LOL Romantic Comedy Anthology - Volume 1 - Thirteen All-New Romance Stories by Bestselling Authors Read online

  These 13 romantic comedy stories are brand new and range from sweet to spicy. Note: Some adult language and explicit scenes. The theme of this volume is PILLOW FIGHT. Enjoy!

  The Return of Ursula (Peaches Monroe) by Mimi Strong

  The Real Deal by Elle Casey

  Handcuffed to the Stockbroker by Victoria Wessex

  The Sex Tape (Edible) by Cassia Leo

  Can’t Stop Wanting You (Oakland Hills Short Story) by Gretchen Galway

  Legal-i-Tease (A Lawyers in Love Short Story) by N.M. Silber

  Kiss Me Again by Juliet Spenser

  An Extravagant Proposal (Billionaires in Disguise) by Blair Babylon

  On The Road (Ransom Short Story) by Rachel Schurig

  Christmas Shopping for a Billionaire by Julia Kent

  Love in Tune by Caitie Quinn

  Take Two (A Modern Love Story Short) by Daisy Prescott

  Surprised by You by Kelly Harper

  The Return of Ursula

  A Peaches Monroe Short Story

  by Mimi Strong

  DESCRIPTION: Peaches Monroe returns to Los Angeles a married woman. The house is paradise. Her husband is delicious. The water in the shimmering blue swimming pool is perfect. But there’s trouble in paradise. Her new husband, famous actor Dalton Deangelo, won’t invite her to the film set of his vampire-drama TV series. How are they going to consumate their new marriage at home if they’re sleeping in separate bedrooms?

  The Return of Ursula can be read as a stand-alone short story with no cliffhanger! You can also read more about Dalton Deangelo and the sassy Peaches Monroe in Mimi Strong’s bestselling Peaches Monroe series. This short story takes place between the final chapters of Book 3, Starfire.

  GENRE: Romantic Comedy with Steamy, Sensual Scenes. LENGTH: 11,000 words or about 40 pages.

  Turn the page to begin reading THE RETURN OF URSULA, A PEACHES MONROE SHORT by Mimi Strong, or click here to return to this anthology’s Table of Contents.

  The Return of Ursula

  A Peaches Monroe Short Story

  by Mimi Strong

  1

  I’d been wed to the perfect man for a week, and everything seemed… perfect. Too perfect.

  We started flying back to L.A. Sunday night. My gorgeous husband, famous actor Dalton Deangelo, had to get back to shooting the new season of One Vamp to Love early Monday morning.

  Dalton’s butler and pilot, Vern, was flying the small private airplane. The two of us newlyweds were cuddled up in one very luxurious passenger seat, kissing and groping each other like a couple of teenagers at Dolphin Falls.

  Dalton nuzzled my neck. “Peaches Monroe, I can’t believe you married me.”

  “I can’t believe you were late for your own wedding. Some girls would be mad about getting upstaged.”

  He gripped me tighter and fondled my peaches like he was shopping at a farmer’s market and checking them for ripeness. “I could never upstage you. I may be the actor in this marriage, but you’re the one with all the drama.”

  Oh, no, he didn’t!

  I pulled away and stood up. “Excuse me? I cause all the drama?” I looked around the cabin for something cold and wet to throw on him. The press doesn’t call me Super Soaker for nothing.

  He quickly replied, “And I like all your drama. You make life interesting.” He patted his lap to invite me back. It was tempting, but I stood my ground.

  “You’re wrong. I’m actually quite responsible.”

  He gave me one of his million-dollar smirks, grinning while his green eyes moved up and down the curves of my body. “Responsible? How’s that tattoo of yours healing up?”

  “I’ve had a crazy summer, but…”

  I crossed my arms and looked out the plane’s tiny window. I had to look away from his dazzling green eyes, before he could hypnotize me. Dalton’s not really a two-hundred-year-old vampire—he just plays one on TV—but he does have many of his vampire character’s charms. Maybe he was born charming, but got better at it through his role. That would explain why he’s always getting me to do crazy things like trespass onto private estates, and sell my wedding photos to People magazine.

  The small plane hit a patch of turbulence, and I had to grab a nearby handhold to catch my balance.

  “I’ve had a crazy summer, but I’m going to behave myself now,” I said.

  He quirked his eyebrow. “Whatever you do, don’t start behaving yourself now. Take your clothes off and let’s settle this like adults.” His eyes moved over my body in a way that made me tremble with anticipation.

