Bombshell, an all-new sexy and swoony standalone from CD Reiss is coming May 1st!
Bombshell by CD Reiss
Publication Date: May 1st, 2017
Genre: Contemporary Romance
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…
He was tapping on my bedroom window. It was 2:17 in the morning.
I got out of bed, dressed in sweatpants and black T-shirt and slapped the window open. He practically fell through it, adorable in his wet tuxedo and red eyes.
“I like you. I want you to like me.”
“Go to bed.”
He leaned back out the window, paused. “Do you like me?”
“Against my better judgment, I do.”
He was so drunk he could barely stand.
“Please go to bed.”
He gave me a salute and walked right through a sprinkler, toward the front house. I closed the window. Brad was lying in the grass facedown, arms and legs in a big X, getting sprinkled on.
I could leave him out there.
I could, he deserved it. But I couldn’t.
I put on sneakers and a hoodie and went outside. He was face-first in a mud puddle. The sprinklers had shut off.
He didn’t move. I pulled his arm until he was on his back, then pulled both wrists and pulled forward. If I’m making it sound easy, it wasn’t. I slipped and fell in wet grass, and grunted like a tennis player. But I got him to sitting. Half his gorgeous face was dotted with mud.
No answer. I slapped him. Nothing. Slapped again, harder. He groaned.
Then I pulled my arm back and really hauled off and whacked him.
“You have to wake up. I can’t carry you.”
I crouched, getting my shoulder under his arm.
“Okay, I’m going to count to three. On three, stand up.”
“Do you know you’re beautiful?”
“And you smell like a fruit cup.”
He looked at me, the weight of his head tilting his face at an angle to mine.
“You’re the queen of the house.”
We lurched up. Took a step left. Adjusted. Stood steady.
“Can I just sleep here?”
“No. Nicole isn’t going to find your drunk ass on the lawn in the morning. Lean on me.”
We took one step forward, then two. I held his wrist with one hand and his waist with the other. The front of his tuxedo shirt was brown with mud. I got wet wherever his clothes touched me.
“Do you have fantasies, ever?” He hopped onto a new subject as if it was completely natural.
“Like about what?” I asked. His arm around me, his breath soft in my ear. Even his dependence was kind of a fantasy.
“You know what bothers me about fantasies?”
“Watch this chair here. Whoa.” I pulled him left, narrowly missing tripping over a lounger.
“You never know if you’re getting it right,” he said.
I turned to him, and found his eyes taking up my entire field of vision and my nose two inches from his.
“Like when I fantasize about fucking you.”
We almost tripped on the entrance. I swallowed my lungs, stomach, and heart in one gulp. He was drunk. He didn’t mean it. He never thought about fucking me.
Not Brad Sinclair.
He was my boss.
(exclusive on Amazon)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2oyQhoz
Amazon UK: http://tinyurl.com/jzo7dly
Add to Goodreads: http://tinyurl.com/zhgfx32
About the Author
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.
Connect with CD Reiss:
I met Bianca in an elevator.
She was on her way to interview me when we got stuck.
The beautiful, raven-haired reporter assumed I was a delivery guy because of the way I was dressed.
She had no clue I was really Dex Truitt, the wealthy, successful businessman she’d dubbed “Mister Moneybags”—her afternoon appointment.
Bianca told me how much she hated Dex’s type—snobby, over educated, silver- spooned men who didn’t appreciate the simple things in life.
So, after the elevator finally started moving again, I cancelled the interview and let her believe I was someone I wasn’t—a bike messenger named Jay. I loved the way she looked at the fake me and didn’t want it to end.
I began dating her as “Jay”—all the while letting her interview the real me over email.
I didn’t expect that our chemistry online would be just as hot.
I didn’t expect the mess I’d gotten myself into.
I didn’t expect that Jay and Dex would fall in love with her.
And she was falling for two men.
Only, both men were me.
And when she found out, we were both going to lose her.
Nothing could have prepared me for that day. And I certainly wasn’t prepared for what came after.
All good things must come to an end, right?
Except our ending was one I didn’t see coming.
Barnes & Noble | iBooks | Kobo | Google Play | Audio | Amazon paperback
**No Amazon ebook preorder. Will go live on Amazon on release day. **
I sighed audibly. Are we even moving? It was seriously the slowest elevator I’d ever taken. Frustrated, and maybe a bit anxious to get the interview over with, I took another shot at the elevator panel. Again, pressing the button repeatedly, I groaned, “Come on. I’m already freakin’ late.”
I breathed a sigh of relief when the car seemed to finally pick up speed. But then, it jolted to an abrupt stop, and the elevator went pitch black.
