Saturday, May 23, 2015

Blog Tour + Excerpt + Review + Giveaway: Suit Yourself (Men of London #3) by Susan Mac Nicol

Scarred both physically and emotionally after a motorcycle accident, twenty-five year old ex fashion model and porn star Oliver Brown is about to be stripped bare by flamboyant twink Leslie Scott—and they’ll rebuild love from the bottom up. 


Twenty-five year old Oliver Brown is addicted. Two years ago, he was at the height of his career as “Nicky Starr,” fashion model, porn actor, partier without peer. Then came the accident. Hiding his scars, both emotional and physical, he’s gone into hiding. But fine clothing is some solace. A new suit by Debussy? Better even than a ride on his motorcycle Hulk or all the things he used to give and take on camera. 

Enter Leslie Scott, the flamboyant, dark-haired, heel-and-tiny-short-wearing twink sent to deliver Oliver’s newest fix. A firecracker, Leslie is dapper, generous, in touch with his feminine side but all man, and as gorgeous as any garment ever made. He makes Oliver dream of ending his reclusion, of recapturing a future forever denied him. But for that to happen, Leslie would have to strip him to the bone. Only then will they rebuild life from the bottom up.

Strong fingers tangled in his hair as he kissed the crap out of Oliver, and Leslie floated in a sense of bliss. The scent of the man on top of him, his hardness digging into Leslie’s groin, the feel of lustful lips on his and the roughness of stubble on Leslie’s skin were all conspiring to send him out of his mind. He reached down and unzipped Oliver, desperate to feel that hardness in his hands. Oliver gave a heartfelt groan as Leslie’s fingers gripped his dick tightly, and his mouth grew even more ravenous. When they finally came up for air, Leslie’s lips were swollen and his brain completely scrambled by his lover’s greedy tongue and the rough strokes on his dick. He’d never felt so taken and assaulted and wanted in his life, and he loved it.
“You haven’t had any for a while, huh?” Leslie managed to get out between hungry, sloppy kisses and Oliver’s hand roaming all over his body, yanking up shirts, and rubbing his passion-hot skin.
“Christ, it has been too damn long,” Oliver panted as they stroked and mauled each other. “I’m sorry I’m not going to last enough to fuck you right now, Leslie, but we have all night. I want so badly to be inside you, but I need to take the edge off first.”
And that thought sent a thrill through Leslie’s groin and his dick exploded with creamy spurts of come that flooded his designer jeans and his groin, and he gave a strangled cry, pressed his mouth hard against Oliver’s neck, and bit down in the throes of his orgasm.
Yup, I’m a biter. Hope you can deal with it, Oliver.
Oliver yelped as Leslie’s teeth nipped skin and then he threw back his head and roared. Warm fluid coated Leslie’s hand, the scent of sex in the air overpowering. Oliver collapsed against him, both of them sticky and replete. Leslie closed his eyes to savour the fact he’d just jerked off Nicky Starr, his personal wet dream. Satisfaction radiated through his limbs and he smiled against Oliver’s sweaty shoulder.

The first ‘date’ although neither of them wants to call it such yet…

Oliver sat at his usual table at Fidalgo’s, his fingers nervously tapping the red-chequered table top. His stomach was in knots and he’d barely slept last night. He’d even thought of crying off today and telling Leslie that something had come up and he wouldn’t make it. However, the thought of Katie—who’d highly approved of the coffee plan—bitching at him for not going was worse than the alternative. 
And he really did want to see Leslie again. He’d thought of nothing more from their last phone call. It would be good to talk someone who was so bright and bubbly and, he admitted to himself, sex on a stick. Although that wasn’t what he wanted from this, he reminded himself. He needed a friend, not a lover. And besides, he doubted Leslie would be interested in him that way. He probably had a string of undamaged goods at his beck and call.
For God’s sake, stop analysing everything and get on with it.
Despite that thought, his cock throbbed in his black jeans when he saw Leslie enter the coffee shop. The man looked like he had just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Dressed in tight black chinos, finished with high-heeled black boots, with a white collared shirt and a leather jacket, wearing the biggest pair of sunglasses Oliver had ever seen, Leslie looked mouth-wateringly tempting. His jet black hair was styled artfully over his face, one strand of hair falling down, making Oliver want to brush it away. He took Oliver’s breath away.

