March 31, 2017

My book, The Gardener, has now been included in a six book box set (published under my other writing name of Juliette Banks), along with five other seductive historical romances. Here is the beginning of the book to whet your appetite!

Surrey, England, 1804

Kate squeezed under the overhanging branches of the laurel bush until she was hidden from the sight of anyone passing by. She wanted to see, but not to be seen. She fervently hoped that Barnes, the gardener, would walk past today, and if she was fortunate, he might even stop nearby. The fact that she had waited for three consecutive days and had not seen anyone pass, let alone the attract...

February 23, 2016

He watched her from across the room.  She glided rather than walked, despite the very high heels she was wearing, and her body’s undulations made the silk dress slide effortlessly over her body.  There was no panty line showing, so he assumed that she was naked under the dress, as she often was.  She had a body that made him, and many other men (and some women too he noticed), suck in air as she passed, and hold their breath; only breathing out as she departed – but she seemed totally unaware of the effect she had on people.

And she was his.


He knew that all he had to do was raise a finger and she would obediently leave whoever sh...

January 29, 2016

Dominique sat alone on the rooftop bar of the Rex Hotel in Saigon.  Of course, it was now called Ho Chi Minh City, but a lot of people, including her, still knew it by its old name.  Up on the top of the building was an oasis of calm and tranquillity after the hustle and bustle of the streets below, where she had been for much of the day.  She was alone, but she was used to being alone.  It was not a state that concerned her unduly as she nursed a cool glass of French white wine.  When I first came here it was almost impossible to get a decent glass of wine.  How quickly things have changed.  At one time the only availa...

December 22, 2015

(Picture: Shutterstock) 


The voice coming from over by the piano was sultry, throaty, and reeked of cigarettes, whisky and dirty sex. I looked up from my glass of single malt and swivelled around on the bar stool to see if the reality matched the image now placed firmly in my brain. I expected to see a train wreck of a woman, whose dissolute appearance matched her voice, but the woman before me was no more than mid-twenties, with long, sleek, dark brown hair, and the face of an angel. I did a double take, unable to believe that the voice and the image I saw before me belonged to each other. Perhaps she was miming? If she was, she was damne...

October 9, 2015


As Hermes was driving his rig on board the ferry at Calais, some miles away, Jez was speeding south, but this time she was in a car with a middle-aged woman.  Women, especially well-dressed and seemingly wealthy women, rarely offered her lifts, and Jez hesitated at first, as the Daimler slowed and stopped, just ten minutes after Hermes had left her.  She much preferred travelling with men, perhaps for obvious reasons, but also because she was more comfortable with men than women.  She could relax and have a laugh. 

The woman spoke English, but with a strong French accent.

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere special.  Just followin...

September 28, 2015

(This post is unsuitable for under 18s)



The truck screeched to a halt a few yards down the road, and the young woman picked up her backpack and sprinted for the door before the driver changed his mind.  It wasn’t as easy to get rides, as it had been in the past.  Drivers were as scared of picking up hitchhikers now, as the other way round; any false claims of rape would be devastating to him causing the loss of his job and possible loss of liberty too, if he couldn’t convince a court that the sex was consensual, so many drivers no longer took the risk.

This driver did not care, however.  The woman now sprinting to catch him up was gor...

September 25, 2015

(This story is not suitable for under 18s)


The heat of the city had been intense and he was relieved to be back in his hotel room, even if the only cooling method available to him was an antiquated fan spinning slowly from the ceiling.  He would not have swapped his room for one in a luxury five star hotel, with air conditioning, however, for this one had character and style, with its arches and elaborate decoration and an inner courtyard in which a fountain sprayed water two feet into the air, which was full of the smell of spices, and heady eastern perfume.


He loved this part of the Middle East, with its unique mixture of old and new rub...

September 22, 2015

(This post is not suitable for under 18s.  Please go and read elsewhere.)

Those of us fortunate to have the use of all five senses sometimes take them for granted, even when we are involved in an erotic act.  We feel the touch of someone’s hand, we smell their arousal, we see the soft curves of a woman’s body, or the muscle definition on a man’s chest, we hear the soft whispers into our ears that are intended to send the erotic messages straight to the pleasure part of our brains, and we taste the beads of sweat running down the other person’s body as we run our tongues over their slightly salty skin.  These senses combine to arouse us, and...

September 13, 2015


The Pier - a short erotic story

July 22, 2015

Rachel de Vine




(Are you under 18? If so, please find something else to read.)


The sky was stormy, with dark clouds rolling in from the sea.  There had been just a few isolated raindrops, enough to drive most of the visitors towards the safety of the shore, where there was shelter from the rain that was threatening to lash down imminently.  Eventually she was the only person at the end of the pier.


She loved weather like this at the seaside.  You could keep the sunny, blue skies, that brought with it the crowds of people, families mainly, with their noisy children, and loud adults, who yel...

August 6, 2015

What makes an image erotic, when a similar picture simply seems tawdry?  The erotic image has that almost indefineable 'something' that lifts it above the blatantly sexual.  It's power is in what it does not reveal, rather than what it does.  It invites us to imagine what may be about to happen rather than what is clearly happening, and our imagination can lead us to build a story around the image and weave into it our fantasy that places us centre stage in that story.  

The picture doesn't just alert our brains about what may be about to happen, it sends a powerful signal to our primitive sexual core, that tells our brains t...

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