RELEASE TOUR – Winnie Takes Paris by Lane Hayes
The fabulous stylist, the absentminded professor, and a Parisian adventure…
Length: 54,000 words
Series: Love and Travel, Book 2
Genre: Contemporary
Tropes: Age-Gap, Opposites Attract, Humor, RomCom, Travel Romance.
Heat: 5 out of 5
Winnie
Hey, I don’t regret taking an oddball assignment to assist a British professor abroad. I could use a break from my life as an aspiring hair and style guru in LA. The only worrisome snag is that the professor is determined to do everything on his own.
Not acceptable. I’m here to help the impossibly smart geek with mismatched socks who just happens to be my best friend’s boss.
Alistair
Paris calls. And somehow, I have a new temporary assistant.
Winnie is a technicolor, whirlwind American with a wicked laugh and the subtlety of a steamroller. He’s brash and ridiculous and…funny, warm, lovely, and—
Oh no.
Winnie can take Paris, but he can’t take my heart.
Winnie Takes Paris is an MM romantic comedy featuring a fabulous diva, a nerdy professor, and the Parisian adventure of a lifetime!
EXCERPT:
Hold up.
Earth to Win! There would be no perving on the sexy professor. Alistair was off bounds. And let’s remember, I’d been worried sick about him for days. If I found any gray hair on my head, it was his fault and I was going to be pissed.
“Nothing’s wrong, but—”
“Good. Enjoy your day.” His lips curled into a weak approximation of a smile as he closed the door.
I raised my hand like a shield and stepped around him to avoid having my fingers smashed, and accidentally—I swear I have no idea how it happened—dislodged his towel.
Imagine my surprise when I whirled to face him with my best “don’t mess with me” expression locked and loaded only to find myself ogling a naked man.
Excuse me, a naked professor.
Personally, I had no words. I gaped for far longer than was polite as Alistair bent to pick up the towel, and somehow managed not to fan myself, which was a damn miracle ’cause the view was…wow.
His ass was thick and yummy, and his cock was absolute perfection, hanging between a neatly-trimmed thatch of hair. The towel was back in a flash. He refastened it, muttering something about changing into clothes before disappearing into the bedroom.
Gulp.
I set my hands on my hips, then crossed them over my chest, licking my lips nervously. I wasn’t sure what the proper etiquette was, but my guess was that it would be best to pretend it never happened. Good plan.
I paced to the window and opened the drapes, blinking against the flood of sunlight as I surveyed the room. Geez, it looked like a war zone.
No kidding. Books, scattered papers, and three laptops shared space on the dining table with a medley of used mugs, a teapot, and an assortment of cookie wrappers, while the floor was covered with towels and empty water bottles.
First of all, I was impressed that he’d managed to fit this much shit into the one suitcase he’d brought. And second, I had a feeling he hadn’t eaten anything other than cookies for few days. This was bad.
I was raised in a loving Mexican American home where food was life. You’re sad, eat. You’re mad, eat. You broke up with your bum boyfriend who ghosted you for a month and wants to see you now…don’t do that, and eat. All serious conversations happened over a meal. So did joyful ones. If you asked my abuela, food cured everything but stupid, and I believed her.
Alistair Creighton was a brilliant man who did some deep thinking about shit I couldn’t begin to comprehend, but no one’s brain was at its best if all you ate was—
“What the hell is a Jammie Dodger?” I mumbled, fingering the empty red package on the table.
“It’s a delicious biscuit,” the professor replied, tugging at the sleeves of a beige sweater that did nothing to complement his baggy khakis.
Clothes certainly didn’t make a man, but now that I’d seen what was underneath all that cotton and polyester-wool blended nonsense, I was a little confused. Did he not understand how much sexiness he was hiding?
Whatever. The man needed a real breakfast. And to vacate the room so housekeeping could do their thing.
I dropped the empty packet into the trash and pasted a smile on my face. “I’m sure they’re fabulous, but one can’t live on jelly-filled cookies alone. C’mon, I’m taking you to breakfast, Professor, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to. I’m in the middle of an important project, but thank you for the invitation.” Alistair moved to the door and opened it to give me the old heave-ho.
“Nope. I’m not going anywhere without you,” I insisted. “I know you’re very important and that you do very important work, but I can’t stand by while you eat processed crap while I’m feasting on the best bread and cheese and wine I’ve ever had in my life. It’s not right.”
“I appreciate your concern, but—” He furrowed his brow as I flattened my back to the doorjamb and slid down the wall. “What are you doing?”
“Protesting. You come with me, or I stay here with you…just like this.”
“Winnie…”
“Alistair…”
About the Author:
Lane Hayes lives in sunny Southern California with her amazing husband, who thankfully doesn’t mind cooking, and their fabulous fox red Labrador, George, who’s pure mischief. Both provide oodles of inspiration for the low-angst, humorous books Lane loves to write.
She’s been telling stories about sexy, funny, sometimes geeky and quirky men who find love for a dozen years now and loving every minute. In her previous life, she sat at a desk and dealt with numbers, so yes…romance is much more satisfying!
Lane loves tea, travel, and chocolate…in any order. Add a book and she’s set!
AUTHOR LINKS
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Website: www.lane-hayes.com
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