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…
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.
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CD Reiss is one of my all time favorite authors. Her books are so full of emotion and feeling. Weather it be the most intense, dramatic story, or a lighthearted, sweet little adventure, her books never lack depth or intensity.
Bombshell sucked me in right from the start. I LOVED it. I loved it start to finish, though I never wanted it to finish. Brad, who I really felt like I had no choice but to picture, Mr. Bradley Cooper in this roll, because holy SOONGASM my gosh. This character was so dreamy, I craved him hard. But that being said… he wasn’t perfect. And I kinda love that.
CD Reiss’ characters are so perfectly imperfect. They have flaws, Brad was this gorgeous, sexy, adorable party animal. He has this addicting charm about him, but at the same time he has so much growing up to do. He’s cocky, selfish, and clueless when it comes to parenting, or even adulating for that matter. But his heart is good, and honest and in the right place.
While its clear from the start that Cara is the answer to his prayers, and everything she needs, it doesn’t take long for her to realize, that he might be just the same for her as well.
I love these two strong sassy sexy characters. And I love the amazing CD Reiss and every word she puts down on paper.
CD Reiss is a New York Times bestseller. She still has to chop wood and carry water, which was buried in the fine print. Her lawyer is working it out with God but in the meantime, if you call and she doesn’t pick up she’s at the well hauling buckets.
Born in New York City, she moved to Hollywood, California to get her master’s degree in screenwriting from USC. In case you want to know, that went nowhere but it did give her a big enough ego to write novels.
She’s frequently referred to as the Shakespeare of Smut which is flattering but hasn’t ever gotten her out of chopping that cord of wood.
If you meet her in person, you should call her Christine.