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Friday, November 2, 2018

Feature and Giveaway: Dangerous Exes by Rachel Van Dyken

Isla made one teeny little mistake. Now she and her PI company, Dirty Exes, are being targeted by one seriously angry and furiously sexy ex-quarterback. Jessie freakin’ Beckett. But there’s no way some NFL superhunk is going to take her business away. If only he didn’t make her so hot—and bothered.

Jessie wants payback for a ruined reputation. His plan? Top secret. His hard-to-hide arousal for Isla? Not so much. Especially when they let down their guards and sneak a kiss. Like any juicy scandal, it goes so viral, so fast, that only a good lie can combat the bad press. Mortal enemies in a fling? No way. Um…this is love!

Actually…could it be?

Isla’s not faking it. Jessie can’t. As the game of let’s pretend gets real, Jessie forgets all about revenge. That’s the problem. His plan is already out of his control. Now it could undo everything they’ve been trying to build. Coming clean may be the only thing that can save it.

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I’d had maybe three hours of solid sleep last night—ever since Jessie’s kiss I’d been consumed by the heat of his mouth until I woke up moaning like he was in my bed ready to pounce.

It was unfortunate that I hated him.

And that he hated me just as much, possibly more.

My heels clicked against the concrete as I quickly made my way into the LA Hills Hollywood Retirement Plaza. It was an upscale retirement community for older movie stars and industry professionals.

It had four pools.

A freaking Starbucks.

And basically anything an old rich person could possibly want except for cabana boys—apparently that’s where they drew the line no matter how many times my aunt had her friends sign a petition.

They almost won last year.

She went as far as putting up posters of Efron to Hemsworth around the retirement community and inviting Bieber to do a benefit concert to help their efforts. Shockingly, Justin said no.

I couldn’t imagine why it wouldn’t be appealing to perform half-naked in front of eighty-year-olds? Where was the kid’s sense of adventure?

I grinned and waved at Henry, the sixty-year-old volunteer receptionist who asked me out for coffee and the early-bird special every weekend.

Sometimes I took him up on it.

Best dates I’ve ever had were with Henry.

And we always split the bill.

He blew me a kiss, his blue eyes twinkled as he nodded his head to the main activity center.

Frowning, I weaved my way down the hall toward all the chatter and laughter. My Aunt Betsy, or Goo-Poh (what I called her in front of others as a term of respect), wasn’t in her usual blue chair, which was odd considering that chair wielded more power than the United Nations.

Wars were won in that chair.

Wars about what activities would be participated in, who was allowed to date who, and which dessert would be served on Funday Friday—she was essentially the queen bee of a very old hive, and it fit her, kept her busy. She’d been a director in another life—bossing people around, me included, was her life’s calling.

“Isla!” I heard her call my name but didn’t see anything except a crowd of people tittering over something in the middle of the room.

That sense of dread intensified until it was hard to breathe.

And then the crowd parted.

Betsy grinned up at me with a wide smile then wrapped her arm around a man I could only describe as a perfect representation of Satan.

“Jessie,” I said through a clenched-teeth smile. “You’re … here.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world … pumpkin.”

I flinched.

He noticed.

I hated him.

So. Much.

My stomach fluttered as he leaned in and kissed my aunt’s cheek, and then set her on her feet. “We were just having a nice chat.”

“A nice … chat,” I finished. “About what? World hunger? Why the hell are you following me everywhere?”

Silence ensued.

I crossed my arms as my face flushed.

“Pumpkin, I thought we talked about this.” Jessie smirked. “You said every Tuesday you visit your favorite aunt, and you promised this Tuesday I could come with you.”


Jessie shrugged. “I could have misheard you, you do mumble in your sleep.”

About five women clutched their chests while the elderly men elbowed each other.


Goo-Poh gave me such a happy smile I didn’t have the heart to tell her that not only was I not sleeping with Jessie, but I had actually scheduled time to plot his murder later and was planning on doing it drunk off my ass.

“Goo-Poh.” I pulled her in for a tight hug. “Let me just … talk to my pumpkin really quick and I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, honey”—Goo-Poh gave him a once-over and visibly trembled—“you take your sweet time.” She winked at Jessie and returned to her giant blue chair while her little friends gathered around her like her niece had just snagged the Sexiest Man Alive.

I scowled.

So he’d been on the cover of People twice.

But that was at least three years ago.

Maybe two.

I hardly noticed.

I tugged at my blouse while Jessie’s eyes raked over me. “You.”

“Me.” His smile was back.

Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author known for regency romances, contemporary romances, and her love of coffee and Swedish fish. Rachel’s also recently inked a deal for her Wingmen Inc. series—The Matchmaker’s Playbook and The Matchmaker’s Replacement—to be made into movies.

A fan of The Bachelor and the Seattle Seahawks (not necessarily in that order), Rachel lives in Idaho with her husband, a super cute toddler son who keeps her on her toes, and two boxers. Make sure you check out her site,, and follow her on Twitter (@RachVD)

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