Tag Archive | R.K. Lilley

The Other Man by R.K. LILLEY Release Blast & Giveaway

THE OTHER MANAuthor: R.K. LilleyRelease date: May 25, 2015Add to Goodreads

He was brazen as hell from the moment I laid eyes on him. He was aggressive, and dominant, with Mack truck arms, and a bar brawler voice.
He was too good looking for his own good, with a hard jaw, and harder eyes.
I’d always led a fairly peaceful life, but even I could tell at a glance that this man was dangerous. For so many reasons.
Not the least of which being that rough, dirty, sheet-clawing sex fairly radiated off him.
I’d thought I’d known how to handle every kind of man, but this one left me baffled.
To say he wasn’t my type was putting it lightly.
But you couldn’t tell that to my libido.
Not even when I found out the truth.
My lover had lied to me from the very start.
Nothing about our meeting was a coincidence.
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Heath’s jaw clenched, like he was bracing himself for something. “I don’t think I have time for lunch.”
My breath stuttered out of my chest. “What do you have time for?”
He didn’t even bother to answer, just took my hand and started pulling me.
And I let him.
Dammit, once I again, I was going to make this way too easy for him.
But one look at his agitated face had left me with an agitated body. The man could make me wet with one look. It wasn’t lost on me how twisted it was that that look was a scowl.
Heath angry = Me turned on.
I really hoped that wouldn’t turn into a thing for me.
R.K. Lilley lives in Colorado with her husband and their two beautiful sons. She’s had a lot of interesting jobs, from being a first class flight attendant, to being a stablehand, but swears she never knew what hard work was until she had children. She’s been addicted to both reading and writing fiction since she can remember. She loves to travel, read, hike, paint, game, watch anime, and make the most of every single day. She is the author of the erotic romance novels In Flight, Mile High, Grounded, and the novella, Lana. @Authorrklilley

THE WILD SIDE (The Complete Trilogy) by R.K. Lilley Promo

THE WILD SIDE(The Complete Trilogy)
Author: R.K. Lilley


Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1OAA7gB

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1Qcmxnq

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iBooks: http://apple.co/1O9miei

The Wild Side (The Wild Side #1)

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Alasdair Masters is in a rut. He just hit forty, has been nearly celibate for the past year, and his life has turned into a daily sequence of lonely patterns that revolve around avoiding human contact.

His tidy life is turned on its head when a hot young blonde at the gym that’s been pseudo-stalking him decides to rock his world. A very young blonde. Way, way too young for him. The problem is, he can’t seem to tell her no, and she just keeps coming back for more.
It doesn’t help that he’s ninety percent sure she’s a criminal, and still, he can’t seem to turn her down.  What is a dull introvert to do when a chaotic cyclone that oozes sexuality comes twisting into his life?
At first, he thinks she’ll give him a heart attack, but after his twenty-year marriage ended a year ago, he’s been a little lost, and when she comes crashing into his life, he realizes that he’s never felt more alive.
Is a walk on the wild side just what he needs to get his on track or a disaster in the making? Is it possible for someone that much younger to be just what he needs, or is she a fortune hunter, as everyone keeps telling him? Is it his hormones telling him that the mysterious younger woman is the one, or could it be more?Amazon: http://amzn.to/1HoVjG5

IRIS (The Wild Side #2)
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Who is Iris? Where did she come from? Where has she gone?
Alasdair Masters has more questions than answers about his new, too young obsession, and when he finds out she’s been lying to him, from their first meeting to their last one, he’s more confused than ever about her feelings, her intentions.
And what’s just as confusing are his own feelings. Has he turned something purely physical into something emotional in his own head? Is any of it mutual?
The only thing he doesn’t question is whether he’ll keep going back for more.
Me, I was simple. I was order. A very neat, efficient machine that ran on nothing but air.
Me plus anyone else, well, that was another matter. And me plus Iris, that was a monster of a machine, with all gears going at different speeds, some spinning off their hinges, just going mad, but it was a wonderful madness, at full throttle, misfiring in all directions.
It felt wonderful and dreadful.
I was breaking down, and it felt amazing.
And terrifying.
This book is intended for readers 18 and up