  “What? No,” I whisper-yelled, fighting hard to resist temptation. “We’re hurtling through the air on a plane the size of a soda can.” The plane dipped again. “Plus Vern’s right there, and he’ll know.”

  “You’re such a cutie when you’re all riled up.” He gave me one of his character’s hypnotic looks and got serious. “Come to me. You are mine.” He patted his lap suggestively.

  I crossed the aisle, got into my own chair, and pulled out a magazine to read. Maybe it was the turbulence from the flight, or maybe it was just sinking in that I’d married this guy I barely knew, but I didn’t want to play his games.

  For the first time in my life, I understood why my mother gets so upset at the annoying things my father does. It’s not that the things he does are so terrible, it’s that he does them specifically to annoy her.

  Dalton made a comment about the weather, and I pretended not to hear him. We flew in silence for a while, with only the thrum of the engine.

  “Don’t tell me you’re trying the silent treatment,” Dalton said, chuckling. “Peaches, that’s not going to work for you. You can’t keep your mouth shut for five minutes.” He kept chuckling, pleased with himself.

  “You’re the one with zero self-control, not me,” I said coolly. “Obviously.”

  “No way. If anyone’s going to be causing problems in this marriage, it’s you.” He was still grinning. “Or possibly my father.”

  I snorted and flipped through the pages of my magazine. His father, Jake Blake the porn star, provided ten times the trouble of all my family members put together. Under my breath, I muttered, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  I kept flipping through the pages, waiting for him to apologize for hurting my feelings.

  But he didn’t apologize. He grabbed the paperback my father had left on the plane during a previous flight, and started reading.

  I decided to prove him wrong about the silent treatment.

  For the rest of the flight, I didn’t say a single word to my new husband. It wasn’t easy, though, because I kept thinking of the perfect comebacks, and it was a shame to waste them all.

  2

  We drove up into the Hollywood Hills just as the sun was setting. All the tradespeople had gone home with their gardening and pool maintenance vans, so the vehicles we passed were mostly convertibles that looked like they cost more than an entire house back home in Beaverdale, Washington.

  My heart started to pound when we pulled up to the gate of Dalton’s house. I hadn’t been there since my visit to pick up my stuff, during our breakup. That meeting hadn’t gone well, and thinking about it made me uneasy.

  Dalton reached over and patted my thigh. “Welcome home, Mrs. Deangelo.”

  I bit my lower lip and didn’t say anything. The silent treatment was still in effect. However, as I looked up at the elegant house peeking through the landscaping, and then over at Dalton’s handsome
face, I couldn’t remember why I’d been upset in the first place.

  “Say something,” he said gently.

  The gate opened, and Vern steered the car up the driveway.

  Dalton hadn’t apologized yet, but since I couldn’t remember what he was supposed to apologize for, I decided to lift the silent treatment.

  “Your house is amazing,” I said. “I love how cute it is on the outside. It’s a Spanish Colonial, right?”

  “Our house,” he said. “Our house is a Spanish Colonial. And I know you think the inside has too much modern stuff, so I’m looking forward to seeing how you redecorate.”

  I bit my lip again. “Am I dreaming?”

  “We both are.” He leaned over and kissed me. My skin came alive at his heavenly touch.

  I probably would have tried to get our clothes off right there in the back of the car, but Vern opened the door and cleared his throat.

  Dalton pulled away, his green eyes dancing with mischief. “You know what happens next,” he said.

  At the growl of his voice, my body electrified.

  “I have a pretty good idea what happens next,” I answered. I didn’t say more, because Vern was standing right there, but I had a feeling it involved my sexy platform shoes and every single room of the house.

  We stepped out of the car and walked toward the tall, brushed-metal door. The house was built in the sixties, but like many of the older ladies in L.A., she’s had some work done over the years. Vern trotted ahead and unlocked the door for us.

  Something red on the front steps caught my eye—terra cotta flower pots, filled with red geraniums.

  “Those are new.” I pointed to the red flowers, which were exactly like the ones I kept back in Beaverdale, at the old house I shared with my cousin.

  He picked up one of the pots. “They aren’t new. I had Vern ship them down here with the rest of your things. I wanted you to feel at home in your new house.”

  I held my hand over my mouth, too overcome with emotion to speak for a moment.

  He asked, “Have I swept you off your feet?”

