowered my eyes to his groin, to look for a suspicious bulge in his pants, and hurriedly raised them again when I realised what I had done. It had been instinctive, and I hoped that Gustav hadn’t noticed. But, of course, he had. The corner of his lips turned up with amusement, and his eyes glinted.

“You make a very delectable sight, Sabine, standing just a few metres from my bedroom, and clearly naked under that robe.”

He stopped talking and just stood in front of me. I began to feel uncomfortable. Yet at the same time, I was definitely turned on by his magnetism, and my own unfulfilled needs. After several seconds he gave a brief laugh.

“Well I had better bathe. I’ll see you at dinner. Oh, by the way, wear the red velvet dress tonight.” He stood aside to let me pass. I hurried back downstairs to my room and sat on the bed for a moment to regain my composure, and stop trembling. There was no doubt about it, I was sexually attracted to my captor, and, seemingly, him to me. What, if anything, was I going to do about this?


Your chance to buy the previous book,Nothing to Regret

Nothing to Regret, a steamy love story set in 1950s France, is now ON SALE for 99c for a limited period, until after the follow-on book, Sabine, comes out in late October. They are written as standalones, but reading the first one will give you an interesting background into Sabine’s early life.

Universal Link:

 Beatrice, fresh from university, is determined to become a writer, but her sheltered life in 1950s England, as a vicar’s daughter, ill-equips her emotionally to become one. She decides, just ten years after a major world war has ravaged Europe, to travel alone around the continent, to not only discover a life outside her protected bubble, but to discover herself.

Arriving in France in 1955, she meets Sabine, a beautiful, older French woman and her lover, Charles, an Englishman, a French resident for many years. Both Charles and Sabine are captivated by the beautiful, but naïve and sexually innocent English girl, and Beatrice is willingly drawn into a three-way steamy love affair with the two.

But Charles, although charismatic, is sometimes moody and melancholic—a relic from his dysfunctional childhood. He falls desperately in love with Beatrice—with tempestuous results. When all seems lost, and Beatrice is in despair, help reaches her from an unexpected source. Will another man, waiting in the wings, help her to pick up the pieces of her fractured life?

About the author:

Rachel de Vine (who also sometimes writes as Juliette Banks) lives in a rural part of England, but loves travelling the world. Most of her recent books can be classed as “steamy”, because she is a woman who is not shy in giving her characters passionate sex lives. She also like to incorporate interesting stories, as well as the steamy passion, and her readers tell her they enjoy the thrills and adventure that some of her characters experience. You can find out more about her using the following links.

Her website is:

Her Amazon Author Page (USA)

Her Amazon Author Page (UK)

Her Facebook page is

Find her on Twitter at


Join Rachel’s mailing list, to receive her magazine-style newsletter, (Rachel’s Retreat) which usually contains humour, a free short, erotic story, a recipe, and book excerpts, by e-mailing to:  (quoting Rachel’s Retreat on subject line) and she will be happy to send you a free copy from time to time. (Usually one a month, or less.)

Hello again!

2019-02-21 14.50.37-1


Sorry I’ve been ‘missing’ for a while. My dear old Dad passed away in March, so it has been a bit of an up and down year. He was 95 and had a good, long life, but sadly his last months were difficult ones, with dementia and other problems. This was one of the last pictures of him, taken in February, during a very unusually warm period, when we could sit outside, which he loved to do. Sadly, a month later, he was gone. But I was with him right to the end, and I am grateful for that.

He would have been horrified to learn that he passed on the day my last book was published. But I didn’t mind. There will be other books, but never another Dad. Just to add to the problem, Amazon wrongly classified the book, and it became impossible to find without the link, so the book was a bit doomed. I have now written the follow-on story, called SABINE, (although the books can each be read as a standalone), so I thought I would relaunch the first book as a special sale before the next one is released. For the next few weeks, therefore, NOTHING TO REGRET, will be ON SALE for 99c. If you haven’t already read the first book, why not give it a try?

COVER Nothing to Regret (Final)


Universal Link:

He taught her the ways of love, but didn’t know how to love.