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I’d started writing everything about her down. I didn’t want to forget.
The color of her hair. The depth of her eyes. The stubborn shape of her jaw. The way her lips shaped words with such expression. The way her voice made my chest ache. The way she gave advice beyond her years.
The way she listened like she cared about every word.
The way she made me feel—Alive.
Every curve and hollow of her body was recorded, in my mind, and now my hard drive.
There was a bit of truth in every lie, and even if it had only been fed to me in the smallest increments, I wanted, needed to remember the real Iris.
Because in the end, there was one irrefutable thing that I couldn’t deny.
Hostage or hustler, sinner or saint, whatever she was or wasn’t, whether she lied to my face or taunted me with hints of the truth, all of this seemed always to defer to the more pertinent fact at hand.
She was mine.
After yet another shocking discovery, followed by a disturbing letter, Dair is almost certain Iris has left his life for good. He tries his best to move on.
Easier said than done, and when an unexpected and dangerous opportunity arises for him to find out what happened to her, he doesn’t hesitate to take it.
As usual, with Iris, the answer leaves him more lost than the question.
Every revelation is shrouded in mystery, and every disclosure leaves Dair more in the dark than ever.
And when finally, the messy truth is revealed in its entirety, will he be ready for it?
This is the final installment in Iris and Dair’s story
This book is intended for readers 18 and up.
I had a bit of a nervous breakdown after Iris left without a trace.
It was the strangest thing, but I suddenly didn’t like my own company so much.
In fact, I began to hate it, even at home.
I still went to the gym at the exact same time, every single day, in the small hope that she’d show again. She didn’t, but I kept going, because I wanted to see her again.
She hadn’t been in my life for long, but I missed her.
Being that I couldn’t stand my own company, I began to reconnect with old friends, people I hadn’t talked to since the divorce, the friends I’d chalked up to losses in the breakup; Tammy’s assets when we’d been chopping our combined life in half.
For some reason, they all seemed very happy to hear from me. I felt like a jerk for going into full hermit mode and attempted to have something of a social life again.
I’d often meet up with another writer friend for coffee or lunch after my workout, telling myself that if I just kept working at it—being a normal person, with normal social habits—it wouldn’t feel so forced.
And it was true. Two months post Iris, and I was looking forward to having coffee with my friend, Benji.
He was already sitting at a table as I entered the café a few shops down from my gym.
I waved at him, saw he had an extra coffee for me, and bypassed the line to go directly to him.
He slid me the cup as I sat down.
“You make your deadline?” I asked him. Like me, he was a neurotic, work obsessed writer, and so we always had something to talk about. It was good. Distractions were good. The more the better. The more plates spinning the better, these days.
He nodded with a grin, pushing his thick glasses up high on his nose, and sweeping his light brown hair away from his face. He was a good seven years my junior, with a lean, nerdy look that I thought suited him. He wore it well. “How about you? I know you were early on your publisher’s deadline, but how is your indie project coming along?”
“Good. Good. My word count is flowing faster than ever. I should be done in about four weeks.”
He whistled. “Will you sell it to the publisher, if they decide they like it and make you a good offer?”
I shrugged. “I doubt it. This whole project is an experiment for me. It won’t be much fun if I don’t get to at least see how making seventy percent compares to making, yanno, eight.”
He shook his head, smiling wryly. “You’re forgetting your advance. You can’t tell me they don’t give you plenty up front.”
I shrugged again. “Like I said, this one is an experiment. I doubt even my publisher can sway me, and it’s not exactly written in the genre I’m known for, so they wouldn’t write me a big check for it, anyway.”
“You’re probably right.” He sighed. “I envy you the flexibility to do what you want. Some of us are still writing just to pay the bills.”
We sipped coffee and talked shop for a bit. We were just getting ready to leave when he suddenly trailed off mid-sentence, looking at something behind me.
I turned to see what it was, and an electric fire went off in my brain at the sight that met my eyes.
Setting my jaw hard, I turned carefully away.
So the back of that blonde woman in line resembled Iris, so what?
This wasn’t the first time my brain had tricked me into thinking she was somewhere close.
But it was never her. I’d see some young blonde thing out of the corner of my eye and turn to stare until I met a stranger’s blank stare.
Not today. Today I was going to ignore the urge to obsess. It wasn’t her, just some young woman with a great body. She wasn’t even dressed correctly, wearing a pleated skirt and a belted, collared blouse.
Iris wouldn’t be caught dead in business attire.
“Holy fucking shit, man. Did you see that chick?” Benji asked, his tone reverent.
My mouth quirked up in a rueful smile. Even the most civilized men turned into mouth-breathers if a hot enough woman walked into the room.
“I did.” I took a long sip of coffee, watching Benji, who just kept watching the woman in line, forcing myself, with great effort, to stifle the urge to turn around again. “Nice ass,” I noted.
“Yes. But you need to turn around and check out the rest of her. Huge titties, man.”
I rolled my eyes. There was a bit of a generation gap between us. My generation thought shit like that, but then we kept it to ourselves, like grown-ups.
