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The Rock Star’s Escape by @RobynRychards is an Indie Authors pick #romance #indie #giveaway

Title: The Rock Star’s Escape

Author: Robyn Rychards

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Book Blurb:

He's a rock star on the run who never expected her to rock his world. Andrée Bancroft lives a sheltered life on St. Barthelemy and there’s no place she’d rather be. When a famous singing artist shows up at the villa her father manages, she has no clue who he is. It’s the compelling man that attracts her. Maximillian Chanteur is desperate. His fiancée dumped him, his muse has vanished and he’s sick of living in a fishbowl. Escape to an island villa is exactly what he needs. Artist Andrée Bancroft is not! Will their time on the island, and in the whirlwind life of a celebrity in the States, teach them what’s really important?


The girl wasn’t more than five feet away when she finally saw him leaning against the palm tree. Though he hid it, her shock when she noticed him was amusing. Although, now he thought about it, he probably looked a little rough around the edges after flying for hours on end. His loosely curling, dark hair was escaping from the short ponytail at the back of his neck and he hadn’t shaved in at least three days. He hadn’t slept much lately either, so all in all he presented a rather haggard appearance. Piratical even. Not that his adoring fans cared how he looked. It was all good to them.

Monsieur! Qu’est ce que c’est? Qui êtes-vous?”

The soft, soothing voice fell on his ears like music and he was so bemused by it, it took him a moment to realize she spoke in French.

“I’m sorry. I don’t speak French. The best I can do is ‘bonjour and maybe a few other words here and there.”

His deep, gravelly voice normally had more than his fair share of the female population melting at his feet, but apparently wasn’t having that effect on her. She merely looked at him inquiringly.

Her voice, on the other hand, had him wishing he did speak French. He would’ve paid a lot to hear her speak again. However, as his eyes appreciatively raked her figure, he concluded the view more than compensated. When they returned to her face, he decided they needed to stay there. Though she didn’t appear bothered by his perusal, he didn’t like what it was doing to him. He clenched his fists for a moment in an effort to keep his hands to himself. What the hell? They actually ached with the need to follow the path of his eyes.

A disconcerted look crossed her face. “That’s okay I speak English. Who are you? This is private property. You shouldn’t be here.”

She pulled the sun-streaked hair hanging down her back to the front, effectively and modestly covering all that exposed golden flesh. And yes, it made him look again, before he could stop himself. Her action, though, didn’t strike him as a result of embarrassment, more of a habit. Was she aware how distracting her attributes were? Damn! Now he wanted to feel her golden tresses running through his fingers before relishing the heat and softness of her skin.

He gave himself a mental slap. Get a grip. He was here to get away from women. All women, not just one in particular. He hardened his heart. He needed to take control of the situation before things got out of hand. Something he had far more experience with than any person should.

“I might ask you the same.”

He braced himself and wondered how creative this one was going to be. Been there done that and seen it all. Though usually not without a bodyguard or two. She was doing a good job pretending she didn’t know who he was, but he’d seen crazy fans pull all sorts of things, so he was ready for anything. Well, mostly. As long as she didn’t draw too much attention from the people enjoying the beach. A mob of crazy fans rather than just this one was more than he could cope with, all things considered. He glanced around and his tense muscles relaxed. Not too many people nearby, thank goodness.

“This is the private path to my family’s villa, so I suggest you continue your journey down the beach and be glad I’m not calling the authorities. And I don’t want to see you around here again. Your attempt to attract my attention wearing almost nothing failed, sweetheart. Go find someone else. It shouldn’t be too hard.”

She gasped, a confused look on her face. A flash of anger crossed it too, but only briefly. “Qu’est-ce que c’est? I am sorry, Monsieur. You say Villa Chanson des Palmiers belongs to your family?”

He narrowed his eyes. She knew the name of the villa. Did it mean she had a right to use the path or merely that she was a native of St. Barth?

“Yes.” He ground his teeth. He was done. He just wanted to be left alone. He couldn’t begin to guess what her tactic was, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d spotted him at the airport and hoped to have a fling with a rock star.

Sacre bleu!” she muttered and before he could do more than blink, she brushed past him and darted up the path to the villa.

His stomach tightened. The picture she made sprinting up the path, her blond mane streaming behind her, took his breath away, rooted him to the spot and removed every other thought from his head. He clenched and unclenched his hands in protest to the thundering of his heart. Maybe he was wrong about her. She certainly wasn’t acting like a crazy fan. Just crazy. She’d hardly given him the time of day and was headed for the villa like she lived there.

Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub):


B & N:





Why is your featured book a must-read?

Everyone wants to escape from time to time, including my hero in The Rock Star’s Escape. Make his escape your escape to the island of St. Barthelemy and enjoy some sand, surf, glamour and rock and roll!

Giveaway –

Enter to win an e-book bundle of all 31 books featured in the Indie Authors Bookish Event:

Open Internationally.

Runs December 8 – December 13, 2020.

Winner will be drawn on December 16, 2020.

Author Biography:

Robyn Rychards grew up in the granola bowl of the United States, Boulder Colorado, a town filled with fruits, flakes and nuts. She considers herself a Jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none and has taught herself to sew, paint, play the piano, garden, cook, the list goes on. But now that her books are published, she’s thrilled to finally be considered a master of one. At least as much as a person can be, for the learning never really stops.

She feels her active imagination is a blessing and a curse, with the blessing far outweighing the curse since it has led her to fulfil her dream of being published by Harlequin. Robyn started writing when she was a teenager because she didn’t have enough books to read and sometimes finds it hard to believe that people are willing to pay her to do something she enjoys so much. Then there’s the added bonus of having a good reason to put off cooking and cleaning, much less a job that means you can stay in your jammies as long as you want… Can’t beat that!

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