Hottie for the Holidays – Three Steamy Holiday Rom Coms Read Online Lili Valente

Categories Genre: Erotic, Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Hottie for the Holidays - Three Steamy Holiday Rom Coms

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Lili Valente

Book Information:

Three steam-up-your-holiday reads featuring a single mom Cinderella, two sworn enemies catching a streaking Santa (and the love bug), and a Scroogy cowgirl who gets a second chance with the one who got away.
Single mom, Maggie, has given up on love. And dating. And hope that she’ll meet a man who isn’t better left on the shelf. That is, until her socialite nemesis swears Maggie couldn’t get a date to the Christmas Ball if her life depended on it…
Scrambling to find a plus one, Maggie calls in a favor from her childhood friend, Penny. The one who works for a male escort service…
The only thing worse than a streaking Santa dashing naked through my Christmas tree farm? Answer: Lawrence Beverly, the insufferable Brit who opened a competing farm down the lane, finding out about it.
I loathe Lawrence like cocktail sauce in my cocoa, and there’s no way I’m letting him use Mr. Jingle Balls against me. Luckily, I have a foolproof plan to take care of my Santa problem. Or so I think, until it goes hideously awry and Lawrence sweeps in to save the day.
Now we’re making out in front of my fireplace and he’s saying all the right things, but can I trust this man with my heart?
Or is he still up to snow good?
It’s the time of year for miracles…Once upon a time, Lula and Carter were inseparable. But when their romance faltered, the holiday lights went out in Lula’s heart. She gave up on love and embraced a hermit’s existence, until Carter pops back up in Lonesome Point, begging for a second chance…
She gives him twelve days—and twelve dates—to make his case before she sends him packing. Soon, however, not even Lula Scrooge can deny she and Carter go together like cocoa and cookies. But when her old fears are reawakened, it may take a holiday miracle to keep them together.
Books by Author:

Lili Valente


A Big O Dating Specialists Novella

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By Lili Valente



There’s a toilet in the kitchen…

A Christmas toilet, wrapped in festive green and silver garland and topped with a floppy red bow…

“No. Not happening.” I close my eyes, squeezing my lids tight, but when I open them again, the toilet is still there.

As is the weirdly large and deep sink beside it, the one that looks like it would be more at home in a mad scientist’s operating room than the kitchen of a swanky, three-story brownstone in New York City’s exclusive Chelsea neighborhood.

At least the house looks swanky from the outside.

If it hadn’t, there’s no way I would have invested one hundred percent of the profits from my last three flips on this project. I’m a risk taker—you have to be to buy foreclosed properties sight unseen—but I’m not a crazy person.

Unlike the last soul who lived here…

In addition to installing a toilet and serial-killer-cleanup sink in the kitchen, Mr. Snively filled the ground floor with boxes upon boxes of bulk food and used the basement as his personal reference library. There must be at least a thousand books down there, as well as magazines, newspapers, and a mountain of unlabeled VHS tapes. He also cut a hole in the living room wall to make room for a tree that had decided to grow into the house from the back garden.

The tree, at least, I was aware of before I closed the deal. I saw it, and the massive hole in the wall, during my survey of the property, but I assumed it was the work of an old man with more love for nature than common sense. I’m a talk-to-my-houseplants gal from way back. I can understand wanting to spare the green things, especially in this city, where every flower that survives the pollution feels like a gift from the universe.

But amassing groceries, books, and collectible beer steins until every nook and cranny of your home is stuffed to overflowing? That isn’t tree-hugger behavior.

Poor Mr. Snively was clearly a hoarder, and most likely the second and third floors will be just as jam-packed with junk as what I’ve seen so far.

I should go look… See what I’m really in for…

I need to assess the damage and rework my renovation schedule since there’s no way my demo crew can get started next week, not with the entire house filled with stuff.

Instead, I pick my way around several boxes of Sugar Krispies cereal—the holiday kind with the red and green pieces mixed in—and sit down hard on the closed toilet, shivering in the icy wind whipping through the hole in the living room.

In the grand scheme of things, a Christmas toilet in the kitchen is a relatively easy fix. I can have it and the spooky sink ripped out and the floor and drywall replaced in a day, maybe two at the most.

Still, the Christmas toilet is the thing that does it, the straw that breaks my single-income-household, single-for-so-long-I-can’t-remember-what-it-feels-like-to-have-someone-to-lean-on back.

Crack. Right in two.

I drop my face into my hands and give in to the tears pressing against the backs of my eyes. “Shit, Maggie, what have you done?” I mumble to myself between sobs. “You knew it was a lemon. You knew, and you put in a bid anyway. You’re so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

It’s true.

I am stupid.

And I did suspect something was seriously wrong with the house.

There’s no other way I could have landed a property in Chelsea, one of Manhattan’s premier neighborhoods. I’m a bad-part-of-Brooklyn girl. I started flipping houses in Flatbush ten years ago, back when you could still get a deal on some of the old Victorian beauties in need of a gut job, and in the years since I’ve made a decent living for myself.

My daughter and I inhabit a tiny but adorable condo five blocks from here, next to the excellent public school she’s attended since first grade, and Lexi’s never wanted for anything. Not the things she really needs, anyway. She wears clothes from thrift stores instead of the designer boutiques where her friends shop, and we cook reasonably priced meals at home instead of going out to eat every night like my old prep school friends. But we have everything we need—food, shelter, a great school system, and quality time together as a family.

Or, at least, we used to have those things.

If I have to get a second job to dig myself out from under this money pit, mother-daughter date nights at the museum might be a thing of the past.

I already know I won’t qualify for another loan.

I’m up to my armpits in debt. The armpits that are presently sweaty even though it’s so cold in the house I can’t feel my nose, and there’s a chance the pipes will burst if the next few days are as frigid as the weatherman has predicted. And if that happens, I won’t just have a mess to clean up, I’ll have a wet mess that will put the integrity of the vintage wood floor, foundation, and other expensive-to-fix things at risk.