“Big soft tits,” he continued, “in a semi-sheer white blouse. Fuuuck. She’s got a tan. How many articles you think I need to write to bang a chick that out of my league?”
“A lot,” I mused, still staying firmly with my back to the woman in question.
“Like how many is a lot?”
“What do you make? Like five hundred an article? I’d say about two thousand of those, minimum. If she’s as hot as she looked from the back, though, you’d need to be well into the millionaire club before she’d give you the time of day, so more like five thousand articles, realistically.”
His eyes were wide as he finally looked away from the hot chick and back to me. “Really? That is fucking depressing, dude.”
I shrugged. “Yeah. But the really sad part is you’d have to spend a good chunk of that cash on her, if you wanted her to stay around for any length of time.”
He shook his head. “I think you’ve gone cynical, after Tammy.”
I couldn’t dispute that. Not a bit. “You may be right. What can I say? Divorce messes with your head.” I didn’t bring up Iris. I hadn’t told him about her. “Why don’t you go ask her out, if you’re so certain I’m wrong?”
He laughed. “I didn’t say you were wrong, I said you were cynical, and so am I. That chick is out of my league, period. I need more money to bag a woman like that. Or at the very least, better looks and a bigger dick. And look at that, fuck, she’s already leaving. I was hoping she’d sit down to drink her coffee, and let me look at her for a few more minutes.”
“Maybe you were creeping her out. You’ve barely taken your eyes off her since she walked in the door.”
He didn’t even seem to hear me. “Oh, no, wait, she’s only going to the bathroom. I thought it was weird she was leaving without her order. Did you see her shoes, man? Those are some ‘fuck-me’ stilettos. And her hair is in this tight bun, and she’s wearing sexy librarian glasses. Will you please turn and look when she comes back out? I will drop the subject if you will just get a better view of her and agree with me that she’s a ten.”
“Nope. Not doing it. That poor girl does not need us both creeping out on her. I’ll take your word for it.”
That seemed to settle the matter. He dropped it.
His phone rang; he checked the screen and started cursing. “I’ve got to run. Same time next week?”
I nodded, and he left. I didn’t move and still didn’t turn around. I had that feeling, a tingle on my neck, like I was being watched from behind, and I was again talking myself out of obsessing about Iris.
But burned in my brain was the image of the back of that woman, and in spite of myself, I was comparing.
And a small part of me was enjoying the torture of imagining it could be her, that she would find me again.
Finally, I cracked, turning to look, thinking that the woman must have left, so I should just get it over with, like pulling off a Band-Aid.
And there she was.
There was Iris, standing only feet away, holding a cup of coffee and watching me, her expression very blank. She was wearing sexy librarian glasses, her hair in a tight bun, just like Benji had said.
And it really was her, in the flesh.
She wore white, and her clothes were fitted enough to show off every lush curve. Her mouthwatering breasts were clearly outlined, the buttons of her blouse open enough to show an extravagant amount of cleavage.
How had I forgotten just how stunning she was? How captivating?
Her large breasts were even more exceptional than I remembered, as though I’d dreamt her up as a comic book version of herself.
Iris squared.
The moment our eyes met, she began to move, walking with easy grace to sit across from me.
She looked cold, so icy blonde and beautiful, like some mix of Marilyn Monroe and Grace Kelly.
Terrible and beautiful.
It felt like fatal voltage to my chest just to look at her like that.
It was Iris, but Iris as a stranger. No, it was worse than that. It was like she was a curious, wild, imaginary creature, with the pieces of her just now put together, invented for my eyes, not how I remembered at all, because even when she’d been angry, she had never been cold.
Then she smiled, and it was her again, all traces of the cold stranger gone.
Which one was the real Iris?
“Hello, Dair.”
I swallowed hard and saw her eyes dart to my throat.
“Hello, Iris.”
“God, I missed the sound of your voice.”
“The sound of my voice?” My voice caught on the question awkwardly, breaking slightly on the last word.
She had such a talent for catching me off guard.
“Yes. You have the best voice, like a stern school teacher.”
My brain short-circuited for a bit before I could respond. “You say the most outrageous things.”
She laughed, and its tinkling sound felt like velvet across the back of my neck. “Is that all you have to say to me, after all this time?” she asked quietly.
“I’m sorry for all the things—”
“I don’t want you to take those things back, if you still believe them, and besides, that’s not what I meant. Don’t you have anything else to say to me?”
I took a few deep breaths. “Where have you been? And why are you back now?”
“That’s not what I meant, either. And I don’t want to talk about that. Didn’t you miss me?”
She reached a hand across the table, and I found one of mine grasping it, lacing our fingers tightly together.
My eyes squeezed shut. It felt very good to touch her again, even just her hand. “Yes, Iris, I missed you very much.”
“There you go. Was that so hard? I missed you, too. You look good.” She tugged her hand away, and my eyes opened to follow its retreat.
“Why are you dressed like that?”
She looked like she was trying not to smile. “Like what?”
“Like a professional. Why are you wearing glasses? What are you doing? Where did you go? Where have you been?”
She glanced around, and the way she did it struck me as more than a little paranoid. “Want to go for a walk?”
My heart started pounding hard.
I didn’t hesitate.
“Of course I do,” I said, absolutely no thought required.
I’d take a walk with her anytime, anywhere.
She smiled, taking off those sexy glasses. “Well, then, let’s get out of here.”