Beatrice, fresh from university, is determined to become a writer, but her sheltered  life in 1950s England, as a vicar’s daughter, ill-equips her emotionally to become one. She decides, just ten years after a major world war has ravaged Europe, to travel alone around the continent, to not only discover a life outside her protected bubble, but to discover herself.

Arriving in France in 1955, she meets Sabine, a beautiful, older French woman and her lover, Charles, an Englishman, a French resident for many years. Both Charles and Sabine are captivated by the beautiful, but naïve and sexually innocent English girl, and Beatrice is willingly drawn into a three-way steamy love affair with the two.

But Charles, although charismatic, is sometimes moody and melancholic—a relic from his dysfunctional childhood. He falls desperately in love with Beatrice—with tempestuous results. When all seems lost, and Beatrice is in despair, help reaches her from an unexpected source. Will another man, waiting in the wings, help her to pick up the pieces of her fractured life?

This steamy love affair has an emotional centre that will tug at your heart—and other parts too, as Beatrice travels from innocence to maturity in just a few, short months. But will she achieve her dream of becoming a writer? Or will she return home with a damaged heart?

What reviewers have said about Nothing to Regret

“This book has it all! Love. Friendship. A love triangle. Eroticism. Romance. Heartbreak. Art. Paris. Italy. And a twist you won’t see coming!

I adored each word as I strolled with Beatrice through her journey of self-discovery and sexual awakening in the most beautiful and well-crafted prose. I could envision each setting and nuance de Vine painted in her words. The writing is clean and wonderfully crafted for the senses. And the character development is so rich. I grew to know and understand each of the characters, even in this first-person narrative. Sabine’s tenderness; Charles rough edges; and Henri’s acceptance all come together with such vision and satisfaction for the reader.

It’s clear that de Vine takes her time building her story-telling craft, settings, and characters until I found myself crying at the end. For sadness or joy or both, you will have to read to find out!”


“Rachel has done a fantastic job of telling the story of a young womans sexual awakening and coming of age in the middle of the twentieth century. The story draws you in and takes you along for her journey into womanhood. A great heartfelt story from beginning to end. Do not pass this book up! It is an absolutely wonderful read!”


I will be introducing you to SABINE in my next blog, but just as a hint, the South of France and Russia are featured, as is a kidnapping, a criminal gang, and lots of passionate sex between the main characters. Don’t miss it!

NOTHING TO REGRET by Rachel de Vine



COVER Nothing to Regret (Final)

He taught her the ways of love, but he didn’t know how to love.

Beatrice, fresh from university, is determined to become a writer, but her sheltered life in 1950s England, as a vicar’s daughter, ill-equips her emotionally to become one. She decides, just ten years after a major world war has ravaged Europe, to travel alone around the continent, to not only discover a life outside her protected bubble, but to discover herself.

Arriving in France in 1955, she meets Sabine, a beautiful, older French woman and her lover, Charles, an Englishman, a French resident for many years. Both Charles and Sabine are captivated by the beautiful, but naïve and sexually innocent English girl, and Beatrice is willingly drawn into a three-way steamy love affair with the two.

But Charles, although charismatic, is sometimes moody and melancholic—a relic from his dysfunctional childhood. He falls desperately in love with Beatrice—with tempestuous results. When all seems lost, and Beatrice is in despair, help reaches her from an unexpected source. Will another man, waiting in the wings, help her to pick up the pieces of her fractured life?

This steamy love affair has an emotional centre that will tug at your heart—and other parts too, as Beatrice travels from innocence to maturity in just a few, short months. But will she achieve her dream of becoming a writer? Or will she return home with a damaged heart?

Due for publication on March 22. Special pre-order price 99c

Universal link:

Excerpt 1

Summer 1955

I leaned against the ship’s railing on that sunny August morning, watching as the white cliffs of Dover receded from view. The lump in my stomach had been there all day, yet hadn’t stopped me from boarding the ferry for Calais at mid-day. The Second World War had now been over for ten years. Yet I was still nervous about what I would find when I stepped on to French soil for the first time. Would there be terrible damage from the bombs? Would the language barrier make travelling difficult for me? I knew some schoolgirl French, but I wasn’t sure if that would be enough.