“Well now you’ve gone and broken the damn thing,” a deep voice said from behind me. Startled, I jumped and bobbled my cell phone in the dark, which resulted in it falling. From the sound of it smashing against the floor, I knew it had broken.
“Shit! Look what you made me do.” I bent over and patted the floor, but I couldn’t find it. “Can you at least give me some light so I can find my phone?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“Thank you,” I huffed.
“If I had a cell phone on me.”
“Are you kidding? You don’t have a cell phone on you? Who walks around without their cell phone?”
“Maybe you should try it. If you weren’t so obsessed with yours, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”
I stood, and my hands went to my hips. “How so?”
“Well, you were so busy typing away on your phone, you didn’t even notice another passenger was in the car with you.”
“Had you seen me, you wouldn’t have jumped hearing my voice and broken your phone. Then we would have had light, and you would be able to see that elevator panel well enough to push that button another twenty or thirty times. I’m sure that would’ve helped.”
I felt the man moving around behind me.
“What are you doing?”
When he answered, his voice came from a different place. It was to my left and beneath me. “I’m on the floor looking for your cell phone.”
It really was pitch dark. I couldn’t see a thing, but I felt the air move, and I knew he must have stood back up.
“Put your hand out.”
“You’re going to put my phone in it, right?”
“No, I’ve taken down my pants and I’m going to stick my dick in it. Christ, you’re really a bitch, aren’t you?”
Thinking he couldn’t see me, I smiled at his sarcasm and put out my hand. “Just give me my phone.”
Wow. My little ball player was quite the fox.
I’d only seen her from the back before the lights went out. Now, I was staring into her beautiful, big brown eyes, feeling like this elevator mishap wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
She cleared her throat. “The lights came back, but we’re still stuck.”
I clicked on some of the buttons. “Seems that way. But this is a step in the right direction. I bet this thing will be moving in no time.”
And by this thing moving, I do not mean my dick, although I could have sworn I felt it twitch when she just licked her beautiful full lips.
Do that again.
She is beautiful.
My eyes travelled down the length of her body then back up again, loving how the small buttons on her conservative blouse formed a path up to her delicate neck. I wouldn’t have minded sucking on that skin.
Maybe I could entice her to play hooky with me.
“Where are you headed once we get out of here?” I asked.
“The thirty-fourth floor,” she said.
What is she doing going up to my floor?
I know she doesn’t work for me. I would have remembered that face, those eyes.
“What kind of business you have going on up there?”
“I actually have the pleasure of interviewing Mister Moneybags himself.”
My stomach sank.
This didn’t bode well for me.
I swallowed then cocked my head to the side and played dumb. “Who?”
“The elusive Dexter Truitt. He’s the CEO of Montague Enterprises. They occupy the entire top floor.”
Trying to seem like I was not seriously about to lose my shit, I asked, “Why do you call him Mister Moneybags?”
“I just picture him to be this crabby, money-hungry asshole, I guess. Sounds like a fitting name. Of course, I don’t actually know him.”
“Why do you think that way about him, then?”
“I have my reasons.”
Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times Bestselling author. With more than a million books sold, her titles have appeared in over fifty Bestseller lists and are currently translated in twelve languages. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.
Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and #1 Wall Street Journal Bestselling author. She’s a fifteen-time New York Times bestseller of twelve novels.
Having grown up in Boston with five older brothers, she spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor, before switching to a more family-friendly career. She is the proud mother of a beautiful 12-year-old girl with autism and a 10-year-old boy. Penelope and her family reside in Rhode Island.
Connect with Penelope Ward
Other books from Vi Keeland & Penelope Ward:
Other books from Vi Keeland:
B&N: http:// bit.ly/BarnesBaller
Kobo: http:// bit.ly/KoboBaller
Left Behind (A Young Adult Novel)
First Thing I See
Life on Stage series (2 standalone books)
http://www.amazon.com/Beat-Vi-Keeland-ebook/dp/B00ZOMUV12/ http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/beat-vi-keeland/1121715501 https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/beat/id983959123 https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/beat-5
MMA Fighter series (3 standalone books)
Worth the Fight
Worth the Chance
The Cole Series (2 book serial)
Belong to You
Made for You
Other books from Penelope Ward:
Excerpt Reveal – His to Seduce by Stacey Lynn
Excerpt Reveal – Oliver by F.G Adams
Excerpt Reveal – For His Eyes Only by Lexi Blake
As if being a high school student isn’t already hard enough, Bobby Hawthorne and his best friend, Angelina Dellapicallo, struggle to understand the emerging secrets of witchcraft and magic – secrets strictly guarded by Bobby’s overprotective mother and her friends. The unexpected appearance of his spirited grandfather, though, sets in motion a series of events that sweep the young teens down a dangerous path, one inhabited by an ancient evil that threatens not only Bobby and Angelina but their whole community of witches as well.
