Born and bred in the UK, my whole life was turned on its head when, at the tender age of eighteen, I met and fell instantly in love with my darling husband. I knew the minute I met him I was going to marry him and, fortunately, he came to the same conclusion less than six months later.
My husband has shown me the world, starting by bringing me to Australia. The country we now call home, and where we have raised our two boys. It didn’t take me long to turn native, becoming a citizen and dropping the British accent. However, our wanderlust didn’t stop there. We have moved from state to state, always ready for a new adventure. We have also visited many destinations around the world.
My stories reflect my love for travel and exotic locations, along with my quirky British sense of humor. Well, you can’t give up all of your heritage now can you?
Lillian has brought along her book, Hot Male
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 Ireland 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.
Tracking down the runaway lovers is complicated by the coldest winter in Dublin in years. With Michael, Maggie and Sam stuck in a house with only one bedroom, simmering sexual tension starts to boil over.
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.
Excerpt from 'Hot Male'
Shannon scowled at the glasses with the stupid colored umbrellas as Pete placed them on her tray. Thursday was her night off. They never opened on Thursdays. She had plans to visit a club in one of London’s less seedy areas, and she was an exotic dancer not a fucking waitress.
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.”
Shannon delivered the drinks with a forced smile on her face, and then scooted to the back of the room to join Lisa who was already slacking off. The brunette passed Shannon a cigarette and lit it for her before blowing smoke rings. Shannon inhaled deeply and sighed as the nicotine hit her bloodstream. “Have you seen the hired naked dick?”
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.”
Shannon giggled. “Oh God, this could be a right laugh if he gets stage fright. His dick’ll shrivel up. We’ll need a magnifying glass to find it.”
Pete came to stand behind them, and Shannonedged 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. Shannon’s 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 floor.
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 Shannon 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 Shannon could 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 is he?”
Pete’s breath warmed the back of her neck. “His name’s Michael Monaghan.”
Find Lillian online:
Liquid Silver Books: http://www.lsbooks.com/lillian-grant-c161.php
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