I looked up and caught the gaze of a middle-aged woman standing a few feet away.

“First time abroad, dear?”

I paused for a moment, unwilling to reveal my complete lack of experience. Finally, I turned and gave a half smile.

“Yes. Yes, it is. Does it show?”

“It was just the wistful look you gave at the sight of the Dover cliffs. Made me wonder if you were a bit nervous about leaving home, dear.”

I smiled, but didn’t answer—not wanting to get into conversation, but be alone with my thoughts. The woman turned back towards her companion.

Was it so obvious that I was utterly inexperienced in the ways of the world? Oxford had been such a bubble—cut off from reality. Mixing with academics and fellow students, reading, reading, reading, writing essays—it all seemed to take place in a secret world where the real world rarely intruded. Then back home to the vicarage for a month, feeling as though I no longer belonged to my previous life. My friends and family had not changed, but I had. I suppose many people leave university planning to experience the world of their dreams—perhaps some make it, but many drop back into the safe and comfortable existence they had known until then. I was determined to be among those who reach the life they dreamed about—had dreamed about since childhood in fact—or I would die in the attempt.

I’d always known I wanted more than the life into which I was born. Safety, security, and predictability—they were not for me. I wanted to grab life with both hands, experience everything that was offered and eventually to write about it. The thought was both exciting and terrifying.

I walked a little further along the deck and resolutely turned my eyes away from the receding cliffs and towards the open Channel, determined to look forward to the future. The screeching seagulls that had followed the ferry since we left Dover began to diminish in number as they headed back to port. Part of me desperately wanted to do the same. But the brave part of me—that which had kept me determined about my goals—was still dominant.

“But darling, what will you do on your own over there?” My mother had found it impossible to understand why I, or anyone she knew, would want to drift off into the unknown, with no destination in mind and no obvious ambition, other than to travel and experience life.

From innocence to maturity, in a few passionate months

Excerpt 2

Finally, dinner was over. My nerves were becoming more and more shredded as each moment passed, before what I knew was going to be the most momentous event of my young life. Would I make a fool of myself? Suppose I began to giggle with nerves. How I envied Sabine’s sophisticated manner. Nothing seemed to make her nervous.

It was Sabine who made the first move. She rose from the table and took my hand.

“Come, Beatrice, let’s go in the other room and dance. I love to dance.”

She led me into the salon, and Charles followed, carrying the painting, which he set down on the elegant sofa. He walked over to an old gramophone that had seen better days and picked up some discs, selecting one and placing it on the turntable. The unmistakeable voice of Edith Piaf filled the room with “L’Hymne á l’amour”, which I recognized from my short stay in Paris. I’d heard it at one of the many cafes on the Boulevard Saint-Michel, which I’d frequented during my stay in the capital. I went there knowing that some great French writers had worked at these tables in the past. Perhaps I felt that their talent could be absorbed through my skin in such hallowed surroundings?

Seeing Sabine kick off her heels, I followed suit. The floor was wooden parquet, once highly polished, but now looking somewhat neglected. Sabine held out her hand and gently pulled me towards her and we began a slow dance together. Charles sat on one of the Louis Quinze reproduction sofas, his arm slung casually over the back, watched us intently. He’d removed his jacket and shoes, and looked relaxed. I trembled deep inside and was sure that Sabine would sense this. But she continued dancing, drawing me into her chest so I could feel her perfect breasts move up and down with each breath she took. I’d never been so close to another woman before, but somehow it felt completely natural.