R.K. Lilley lives in Colorado with her husband and their two beautiful sons. She’s had a lot of interesting jobs, from being a first class flight attendant, to being a stablehand, but swears she never knew what hard work was until she had children. She’s been addicted to both reading and writing fiction since she can remember. She loves to travel, read, hike, paint, game, watch anime, and make the most of every single day. She is the author of the erotic romance novels In Flight, Mile High, Grounded, and the novella, Lana.

@thebookavenue  @authorrklilley

MR. BEAUTIFUL BY R.K. LILLEY Book Launch Promo & Giveaway

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I’ve been remade four times in my life.
It is a distinct feeling. Impossible to mistake. The very marked sensation of being unraveled and reknit into a new thing, a new person. It can be good or bad, helpful or harmful, but above all, it is unstoppable.
I was remade when my parents died, went from a happy childhood, into navigating a very dark world, with endless responsibilities, surrounded by enemies, and despairingly alone.
It happened again at the hands of a cowardly predator. I’d become angrier with that one, more cynical, and it undoubtedly turned me into the kinky f**k I was today.
The third happened swiftly. One day I looked up into a pair of pale blue eyes and saw the other half of my soul. Checkmate. I went from a completely controlled existence, a life where I made every decision with cold calculation, to a man overcome with feelings and emotions that were foreign but somehow wonderful.
And all too soon after that cataclysmic change was this fourth one, this one where I begged a God I’d never entertained to spare the life of a woman that I could not live without.
Follow all of the characters from the Up in the Air universe in the years after the trilogy, with POVs from James, Stephan, Frankie, Tristan, and Akira.
This book is intended for readers 18 and up.
It was some endless span of time later, after the shooting.
Weeks that felt like ages. Time I’d spent agonizing and worrying.
I’d adjusted almost completely to working from home, as I wouldn’t even consider leaving her side while she recovered. My businesses suffered through some minor hiccups for this, but nothing catastrophic. All of it had become rather relative, besides.
So what if a few other people helped me run things, and I lost control over some of the minute details that used to consume me? I couldn’t even recall why it was so important to manage it all myself anymore.
What was the worst that could be happen? I’d become slightly less filthy rich?
We were dining privately, and Bianca was being very quiet. Too quiet. She was up in her own head again, though her worries were always the polar opposite of mine.
She worried about me. My stress levels, my lack of sleep, my unmet needs.
It was a difficult thing to grow accustomed to, as I couldn’t remember the last time, pre-Bianca, that someone fretted over me.
Not since my mother, I supposed.
She cleared her throat and brought her level stare to meet my troubled one.
“I heard you talking on the phone earlier, to your Detroit manager. It sounded as though the situation would best be handled if you went there in person. I think you should do it. You can’t stay home with me forever. I’m perfectly self-sufficient now, and even if I wasn’t, I have Stephan and Javier next door, not to mention all of the staff.”
I didn’t even consider it. She may have been ready for that, but I was not.
“Maybe in a week or two,” I told her, not meaning it, but using it as a subject ender.
I went back to my food, feeling her presence acutely to my left. I was a focused man, but I could not be in a room with Bianca without at least half of my attention on her at all times.
Her presence was a great gaping void in my concentration—my ultimate distraction.
I caught her sigh out of the corner of my eye and turned my attention on her fully.
She set down her utensils, sitting back in her chair.
“Was it not to your liking?” I asked her, eyeing up her barely touched dinner. She’d finished only about a third of her filet and less than half of her vegetables.
“It was very good. I just wasn’t that hungry. I think you actually need to expend energy to work up an appetite.”
The words hungry and appetite coming out of her succulent mouth with that soft voice of hers was enough to make me hard, though it was a fact that it didn’t take much these days.
I looked at her, keeping my eyes squarely on her face.
I’d taken one look at the little dress she was wearing earlier and decided wisely not to look at it again.
My control was hanging on by the thinnest thread, and that dress, or more specifically, the body it revealed more than clothed, was more provocative than I could stand.
It was overkill, really.
Inflammatory, when I was already on fire.
Still, if I let my mind wander for even a second, I could picture it perfectly—her body in that dress.
It was palest peach, a lovely color on her, feminine and loose, with ruffles at the neck and hem, and so minuscule that it could have been a shirt. I had to force my mind away from any thoughts about her long, bare legs in it.
It also exposed nearly her entire back, just one T shaped strap all that covered her from her shoulder to the little dimples above her ass, which was torment for all kinds of reasons, one being that her back drove me mindless, the other being that it meant she was braless, and that drove me from mindless to madness incarnate.
The neckline was decent enough, but the sides of the dress were cut severely, on account of the back, leaving the sides of both breasts exposed, so much so that the wrong movement could slip her clean out of it.
I took a few deep, grounding breaths for control.
I allowed myself one brief glance at her bare neck. Her choker was locked away, since the injury.
The sight of her neck without it always made my fingers twitch restlessly.
This also brought my mind to other things she’d lost during her long hospital stay.
Like both of her nipple piercings, which brought my mind to her breasts, the absolute last place it needed to go.
In spite of myself, I glanced at the white skin of one rounded tit where it nearly spilled out of the side of that damned dress.
And felt myself begin to shake.
I looked away, setting down my fork and knife, attempting to hide the fine tremor that ran through the entire length of me, and seemed to be most apparent in my hands.
