on May 1, 2017
Genres: Contemporary Romance
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Hollywood bad boy Brad Sinclair always gets his way, whether it’s the role he wants or the bikini-clad model he has to have. But when a bombshell gets dropped in his lap in the form of a dimpled five-year-old from a forgotten relationship, he knows his life is about to change forever.
Cara DuMont isn’t exactly thrilled when she gets assigned to be the nanny for the latest box-office king. She has one rule: no celebrity fathers, especially single ones with devilish good looks and rock-hard abs.
But as soon as Cara meets Brad and his adorable little girl, she knows she’s in for a world of trouble. Because there’s something about the way Brad looks at her that makes her believe that some rules are meant to be broken…
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Bombshell by CD Reiss
Publication Date: May 1st, 2017
Genre: Contemporary Romance
The front door opened. I expected a housekeeper or butler, but it was the actor himself.
I hadn’t forgotten how beautiful he was; I’d just chosen not to think about it.
“Ma’am,” he said. Southern boy. Parents together. Christian elementary. Public secondary. Two years at USC Drama. Dates his costars for a month after the wrap party, then moves on. Poring through the trades and making calls, I’d discovered he’d spend at least eight of the next twelve months overseas doing action movies, but most had postproduction in town.
“Mr. Sinclair,” I said, holding my hand out. “Nice to see you outside a bathroom.”
He shook my hand.
I’d shaken plenty of famous hands attached to gorgeous men, but my imagination was sparked by the way his fingers slid against mine to grasp them and the way our palms pressed together. My mind clouded over with ripped sheets, hard muscles, and soft skin.
“Pleasure’s mine,” he said and my brain skipped like a trip on a cracked sidewalk over the word pleasure.
He didn’t give me the oversincere hand-over-clasp to show me how damn happy he was to see me, but there was something intimate about that half a second.
Just a consultation.
I followed him into the house. Dora Donovan had designed it. Looked like her with her faux-midcentury white couch and shag rug. That wasn’t going to work with playdates unless he wanted to keep an upholsterer on staff.
We went through the living room to a smaller room with a pool table smack in the middle. It had a stained glass Budweiser lamp over it and was racked for nine-ball. Dora Donovan had nothing to do with this room, for sure.
“Wanna sit?” He held a chair out for me. The glass-topped table was just inside the open patio doors and was set with iced tea.
“I’m not a date,” I said kindly, indicating the iced tea setup. “Just so you know. You don’t have to do things like hold the chair for me.”
“Habit, I guess.”
He sat opposite me.
“Chivalry is nice. But with the nanny, whomever you hire, it can be misconstrued.”
He smirked a little, as if misconstruing his own thoughts. I cleared my throat and pulled my jacket closed.