I didn’t know what to do, or how to behave. Should I move my hand along her arm? I was such a novice at all this. I didn’t need to worry. Sabine knew exactly what to do. She bent her face closer to mine and kissed me gently on the lips. My first intimate kiss—and it was from a woman. Did this mean I was now a lesbian? I’d heard the word at university, used to describe a female lecturer who had an affair with one of the students, and was dismissed from the college. I ceased to think about anything, however, as Sabine kissed me again—this time more firmly, her soft, luscious lips pressed hard against mine. I felt a little giddy, and it wasn’t just because of the amount of wine I’d consumed. I felt wicked, deliciously wicked. Was I now condemned to a descent into Hell, as my father might have described it? I didn’t know, and what’s more, I didn’t care.

As her lips eventually released mine, I looked over at Charles, who had a half smile on his face, as one hand lazily moved up and down in his groin area. Was he pleasuring himself? I didn’t even know if that was the correct word for such an action. I smiled at him, which seemed to make him happy.


BEYOND THE LAST PAGE – by writers of The Nu Romantics

….because the end is the beginning of forever


I’m so pleased to have been invited to contribute a story to a new anthology by the Writers of The Nu Romantics. These talented writers have produced six sensual stories that are quite different from other romance stories. In fact, their ambition is to redefine romance. I hope you will take a look at this anthology to see if they have succeeded.

The book is due to be published on January 31, but it is now available for pre-release purchase at the special price of 99c. You should not miss it. This is the universal link.

A taste of the stories inside……

“Beyond the Rain” by R.B. O’Brien

Young love is like the first time one sees a shooting star; it’s bright and magical. But not all stars can be seen through the rain. When Julietta and Max fall in love one romantic and lustful summer, etching their forever promises into the big oak under a night sky, neither could predict what the stars had in store for their future. Will their love last beyond the rain?

“Beyond Forever” by Sebastian Nox

Is this life a dream within a dream? For lovers Adam and Abigail, it may be their reality, a universe of two. Or is it a prison? Beyond their love. Beyond Forever.

“Beyond The Call of Duty” by Rachel de Vine

Fearing death, he learns how to live. But can he forget the girl he left at home for a brief taste of heaven? The call of duty during the First World War tested people and relationships to their limit.

“Beyond the Mask” by Mark A Morris

In a world where most people hide behind masks, can Kathleen and Sean find truth?

“Beyond Mercy” by Summer Layne

One night. Three lives forever changed. Mercy never imagined finding love in the arms of two men or how much it would hurt to leave them. Can they find their way back together?

“Beyond the Last Breath” by Ashlee Shades

While his wife lay in the hospital bed, barely clinging on to life, Thomas reflects on their years together and the happy memories they created. When they pledged, ”Till death do you part,” no one ever explained the pain of loving beyond the last breath.



And now a couple of extracts for you to enjoy:

From Beyond the Rain by R.B. O’Brien

There was a sexual energy in that summer of ’69. It was a summer where girls’ breasts swelled and boys’ legs stretched for miles; where tummies were sucked in and stretched flat; where girls wished their hips were round enough to hold up the strings of their bikinis and boys hoped they were round enough for different reasons; and it was the summer Max and Julietta would fall in love.

Max was the first to dive off the dock that day they all followed each other down to the lake, chasing each other on their bikes, the girls ahead until they weren’t. He was such a show-off, such a boy’s boy, to everyone else, but to Julietta, he would come to be known as a romantic, a side only she got to see. It made her feel special. He always made her feel…so many things.

Max’s lean body dove head-first, the blonde of his summer-kissed hair, darker after the Mountain Peaks’ water wet it, his eyes looking at her, always, first, before anyone else in their large group, causing her skin to blush and goose-pebble. She hated to dive off the dock, the water always getting in her ears, the sunblock fading off her face, making the freckles she hated that much more susceptible to the sun’s razor beams, that much more visible. The two were complete opposites. He was tan and tall and gregarious; and she, skin like ivory, was shy and bookish and too voluptuous for a 13-year-old.