Pixies can’t stop the hellhounds . . . but they have sounded the alarm . . . and the magic users must respond . . .
RJ Reviews – “This is a great, fun read that puts a very American spin on the story of witches living among us in the real world, blending Texan culture and Native American mythology together into something unique and enjoyable. If you’re a fan of fast-paced, YA stories, then you need to give Son of a Kitchen Witch a read!”
Tim Hemlin has taught middle school English Language Arts in the Houston area for over 20 years and now puts his master’s degree in counseling to work as a high school counselor in the Fort Bend Independent School District. Besides running marathons, Hemlin enjoys cheering on his favorite sports teams—the Patriots, the Red Sox and the Cowboys. He currently lives with his family outside Houston, Texas.
Son of a Kitchen Witch is Hemlin’s seventh full-length novel and is informed by the decades he has spent as an educator in Houston-area public schools. Set in suburban-Houston, Son of a Kitchen Witch is a fast-paced urban fantasy about the teenage son of a witch and how he navigates the perilous terrain of young love, high school drama, and being hunted by a pack of hellhounds.
Tim Hemlin’s other works include the Houston-based Neil Marshall Mystery series and “The Wastelanders,” a dystopian-clifi novel about a futuristic world devoid of water.
Connect with the Author here:
Son of a Kitchen Witch 3 stars
Son of a kitchen witch centres on the lives of Bobby, his best friend Angelina along with his family and friends who just happen to be witches. It is told in the teen POV and for me it doesn’t really work. The plot would have been a good one but so didn’t know where I was at half the time as the story kept bouncing here, there and everywhere and some parts just didn’t make sense to where or what the characters were doing. It was as if the author had some thoughts and randomly placed them in different parts of the story.
The plot was ok and it had potential to be a good story. It took me a while to read as it was all over the place and at times I had to put it down as it had me confused.
Now, my mother has the original green thumb. She could grow a rose bush in the middle of Death Valley. No lie. She gives Jax all the credit but honestly, it’s not all him. No one would ever guess that in back of Hawthorne’s around the corner of the delivery entrance is this amazing herb garden. The best word to describe it is verdant—lush, and leafy and green. Incredible for such a small space. There are Roma tomatoes, basil, chives, tarragon, oregano, lemon grass, and as the old song goes, parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. There are also your less conventional plants such as comfrey, skullcap, belladonna, dock and yarrow. The less enlightened consider some of these weeds. The healers know different since the right combination for a poultice can be very powerful. There are others, too, but I can’t keep it straight.
I led Angelina over to the herb garden. Sure enough, my mother was bent over her plants like some champion horticulturist examining each individual leaf of, say, the marjoram. However, as we got close I noticed something hovering in front of her and I thought, oh no, this is going to freak Angelina out. I assumed it was Jax then realized it wasn’t Jax, not that it mattered. No, it mattered. Had it been Jax he wouldn’t have been so sloppy.
At any rate, I stopped and abruptly turned, ready to guide Angelina away, but it was too late. She already had her hand over her mouth and was staring with eyes as big as saucers.
It wasn’t because my mother was singing to the plants. My mother believes in the magic of music, which is why it’s hard for her to listen to our heavy metal Sinatra. No, Angelina saw the hovering, too.
Jax appeared and ushered the other pixie off in a flash.
“Oh, a butterfly,” I said kind of lamely.
My mother doesn’t usually get caught unaware. She has a pretty good sense of what’s going on around her ninety-nine percent of the time. Once “in a blue moon, though, she gets surprised, and today was that blue moon. First The Bad Apple and now this.
“No, a hummingbird,” she said and quickly stood so she partially blocked our view of the garden. Like that mattered at this point.
Angelina didn’t buy it from either one of us. “I saw a face.”
“Isn’t that a line from a Beatles song?”
Without hesitation she whipped her hand sideways and slapped me in the gut. “Hummingbirds don’t have faces,” Angelina said. “And neither do butterflies.”
“Oh dear,” my mother said. “I wonder if Mickey put pot leaves in the oregano again. I’d better have Manuel check.”
“I am not on drugs, Mrs. H.”
I thought she was going to stomp her foot, but apparently she was still too shell-shocked.
“What I saw was like a little person with wings,” Angelina added. “A fairy or pixie or something.” Then another thought hit her. “That wasn’t an obnoxious bug in the restaurant, was it? It was an aggravated sprite.”
The gig was up. . . . Angelina had just seen her first pixie.
To view our blog schedule and follow along with this tour visit our Official Event page