“James,” she said, voice quiet and solemn, almost chiding, like she knew what afflicted me.
Like she held the cure if only I’d reach for it.
She did, of course, but I wouldn’t let myself reach. Not yet.
It was too soon.
She’d nearly died and needed time to recover, time unsullied by my selfish, unquenchable need.
I didn’t look at her directly, but needless to say, I was still hyper aware of it when she stood and moved to stand at my side.
I took in a deep breath, then let it out, calming myself and taking her in all at once.
She touched the top of my head lightly with her elegant fingers. “Oh, James,” she sighed, tone gentle enough to make me ache.
She stroked her hand into my hair, gripped it lightly, and started to pull.
She leaned forward, pressing my tense head to her soft bosom.
I shut my eyes tight.
The image of me putting my ravenous self on her wounded self was a crystal clear picture in my head.
Obsessively, repetitively, day and night, asleep or awake, I pictured this.
It was very nearly too much to bear; this voracious, prodigious need of mine.
I’d not gone through a celibate stage like this since I’d become sexually active, back in my teens. In the beginning of our relationship, when Bianca had left me, I’d come close, but this spell had since outlasted that one.
It was an ordeal.
I jerked off at least five times a day, to cope with the readjustment, but it was about as satisfactory as eating cardboard instead of steak.
My traitorous hands moved to grip the bare backs of her thighs, keeping her leaning against me.
After one inflamed, torturous moment, I tore myself away.
She let me go, moving back to her seat.
I looked at her, making my gaze go to the bandaged side of her face, which I usually avoided, but not now, because I needed that reminder of why I had to put her needs before my own.
Her injury was still dressed from the latest round of reconstructive surgery, covering one side of her face from cheekbone to jaw.
It was a sobering sight, not because it was grisly, in fact I couldn’t even see the actual wound, it was covered so thoroughly, but because it was a stark and clear reminder of what had almost happened.
That reminder was dampening, which was what I needed at the moment.
I finished eating, and Bianca quietly excused herself.
I knew where she was going, and I forced myself to move in the opposite direction.
If I followed her to her painting studio, watched her work on and around a canvas in that fucking dress, I’d surely snap, and lose all restraint.
She was not recovered enough for my unrestrained self.
I tried not to follow her, to hover, as that was not what she wanted, but it was a constant struggle against myself not to check in on her.
Instead, I took up residence in my home office and attempted to work.
That lasted all of thirty seconds.
That fast and my mind was wandering back to her, and back to the image of my ravenous self on her recovering self, and I recalled rather urgently that I was do for another jerk off session.
I had just pulled my erection from the oppressive confines of my pants when my office door opened with no preamble.
This was unusual. Bianca never came to my office.
She stepped inside, then shut the door behind her, not looking even slightly surprised at what I’d been up to, while I found myself flushing in embarrassment.
Her eyes were unflinching on mine as she approached.
I’d pushed my chair back from the desk in preparation for my after dinner jerk session. There was enough space between for her to fit.
She did, facing me and leaning back until her ass was perched right on the edge.
I raised my desperate eyes to her devastating ones.
Our gazes never wavered as, at the bottom of my vision, she lifted her wispy little dress up to bare herself.
With a sigh of defeat, I let myself look, but only for the briefest moment.
No panties, as I’d suspected.
My eyes, as they returned to hers, were pleading now.
I couldn’t fight her and myself.
Myself was bad enough, but I’d never been any match for her.
Not for one lovesick second since the first time I’d set eyes on her.
“You need more recovery time, Love,” I told her, voice desperate, heart pounding.
“Shh,” she soothed, holding her arms out for me, her skirt falling back down to barely cover the essentials.
With a shudder, I moved into her, sliding my chair close between her legs. I rested my cheek on her soft, bare thigh and attempted and failed to hold onto any vague shred of my once dependable control.
She stroked her fingers through my hair.
It wasn’t long before I raised my head to take her in again. “Grip the edge of the desk with your hands,” I told her roughly, unsteady hands lifting her skirt, letting myself look my fill at last.
“I’m off the painkillers,” she told me.
My eyes jerked to hers, nostrils flaring as I caught what she meant me to. We both knew I wouldn’t touch her impaired.
“Why?” I asked, just to be sure.
“I don’t like them, and the pain is manageable.”
“You can’t do that. You can’t make yourself suffer on my account.”
“Don’t put this on yourself. This is how I’ve always been. I never could stand to take pain medication, no matter the reason, so as soon as it becomes bearable, I stop.”
I shut my eyes tight and took a deep breath, so torn I was doubting myself.
“Please, Mr. Cavendish,” she breathed.
She was ruthless.
I was lost.
I turned my head, burrowing my face between her legs, tasting her.
My moan was almost loud enough to drown out hers.
A taste turned into a feast and I lapped at her, one hand pinching the tip of my cock to hold off on coming as my other hand delved between her thighs to finger her.
She came undone fast, thank God, as I jammed two fingers into her and pushed my tongue repeatedly against the swollen nub of her clit.
I pulled my face away to look at her as my hands went still, stopping her on the brink.
I didn’t have to tell her. She knew what to do.
She begged.
R.K. Lilley lives in Colorado with her husband and their two beautiful sons. She’s had a lot of interesting jobs, from being a first class flight attendant, to being a stablehand, but swears she never knew what hard work was until she had children. She’s been addicted to both reading and writing fiction since she can remember. She loves to travel, read, hike, paint, game, watch anime, and make the most of every single day. She is the author of the erotic romance novels In Flight, Mile High, Grounded, and the novella, Lana.
IN FLIGHT (Up in the Air #1)
MILE HIGH (Up in the Air #2)
GROUNDED (Up in the Air #3)
LANA (Novella)