But he never threw her in and as the summer days crept on, Julietta and Max slowly began to find other things to do than jump off docks or hang out with the gang. Though they never spoke much those first few weeks, there was an invisible force pulling them, an electric charge between them, something unspoken, and she discovered how to touch herself at night in just that way that made her body shudder as the stars and moon witnessed her ecstasy through her open window, where she’d say his name quietly into the pillow, and feel things in her belly like the fluttering of a caged bird being let free for the first time. It made her feel as if being thirteen should be forever stopped still in time…

From my own story, Beyond the Call of Duty

But their teenage existence didn’t last long. After six months of courting, the talk of war became more vocal. People stood in huddles in each other’s living rooms, listening to the wireless for news about what might be ahead.

“If there’s a war, Tom, shall we go?” Archie’s eyes sparkled at the thought of adventure.

Tom was not so sure. “I don’t expect we’ll get much choice. But I’d go anyway—especially if all my pals are going. I wouldn’t let you go without me. Besides, it’s our patriotic duty, isn’t it?”

“Dolly,” he whispered to his sweetheart one evening when everyone was absorbed with the news on the wireless, “I think we should wed. I want to marry you before I go to war.”

A tear sprung in Dolly’s eye at this less than romantic proposal. There was no chance that she would turn down his request, even though she’d hoped for something a little more exciting—perhaps Tom getting down on one knee and pledging his eternal love would have been grand, but still, a proposal was a proposal when all was said and done.

“Yes,” she whispered back.

Of course, being under age, they would need parental consent. It was swiftly given, and at the end of June 1914, the two were married in the tiny parish church at the end of the road. Dolly wore her best dress and carried a small posy of flowers, while Tom’s mother stretched her budget to buy a ready-made suit for her only son, and put a flower in his buttonhole from the bride’s posy.

“I’m not having my son wed in someone else’s suit. You know how people gossip and judge.”

50411506_392370824857827_1468022750940495872_n Your universal link for Amazon

The Rules of Seduction – a short, erotic story.



“Where are your sensitive places?” He asked. “Where are the places that when I kiss or lick drive you insane? Not the obvious places. Other places.”

She thought for a moment.

“The insides of my legs, the underside of my arm, my earlobe—oh that has me drooling—but not my stomach because I’m so ticklish. But it has to be the right touch at the right time.”

“You’re very particular, I can see. What is the right touch and when is the right time? How do I know?”

“You’ll know it because you will feel the goose bumps on my skin, hear my sucking in air, feel the shivering of my body. The right time is trickier. It’s obviously not just after you’ve broken my favourite vase, for example. You have to be intuitive.”

“What does that mean? I mean, I know what the word means, but how does it relate to you?”

She sat back on her haunches and thought for a moment.

“It’s not something you can cultivate. You’re either intuitive or not intuitive, it seems to me.”

“And am I intuitive?”

“I believe you are. You know when I’m sad, even if I don’t tell you. That’s intuition.”

“So when it comes to touching you or licking you in sensitive areas, how does intuition play a part?”

“Well an intuitive man knows when he is kissing or touching in a woman’s sensitive areas because of the very subtle reaction that comes from her. Some men are so engrossed in their own pleasure that they fail to pick up those signals. It might be a soft gasp, a tiny tremor, a look of pleasure on a woman’s face—all signs that an intuitive man will pick up as he makes love to a woman. He also senses the right time—she might bring him a drink, for example, and he might thank her by kissing the inside of her wrist after she has placed the drink. It says so much more than a simple thank you. But he knows that she won’t want fake moments of romance. She will know if you’re faking it. Better to do or say nothing at all than to fake it.”

“So basically it’s a minefield, the world of love and seduction?”

“I guess it is. But you mustn’t give up on love. It’s worth it in the end if you get it right.”

She rolled over on the bed, her naked body making his heart race, even though they had just made love. He ran his hand down the curve of her back and over the gentle slope of her ass. He could never tire of touching that ass of hers. He remembered what she had said about the inside of her legs. Leaning over he ran his tongue delicately over the soft skin on the inside of her thighs. Was it the right touch at the right time?

She laughed softly.

“I like that you listened to what I said. Some people pay lip service to other people’s conversations—nodding at appropriate intervals but not hearing the actual words. It’s refreshing to have someone listen and remember. But then you seem the type of person who has intuition about these things.”

