(The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1)
Publication date: November 22nd 2016
Genres: Comedy, New Adult, Romance
“He’s a bad boy … and a nanny.”
Holy sweet baby Jesus.
I don’t know anything about taking care of kids.
I pierce nipples, navels, and noses for a living.
I’ve never even held a baby before. Not once. Never changed a diaper or cleaned up a skinned knee. Hell, I don’t even want kids. I’m more of a drifter, a once in a lifetime lover, and then I move on.
Family? Commitment? Nuh uh, no way.
Tough sh*t, though, because my brother and his kids need me. Desperately.
I never thought to wonder if I might need them, too.
That I might need her, this strange woman I met at a playground.
She doesn’t know I’m not a professional nanny, but what am I supposed to do now?
She hired me; I took care of her sister’s kids for her; I f*cked her.
My life is so screwed-up.
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“You want me to pick up all the kids?” I ask and she jumps, screaming and whirling, the towel flying to the floor with the motion as she slams her body into the dresser behind her.
The sight is fucking swag as hell. Brooke’s body is a dream, this curvy slice of perfection, her chest heaving with surprise, eyes wide, dark hair hanging over her breasts like some kind of wild woman. Oh yeah. I’d sure like to show her my wild side.
Wait. No. Nope. Didn’t I, like, already decide this girl was off-limits?
“What the … FUCK?!” she yells as she dives down and retrieves the towel, tucking it up against her breasts. The motion hides all the good stuff, but I can still see an intriguing amount of flesh on either side, including the perfectly round shape of her hip. “Are you insane? Don’t you have any sense of propriety? Get the hell out of here!”
“Propriety? Big word there, Smarty. I have no idea what it means.” I stand up and brush my shirt off while Brooke turns and hefts up a small wooden box, flashing me the ripe shape of her ass. When she turns back, she pulls back her arm and launches the box my direction.
I duck, and the thing hits the wall, opening with a spray of pennies across the floor.
“Out. Now. Leave.” She points her arm at the door, panting hard and staring at me with that intense gaze of hers. I shrug my shoulders, not sure what the big deal is here, and start out, pausing next to her to smile.
“It’s not like I even saw any of the good stuff.” I make an X across my chest as she watches me and then turn back towards the door, stepping into the hallway and cringing when the wood slams closed behind me. Damn. Guess I made a mistake right there?
I start down the hallway when Brooke opens the door in a loose tank and shorts, her nipples hard beneath the thin layer of black fabric.
“Just because I’m stripping tonight doesn’t give you the right to peep at me naked, okay?”
“Of course it doesn’t,” I say as I glance over my shoulder and wrinkle my nose. “I just didn’t expect you to come charging out of there with your towel flapping. It’s my bad, sorry.”
She watches me for a minute and then sweeps her fingers through the tousled wet hair on top of her head. With a deep breath, Brooke moves down the hallway with softly padding steps as I turn to look at her. She pauses in front of me for a moment and then lifts her arms up and puts them around my neck, lifting her mouth to mine and sliding her tongue between my lips.
I have, like, literally no idea what’s happening.
But I also suck at turning down pretty girls.
“You do this a lot, right?” Brooke asks as she pulls back a fraction. I cock a pierced brow.
“Huh?” I know I should push her away, demand an explanation or something, but … I only have so much self-control. “What do you mean?”
“Casual sex. You do this a lot, don’t you? So you should be good at it.”
“Uh, this is kind of my thing. I don’t mean to brag or anything, but … I’m hella boss at sex.”
Brooke pushes her lips against mine, searing heat into my mouth as we stumble back and I push her into the wall, dropping my palms to the boring beige walls on either side of her head. Wet hair tickles my face as we slant our mouths together, tongues slick and hot, chasing the ember of heat in my blood into a fucking bonfire.
Oh, hell yes.
C.M. Stunich is a self-admitted bibliophile with a love for exotic teas and a whole host of characters who live full time inside the strange, swirling vortex of her thoughts. Some folks might call this crazy, but Caitlin Morgan doesn’t mind – especially considering she has to write biographies in the third person. Oh, and half the host of characters in her head are searing hot bad boys with dirty mouths and skillful hands (among other things). If being crazy means hanging out with them everyday, C.M. has decided to have herself committed.
She hates tapioca pudding, loves to binge on cheesy horror movies, and is a slave to many cats. When she’s not vacuuming fur off of her couch, C.M. can be found with her nose buried in a book or her eyes glued to a computer screen. She’s the author of over thirty novels – romance, new adult, fantasy, and young adult included. Please, come and join her inside her crazy. There’s a heck of a lot to do there.
Oh, and Caitlin loves to chat (incessantly), so feel free to e-mail her, send her a Facebook message, or put up smoke signals. She’s already looking forward to it.
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