Promo Tour: Lovely Trigger by R.K. Lilley

Author: R.K. LILLEY


His name was Milton Sagar. He was an NFL quarterback who’d just been drafted to play for San Diego. I met him at a gallery showing in L.A. on a Friday night. He came to visit me in the Vegas gallery on the following Monday.

He was charming, intelligent, good-looking, and very, very interested, and for the first time in a long time, I found that I was genuinely interested back.
Not good on paper interested.
Heart-rate accelerating interested.
That hadn’t happened to me since Tristan. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or horrified by the development.
He was very persistent. I turned him down twice.
He had huge arms, gorgeous black hair, kind blue eyes. He even had dimples. He probably flirted in his sleep.
He was just the type of guy I should avoid.
The third time he very charmingly asked me out, I said yes to having lunch with him in Vegas, on my break at work. He flew in just to see me. I had no intention of letting it go one step further than that.
“So you live in Vegas, but you work in L.A a lot?” he asked me over appetizers.
I shook my head. “Just the opposite. I live in L.A, but I’m in Vegas quite a bit at the moment. I’m managing both galleries until I can train someone here.”
“L.A isn’t too far from San Diego.” He smiled.
I smiled back, admiring his dimples. I told myself I was utterly whacked in the head.
His smile faded just a tad. “I have the strangest question for you. I hope you don’t mind my bringing this up, but a buddy of mine told me something that’s been…bothering me. I guess he knows your ex-husband.”
I was taking a drink of wine and nearly choked on it. “My ex-husband?!” I asked, trying hard to sound casual. “This friend of yours has the wrong girl.”
Only a few people on the planet knew I’d been married for one hot, dysfunctional minute.
He looked surprised but not displeased. “Oh yeah? Well, that’s good. Obviously I can defend myself, but he had me spooked.”
I couldn’t leave it at that. It was just too bizarre. “What’s the name of this friend of yours?”
“Tristan Vega. I’m sure you’ve seen him around. He does the magic show here. It’s really good.”
I felt myself pale. Very carefully, I set down my glass, placing both hands carefully into my lap where I could clench them as hard as I needed to without looking crazy. “What exactly did Tristan tell you?”
“Oh, so you do know him? Not much. He just kind of…warned me off, in a vague sort of way. He said you had an ex-husband that was liable to stab me in my sleep if I laid a hand on you. He said he was huge, and insanely violent when it came to you, or rather, who you date. He basically told me that your ex would go to jail for murder before he’d let you go out with a guy like me.”
The sheer gall of that, the utter hypocritical nerve of it made me want to scream.
I smiled tightly. “Tristan has a twisted sense of humor. He was just messing with you. I was never married.”
We did, unfortunately, run into each other occasionally, but that night was the first time I’d sought Tristan out deliberately since the accident.
Working at the hotel got me backstage before his show, and eventually, his dressing room. It was very handy to be on a first name basis with every security guard on the property.
He met me, his jaw clenched, at the door.
I barged in, fuming. I waited to speak until he closed the door, giving us privacy.
“How dare you?!” I hissed, shaking. It felt surreal to be alone in a room with him. The only thing that made it bearable was my unadulterated rage.
“I know why you’re here,” he said calmly. “I can explain.”
“Oh please do. I would love to hear it.”
He took a few steps toward me, but I backed just as many steps away,
keeping my distance. “Don’t you dare try to touch me.”
He looked down, taking a deep breath. “Of course, Danika. I know how you feel about that. I take it this is about Milton?”
I nodded, biting back several sarcastic things that came to mind. “Of course it is. Why else would I be here?”
I wanted to say so much more, about how my love life wasn’t his business, about how he didn’t get to kiss my sister and God only knew what else and then try to interfere in my life, but I held my tongue. It was a herculean effort, but I did it. I would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how much that bothered me, how it had kept me up at night, the doubt, the uncertainty. Had I ever even known him at all?
“Why else indeed? Listen, I told him that because-“
“I can’t believe you told him I was divorced!”
He met my eyes. His were steady, his jaw so stubborn that I didn’t know if I wanted to slap it or kiss it. “You are divorced.” His tone was chastising. “That marriage was a joke. It didn’t even count.”
He flinched, not even trying to hide it, one hand shooting up to rub at a twitching temple. “I told him that because he is not the guy for you.”
“How cute. You think you know what’s good for me?”
“He’s a womanizer.”
I laughed. It was so bitter that I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t change it, couldn’t keep it in. “Look who’s talking.”
“And a liar.”
I began to look around, and when I realized that I was trying to find something to throw, I knew, with absolute certainty, that I needed to leave. Every second that we stayed within each other’s vicinity was bad for my peace of mind. This little scene would haunt me for months. Just seeing him up close like this, and breathing him in, it would mess me up, set me back.
I met his steady stare, trying not to snarl. “That is beside the point. None of this is your business. Nothing in my life is your business. Are we clear?”