He smiled.

“I like to think I do. But really I’m just as confused as everyone else—stumbling along in the dark and trying not to cause offence. Sometimes I get it right. Other times I make a big mess of it all. Do these rules of seduction apply in reverse?”

“What do you mean? Oh for men? Well only you can answer that.”

He stopped touching her thighs and rolled on to his back.

“Well we have sensitive places too, and yes, I guess that intuition is a great asset in a woman too.”

“So where are your most sensitive spots—the places that causes a spasm in your groin, that sexually arouse you?”

He paused, thinking.

“Give me your hand and I will show you. I don’t know if these places are the same for other guys, but they sure get me going.”

He took her hand and brought it down to his cock, now already beginning to harden again after their lovemaking.

“The tip of my cock is one place—squeeze it gently with your fingers. Ah, yes, now a little harder.”

He paused for a moment, enjoying the sensation, before continuing. Lifting her hand he brought it down to the underside of his balls.

“Stroking me there is always very enjoyable. Now slide your finger from there over the perineum towards my ass hole. Yes, that is quite exquisite.”

He groaned a little as his cock swiftly responded to the stimulation. He wasn’t sure if he might even come before he got the chance to get inside her again. He pulled back a little. She looked at him.

“Did you not like that?”

“I did—a little too much, unfortunately. You almost made me come.”

She laughed softly.

“So your most sensitive points are fairly obvious, actually. Places that I would have guessed. Where are the less obvious places?”

“Well I’m a guy. Pretty well everything centres around my cock. But leaving that aside I suppose, like you, kissing me in places you don’t normally kiss is very pleasurable.”

She moved closer and moved her body to allow her mouth to reach his thighs and began kissing up the inner edge of his left thigh, towards his groin.

“I like this. Let’s see if you do too.”

He shivered at the tantalising way her mouth was creeping higher.

“But is it the right time,” she asked?

“Baby, every time is the right time for me.”

She stopped just short of his balls, and he groaned with disappointment.

“Sorry, I’m teasing you now, aren’t I? Have you tried edging?”

“You mean when someone takes you to the last possible point before climax, and then stops? Yes, I’ve had it done to me a few times. But I haven’t done it to a woman. It seems a little cruel to offer them pleasure and then snatch it away.”

“But it’s usually only temporarily removed. The idea is that the repeated edging leads to a much more intense orgasm.”

“Yeah, I get that, but not tonight please. I’d like to make love to you again—provided you think I’ve learned the rules of seduction well.”

“I think you’ve passed with flying colours, my love. I think we’ll leave the edging for next time. Right now I want to suck you and lick you until I tip you over the edge. Then perhaps you can return the favour.”

“That sounds like a very enticing plan, my love. By the way, forget about the rules of seduction. The only rule is to follow your instinct.”

She opened her lips and continued kissing up his thighs from the point where she had stopped. He shivered in anticipation of the pleasure to come.


I hope you’ve enjoyed this short story. If so, why not take a look at my recent books (published under my other writing name of Juliette Banks)? The latest one is a short story that has a bit of everything in it—love, erotica, spanking, humour, kidnap, thrills. Here what one reviewer said of it:

This is one of those books that I really wish that I could rate higher than five stars. What starts as a fun kinky romance quickly turns into a fast paced drama with international terrorist themes. I literally could not put it down. This is definitely a book worth reading. (An Amazon Reviewer)  



Roxy is a modern, independent, kick-ass woman, who hides a secret desire—she likes a bit of spice in the bedroom. Will she ever meet a man who can satisfy her desires, without expecting her full submission?

Oliver is a man who loves some kink in his life, but doesn’t want to be tied down by a possessive woman. He also has a secret life that doesn’t bode well for a long-term relationship.

“Hope the roses arrived this morning.”

“Oh, they were from you? There was no note.”

“So who did you think they were from?”

“I made up a short-list of about three.”

“And was I at the top of that list?”

“Well you were pretty near the top.”

“I see. Perhaps I didn’t tan that hide of yours enough on Friday?”

Available at