Down boy, he cautioned himself. Keep it simple. Just friends, remember?
Alberto, the owner, approached Leslie and gestured, then his coffee date looked over to where Oliver sat and the most beautiful smile flooded his face.

Oh dear God, Oliver thought desperately. I am in so much fucking trouble.

Want to find out more about the book and the characters? 
Head down to visit his website and have a truly visual sexperience
Meet Nicky in all his glory and see what he has to say about the porn industry, love, and life in general. 
This is a website intended for 18+ only and if you are easily offended, we suggest you stay away.


One of London’s up-and-coming chefs, Eddie Tripp has just the right recipe to drive tragedy from the mind of Gideon Kent—and leave him senseless with desire. 

From Soho to Norwich, there’s no escaping love. 

An award-winning chef with his own restaurant and an inexhaustible passion, Gideon Kent once had everything. Then came tragedy. It stole more than Gideon’s home. He hasn’t cooked since. 

Until Eddie Tripp. Fun-loving and vivacious, the Norfolk redhead’s a real up-and-comer in Gideon’s kitchen—and other places. Slim where Gideon’s broad, easy-going where Gideon is growly, he and Gideon seem polar opposites, and yet Eddie conjures flavors that would tempt anyone with a taste for perfection. The sauce of love is already simmering, and this pair is about to dine on the most delicious dish they’ve ever prepared. Because Eddie’s been Gideon’s missing ingredient all along.

The murder of a shared friend leads a high-profile investigator and a psychic into a mystery involving lies, blackmail, BDSM—and into each other’s arms. 


From Charing Cross to Waterloo, there’s no escaping love. 


28-year-old Draven Samuels has a tragic past, but as an investigator with a high-profile London company he now gets what he wants. Tough, sarcastic, and sceptical, he has no patience for lies and even less for people who waste his time. Even if they’re as beautiful as the wild and dark-haired Taylor Abelard. Especially when they’re talking over the body of a murder victim. 


Psychic Taylor Abelard is used to people calling him a freak. He can see past events and feel the ghostly vibrations of people close to him who’ve passed on. It’s why he doesn’t get too close to the living. But this time, against his better judgment, despite Draven’s mocking rejoinders, Taylor will get closer than ever before. The mystery of a dead friend will lead the two men down a dark and seedy trail of blackmail and lies. Add in the heartbreak of a family tragedy, and events lead them straight into each other’s arms. By the end of this night, all their demons will have risen—and been banished with the dawn.

Susan Mac Nicol is a self confessed bookaholic, an avid watcher of videos of sexy pole dancing men, self confessed geek and nerd and in love with her Smartphone. This little treasure is called ‘the boyfriend’ by her long suffering husband, who says if it vibrated, there’d be no need for him. Susan hasn’t had the heart to tell him there’s an app for that…

She is never happier than when sitting in the confines of her living room/study/on a cold station platform scribbling down words and making two men fall in love. She is a romantic at heart and believes that everything happens (for the most part) for a reason.  She likes to think of herself as a ‘half full’ kinda gal, although sometimes that philosophy is sorely tested.

Lover of walks in the forest, theatre productions, dabbling her toes in the cold North Sea and the vibrant city of London where you can experience all four seasons in a day , she is a hater of pantomime (so please don’t tar and feather her), duplicitous people, bigotry and self righteous idiots. 

In an ideal world, Susan Mac Nicol would be Queen of England and banish all the bad people to the Never Never Lands of Wherever -Who Cares. As that’s never going to happen, she contents herself with writing her HEA stories and pretending, that just for a little while, good things happen to good 

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