“Please, Danika, stay clear of him. I know you have a right to do as you please, but understand that I wouldn’t have interfered if I wasn’t concerned. This guy is bad news. He’ll break your heart, and when he does, I may well break his neck.”
My mouth was trembling. With rage. With pain. The notion that he was watching over me like a big brother, that he thought of himself that way…it stung.
It cut
It wounded.
And I was wounded enough.
I pointed at him. “You stop it. Quit acting like you give a damn, and stay the fuck out of my life. You and I…we are nothing to each other. Less than strangers.”
He shook his head, and that set me off. I had to restrain myself from attacking him, but in my head I was shoving, hitting, slapping. Grabbing his shirt in both fists.
In reality, in that pregnant, futile moment, we only stared at each other.
We were both panting. I clenched and unclenched my fists, and watched his hands copying the motion.
“Please,” he mouthed.
I left, and thank God he didn’t stop me.
I went to a very public gala with Milton the next weekend. There was a red carpet with photographers. I smiled like I was having the best night of my life for those cameras, and tried not to think about the fact that I had said yes to this mostly out of spite. Tristan would see these pictures, and he would know just how much of a say he had in my life.
I let Milton kiss me goodnight when he dropped me back off at my apartment, but I didn’t invite him in. It was a good kiss. The man knew what he was doing. I knew I’d let him do it again.
He met me for lunch the following Monday in a posh café near the L.A gallery.
He had a black eye, and a badly swollen cheek that he claimed was from football practice. His story didn’t change, even when I tried to pry further.
Still, I couldn’t get the bizarre notion that Tristan had done it out of my head. I had no proof, just a strong gut feeling.
I cooked lasagna for him at my place the following weekend, and then I let him kiss me again. I even let him get to second base, and was half tempted to let him get to third.
Though I didn’t, it was nice to feel tempted. I’d half feared that part of me was permanently broken.
Perhaps I still had some shot at a love life.
He was easy to talk to, and we chatted on the phone nearly every day for three weeks. I wasn’t quite letting myself think of him as my boyfriend, or ready to even want something like that, but it certainly seemed to be heading in that direction.
I wasn’t sure how to feel about it all, but I was enjoying myself. He didn’t give me butterflies exactly, but at least I felt something, some shadow of the fervor that I’d tasted for a brief time.
It was nothing like the inferno of passion I’d felt for Tristan, but even so, it was a relief to find that I could still be lit at all, even if it was just a tiny flame.
It was the three week mark almost exactly when I got a call from his number, only it wasn’t him on the other end this time.
We’d made plans to meet that night for dinner, and I hadn’t been expecting a call from him, so my tone was a bit of a question as I answered, “Hello?”
“Is this Danika?” a woman on the other end asked. She sounded like she’d been crying.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“This is Belinda.”
“Hello, Belinda. How may I help you?” Her shaky voice sent me into auto-pilot, which for me was a sort of detached professionalism.
“I am Milton’s girlfriend,” she proclaimed, her shaky voice turning hard with anger.
“Excuse me?” I asked, completely caught off guard. How had I missed this?
“He and I have been together for nine years. I live with him. He doesn’t know that I know about you, but when he gets out of the shower, I’ll hand him the phone, and he can tell you all about me.”
I didn’t have a clue what to say to that, so we shared an awkward silence for a good two minutes before I came out with, “I had no idea-“
“Well, now you do, so what are you going to do about it?” Her tone was animated, but there was something so off about the entire thing, like she wasn’t at all surprised. How many times had Milton pulled this on her? I wondered, feeling a little disconnected from the entire thing.
Finally, Milton came on the line, his tone an apology, an apology for me, which I heard quickly set Belinda off on the other end.
“Danika, I can explain.”
I rolled my eyes, feeling more stupid than hurt. He’d only said four words, but all of the pieces of him clicked into place with those words, the way he shaped each syllable like he’d said it a thousand times, the perfect inflection in his cajoling tone as he launched the beginning salvo that led to the lies.
I heard the liar in him, the line he was about to tell. I had his number now. There was no undoing it. “Don’t bother. Just erase me from your contact list, please.”
It said a lot that my mind focused mostly on Tristan, and the fact that he’d been right about Milton. If I had listened to him, I’d have saved myself that embarrassment.
That pissed me off more than any other part of the entire sordid thing.

R.K. Lilley lives in Colorado with her husband and their two beautiful sons. She’s had a lot of interesting jobs, from being a first class flight attendant, to being a stablehand, but swears she never knew what hard work was until she had children. She’s been addicted to both reading and writing fiction since she can remember. She loves to travel, read, hike, paint, game, watch anime, and make the most of every single day. She is the author of the erotic romance novels In Flight, Mile High, Grounded, and the novella, Lana.


