Well, do I have the thing for you!
Lillian Grant, my pub buddy at Liquid Silver Books, and fellow author at Love, Lust and Laptops is here! I am so excited. Lillian is an awesome lady who knows how to write hot, funny books. She has been known to reduce people to tears because they are laughing so hard, or gasping over her hot men. She's here to tell us about her newest, so hold on tight!
Lillian is giving away a copy of her Happy Birthday, Nancy Tobin to everyone who comments and a copy of Hot Male to one lucky person, so be sure to leave a comment with email address!
Fill your boots, or maybe your stockings
As much as I love the fat man coming to my house and leaving me gifts, this Christmas has been special for a whole other reason. While the world unwrapped presents, drank too much booze, ate too much food and fell asleep on the sofa whilst listening to the Queen’s speech, or is that just at my house, I was busy admiring my latest release.
There is something magical about having your book come out on Christmas Day. Not Christmas Day I hear you say but Christmas Eve surely. Not for me. I live in a time warp and hit Christmas way ahead of most of the rest of the world. So, by the time Liquid Silver Books hit the publish button I was well into the Christmas spirit. Turkey roasting, despite the heat wave outside, wrapping paper strewn all over the house and bubbly flowing to toast the season and release number eight for me, Hot Male, Reigning Men Volume Three.
Now that the excitement has died down a little and the gifts are all done, how about a present from me. Would you like a hot male Irish Stripper in your stockings? Or perhaps you would prefer him to fill your boots. Either way leave a comment below and you could win a copy of Hot Male, and just because I can, everyone who comments will get a free copy of one of my backlist, Happy Birthday, Nancy Tobin.
Hot Male blurb:
One man. One sensual dance. One night only to prove his love.
Michael wants Maggie. Maggie has Sam. Two’s company, three’s a crowd.
Years ago, Maggie tried to seduce Michael Monaghan, only to have her efforts rebuffed. Now she’s older, wiser, happily in love with Sam Stephens, and determined to keep her distance from Michael.
Michael Monaghan, hot male stripper, has all manner of women falling at his feet, except Maggie. All he can do is watch from afar as Sam Stephens wins the heart of the one woman he really wants.
Sam Stephens is just tired of Michael watching Maggie’s every move.
Now there’s trouble with a capital T! Maggie’s Great-Aunt Maud has run off to
with Michael’s Uncle
Declan. Maggie needs to get to Aunt Maud and talk some sense into her before
Declan’s gun-totting wife catches up with them. With Michael and Maggie off to Ireland
together, Sam isn’t about to be left behind. Ireland
Tracking down the runaway lovers is complicated by the coldest winter in
in years. With Michael, Maggie and Sam stuck in a house with only one bedroom,
simmering sexual tension starts to boil over. Dublin
Michael wants Maggie. Maggie isn’t sure what she wants. Sam just wants to punch Michael in the nose.
Two’s company; three could be something else altogether.
Hot Male Excerpt:
Pete put the last drink down. “Table eight.”
“It won’t work.”
He leaned on the bar and leered at her boobs before running a finger along the edge of her skimpy bikini top, teasing the edge of a barely covered nipple. “We’ll see.”
She shifted out of reach. Pete disgusted her, and the more she resisted the more he seemed to want her. Not that it stopped him trying to whore her out to customers. She didn’t do sex for money, and she didn’t do sex with Pete, period. Fortunately, she pulled a big enough crowd that he wouldn’t dare get rid of her for refusing his gross seduction techniques. “Women won’t pay to see men take off their clothes.”
Pete glanced over her shoulder. “You want to tell them that?”
“You let them in for fucking free.”
“They’re paying for drinks, aren’t they? Or they would be if you’d fucking deliver them. Chop, chop. The show’s about to start.”
“I bet you’ve got some ugly old bloke with shriveled bollocks who won’t even flop his sad dick out.”
Pete laughed. “You’ll see. Now move it.”
Lisa shook her head. “Nope, Pete’s had him under wraps. Rumor I heard was that he’s foreign and he’s never taken his clothes off in front of an audience before.”
Pete came to stand behind them, and Shannon edged away as his fingers brushed her arse. The lights dimmed and the room was plunged into darkness. A hush fell over the crowd and then a deep guitar wail filled the air. A single spotlight hit the stage.
stripper pole had been transformed into a lamppost. As the strains of Gary
Moore’s Parisienne Walkways mesmerized the crowd a barefoot male
stepped into the light, resplendent in top hat and tails, with a cane and
gloves completing his ensemble. He lifted his head to reveal shoulder-length
dark hair, chiseled features and full lips. He gave off an air of sexy
disinterest at being the center of attention. His dark eyes scanned the crowd
as he tossed the cane to someone offstage and then grabbed the lamppost with
one hand and spun around in a twirl so low his hair almost brushed the timber
Women yelled and whistled as he danced in front of the pole and began to remove his clothes. His hips moved in time with the music and the lamppost all but became his lover as his gloves, jacket, shirt and pants were tossed aside. He slid his hands over his body.
Shannon’s skin warmed and her nipples pebbled as she
imagined him touching her like that.
Standing in only a top hat and G-string, he moved to the music with a grace that made
catch her breath. He was six-feet tall, studly and bad boy fucking awesome.
When the guitar wailed on a single note the stripper stopped, dropped his head,
and held his hat in front of his crotch. The air rippled with tension and Shannon licked her lips as she wondered if he would
really go the full monty. As the note ended he tugged his G-string off, and Shannon held her breath. The song and the room fell
completely silent for a heartbeat, and when the guitar riff echoed around the
room he flipped the hat into his right hand and rolled it up his arm to land
perfectly on his head. He spread his arms wide and tipped his head back to give
all the ladies an eyeful of his junk. Shannon
wasn’t the only one to wolf whistle.
Lisa coughed on her drink. “Fuck. He’s hung like a fucking horse.” She fumbled with her cigarette packet, trying to pull out another smoke, and
hardly blame her.
The song continued and he dropped his hands and lifted his head. From the low moans in the room,
Shannon was sure she wasn’t the only one who felt
thoroughly shagged by the stranger on stage. His dark eyes locked with Shannon’s. He smiled, and she swallowed as a shiver
rippled up her spine and her panties dampened. “He’s fucking magnificent. Who
Pete’s breath warmed the back of her neck. “His name’s Michael Monaghan.”
Liquid Silver Books: http://www.lsbooks.com/lillian-grant-c161.php