Bombshell. Lynda Curnyn

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      CRITICAL PRAISE FOR LYNDA CURNYN

      ENGAGING MEN

      “Curnyn delivers another fun and frothy crowd-pleaser.”

      —Booklist

      “The author of Confessions of an Ex-Girlfriend has done it again with Engaging Men…a truly funny and thoroughly enjoyable read.”

      —Romance Reviews Today

      “This dose of chick lit features entertaining supporting characters and may inspire readers to think about what they really want out of relationships and life.”

      —Romantic Times

      “Angie’s emotional adventures will strike a chord with women of all ages. Engaging Men is a great read…”

      —Barbara Fielding, The Word on Romance

      CONFESSIONS OF AN EX-GIRLFRIEND

      “…Curnyn pens an easy, breezy first novel that’s part Sex and the City with more heart and part Bridget Jones with less booze.”

      —Publishers Weekly

      “A diverse cast of engaging, occasionally offbeat characters, the hilarious sayings attributed to them, and a fast-paced style facilitated by Emma’s pithy sound-bite ‘confessions’ add to the fun in a lively Manhattan-set story…”

      —Library Journal

      “Readers will eagerly turn the pages.”

      —Booklist

      “…absolutely hilarious secondary characters. They alone are worth the cover price.”

      —Romantic Times

      In memory of my father,

       James Curnyn

      Bombshell

      Lynda Curnyn

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      This book truly wouldn’t have been possible without the amazing people in my life who inspire me endlessly.

      Richard Hoelderlin, whose own search for his birth parents first drew me to the idea for this book. You are gone, dear friend, but your good heart is not forgotten.

      The story was brought back to me by another friend, Julie Ann Coney, who shared with me the sad, beautiful story of her search for her birth mother, and gave Grace’s story its shape.

      Thanks to my dearest friend, Linda Guidi, a true beauty with a big heart, for her generous support and inspiration.

      Dora Hoelderlin for providing background on adoptive search. Gerry Zdenek for the scoop on the beauty biz. Javier Castillo, for the scoop on the world of advertising (mistakes are mine). Robert Clegg for showing me some chess moves and for providing the most logical (and amusing) explanation of why people fall in love.

      My family, especially my brother Jim, who kept it all together for us during a year when everything seemed to fall apart; my brother Brian, who is my biggest fan; Kim Castellano-Curnyn, Upper West Side Bombshell; Trina K. Curnyn (the Kis for Killer Wit); and Dave Webber, who always seems to have answers to my obscure questions.

      Sarah Mlynowski, fabulous writer and savvy editor, for reading my drafts.

      My wonderful editor, Joan Marlow Golan, who loved Grace from the very first chapter. All the talented people behind Red Dress Ink, especially Margaret, Laura, Stephanie, Margie, Tara and Tania.

      And of course, my mother, the original bombshell, and the best friend this girl could have.

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      1

      “When you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas.”

      —Jean Harlow

      It amazed me to discover my relationship with Ethan was only as strong as the latex between us.

      “Oh, God,” he said as he looked down at me, just moments after what I had assumed was his orgasm. But what I had taken for a look of euphoria on his face turned out to be utter panic.

      “What’s wrong?” I asked, gazing down at where he kneeled between my legs. He was studying me in a way that made me feel vaguely embarrassed, despite the fact that we had been dating six months and were, by most standards, in a relationship.

      “It’s…gone,” he said with disbelief.

      “Gone?”

      “The condom. It’s disappeared. Inside you.”

      Alarmed, I immediately sat up.

      “No, no, no—don’t move,” he said, squinting down at me as if about to perform surgery.

      With a sigh, I swung away from him, slid off the bed.

      “Where are you going?” he demanded.

      “To get it out,” I replied, heading for the bathroom.

      A sudden calm descended over me, probably because Ethan was panicking so much, I didn’t feel the need. But once I was in the bathroom alone, I was scared. I sat down on the side of the tub and, a bit frantically I’ll admit, investigated. I was relieved, momentarily, when I fished out the errant bit of latex. And horrified when, upon closer examination, I discovered the damning tear.

      I leaned back against the tiled wall, the “what ifs” whirling through my mind. And I discovered, with something resembling surprise, that my chief reason for alarm—the possibility that Ethan and I—that is, the idea of a baby—was not so…alarming. I was thirty-four years old. I was a Senior Product Manager for Roxanne Dubrow cosmetics and made damn good money. I had a somewhat posh one bedroom on the Upper West Side. If I wasn’t ready now…

      Okay, so it wasn’t perfect timing. I