Tristan hit rock bottom, and no one felt the impact harder than Danika. She was forced to see, in the most brutal of ways, that love does not conquer all. Bruised, bloody, and broken she had to walk away.

Picking up the pieces of your life after a tragedy is a daunting prospect, and that’s considering you still own all of the pieces. But what if you don’t? What if someone else owns those pieces, and those pieces are a part of your soul?
You dig deep and work with what you’ve got.
That’s what Danika told herself and believed, every single day, for years.
Tristan and Danika’s love had failed every test that life had thrown at them. She couldn’t forget that, not for one second. And if those tests had been overly harsh, well, she wasn’t one to wallow in self-pity. The failure was the thing she had to focus on. The failure was the lesson. She had no intention of working so hard to make it out of hell without learning that lesson well.

Over six years after the night that changed everything, Danika finds herself forced to spend the weekend constantly in Tristan’s company, as they attend the wedding of two of their dearest friends. It’s been long enough that she feels they can be friendly again without it destroying her peace of mind, but just a small amount of time in his presence has her remembering something she had forced herself to forget: There’d been a reason she’d gone through hell with this man, for this man, some true good to precede the bad.
She shocks herself by quickly giving in to a hunger that she never imagined could still consume her.
Even the best intentioned denial has a breaking point.

After everything that’s happened, the rise and the fall, the pain and the aftermath, can these two navigate the waters of acute regret, survive the trials of coming face to face with all that they have lost, and find the strength to try again?

This book is intended for readers 18 and up.

Cover Reveal: Mr. Beautiful by R.K. Lilley

Mr. Beautiful (Up in the Air #4)
From R.K. Lilley’s blog: Mr. Beautiful will be a male point-of-view novel for the Up in the Air series that tells the story of James, and Stephan, and their unwavering love of a woman that would make the two men family.

I couldn’t sleep after the shooting.
Bianca slept like a baby, like she never had before, like every worry she’d ever had had disappeared with the death of her father.
But not me. I was more restless than ever. A miracle had saved her, not me, and I felt helpless because of it. That was not a feeling that fit me well. In fact, it made my skin crawl in discomfort. In anger.
It had been months since the attack. She and Stephan were healed physically, and it seemed, emotionally, but I felt the wounds as though they were fresh. What had almost happened haunted me. I was a man that needed control, and I’d been shown, in the starkest way possible, that I hadnone.
I sat scant feet away from our bed, watching Bianca sleep. She was nude, with not so much as a sheet covering her. I’d seen to that. I watched her lithe form shift on the bed, one long leg hitching up to give me a glimpse of the pink between her legs.
I felt like a fucking stalker. Truth be told, I was one, watching her for hours on end, night after night.
I tensed when I realized she’d roused. It upset her that I couldn’t sleep, when she deserved peace more than anyone.
She sat up, and I watched her heavy breasts swaying with the movement. “James.” Her voice was the softest utterance.
“Love,” I answered, feeling the dark mood that had overtaken me lift in an instant. Just having her eyes on me could do that.
She crawled across the bed toward me. She’d always had an uncanny ability to do exactly the thing that would drive me the most wild, and she’d only gotten better at that over time. She didn’t hide her body from me as she moved. In fact, she posed for me, even the exposure of her body an act of submission. As though reading my thoughts, as though even those were a command, she paused on the edge of the bed, parting her legs to let me look my fill before she rose, approaching my chair.
I stood to meet her, my body drawn tight, my cock throbbing as though I hadn’t come, buried inside of her, just hours before.
I was a statue as she leaned up to my ear, my brows drawing together in a question. Her lips touched my ear as she spoke.
“Hurt me,” she whispered raggedly.
My eyes shut tight, my jaw went slack, and a shudder wracked my entire body. This woman destroyed my self-control.
I’d avoided all of the rough stuff since she’d been injured, but God had I missed it.
“We don’t have to, Bianca. It’s not necess-“
She gripped my hair, pulling my face down to her injured cheek. She dug her jaw into me so hard that I knew it must be hurting her badly.
“I need it,” she rasped into my ear. “I’ll never stop needing it. Please.”
I pulled back, and my hands trembled as I cupped her face in my hands, my eyes searching hers desperately for what I wanted to see. Need. Yes. She needed this as much as I did. Perhaps more so.
“Get on the bed,” I told her thickly.
R.K. Lilley lives in Colorado with her husband and their two beautiful sons. She’s had a lot of interesting jobs, from being a first class flight attendant, to being a stablehand, but swears she never knew what hard work was until she had children. She’s been addicted to both reading and writing fiction since she can remember. She loves to travel, read, hike, paint, game, watch anime, and make the most of every single day. She is the author of the erotic romance novels In Flight, Mile High, Grounded, and the novella, Lana.
IN FLIGHT (Up in the Air #1)
MILE HIGH (Up in the Air #2)
GROUNDED (Up in the Air #3)
LANA (Novella)

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