  “The flowers are—”

  I didn’t get to finish what I was saying, because Dalton reached down and literally swept me off my feet. This was no simple task, because I am a woman of heavenly curves, but Dalton is stacked with muscles, and they’re not just for the camera. He uses those muscles to move his body and do wild, wild things to me.

  With me cradled in his arms, he stepped over the threshold and into our house. High overhead, the industrial ceiling fans (which really are industrial, because they’re from actual airplanes) were gently turning, swirling the air around. His indoor plants had grown since I’d been there last, and he joked about fighting his way through a jungle as we made our way into the living room.

  Vern closed the door and disappeared, off to his private quarters.

  It was just me and Dalton, in his living room, and he was still holding me in his arms, because I was his. Completely his.

  “You can set me down any time,” I said.

  “Promise you won’t run away?”

  I laughed. “Where would I go?”

  He set me down, keeping his eyes on me the whole time. He wasn’t wrong about my tendency to freak out and run away from him. But now that we were married, everything felt different.

  “It’s been a long day,” I said. “I’ll go take a shower, if I can find the bathroom.”

  He pulled his shirt off over his head in one smooth motion, then ran his hands over his washboard stomach. I sucked in my breath, because the sight of his million-dollar chest still took me by surprise. He’d fallen off the no-carbs wagon and enjoyed cake at our wedding, but it sure wasn’t showing.

  “Do you think you can find your way to the pool?” he asked. “It’s that big blue thing at the back of the house.”

  “If you’re there, that’s more than enough motivation.”

  He chuckled. “Motivation. That’s funny.”

  3

  I looked around the master bedroom. Vern had set up my closet a few days earlier, and he’d done a much better job than I would have.

  I pulled out a two-piece swimsuit, in a periwinkle blue that complemented my pale skin, blond hair, and blue eyes. Dalton probably expected me to go out there naked, but I felt more comfortable with a bit of fabric keeping everything where it ought to be.

  There were a bunch of new clothes in the closet, purchased by Vern on my behalf. I felt like a princess.

  Looking at my closet, the shock of my incredible new situation hit me, and so I took a moment to squeal and jump around like a little girl. Once I’d calmed myself, I selected a pretty poolside wrap. The sun had already set outside, but my outfit needed a pair of sunglasses, so I put on a pair, skillfully purchased by Vern.

  “That butler deserves a raise,” I said to myself.

  I walked out to the back yard, where I barely glanced at Dalton in the pool before my eyes went to the view. Los Angeles lay before us, stretching out across the valley. I turned and looked over my shoulder, back at the house. During one of the renovations, they’d replaced all the back walls with windows, so from the back, the house looked like a cliff made of glass.

  Dalton whistled. “Hey, sexy stranger. You’d better get off my property. You’re trespassing. My wife is meeting me here any minute, and she’s got a really bad temper. She’ll spray you down with a garden hose, or punch you some new freckles, whatever that means.”

  I pulled off the sunglasses. “Very funny.”

  He splashed around in the pool. “My wife swears she’s going to behave herself in L.A., but I don’t think she can control herself.”

  “When I say ‘very funny,’ I mean you’re not that funny.”

  “Get into this pool before I drag you in.”

  “Sounds like a threat. What else are you going to do, once you get your hands on me?”

  “I’m going to make you bark like those sea lions we saw in San Francisco.”

  “That will never happen.”

  He made a barking sea lion sound. “Aroop, aroop.”

  “It’s more like this: Urp, urp, urp.”

  “You are so damn sexy. Get in this pool.”

  I let the robe slip off, and stepped down into the water to join Dalton. The water temperature was perfect.

  He handed me a glass of sparkling champagne, in a disposable plastic cup. He explained that Vern had him trained to keep breakable glass away from the pool.

  “Aren’t you the responsible one,” I commented.

  He suddenly lunged out, grabbed me, and pulled me up against him. “How dare you,” he said in mock horror, and then he tipped his glass into my cleavage.

  I squealed as some of the bubbly liquid tricked down between my breasts. The remainder formed a triangle-shaped pool in my cleavage. Dalton dove in face-first and noisily slurped away at the champagne.

  I nearly collapsed from laughing so hard, but then he stopped slurping champagne and was kissing me sensuously, his lips moving up and down my chest and neck as he clutched my body to his.

  The fire of my lust started up deep inside, and Miss Kitty got very interested in everything he was doing. I tossed back my own glass of champagne and then sighed with pleasure as he refilled my cleavage and went in for another heavenly drink.

  We were standing in water that came to the bottom of my breasts. After his second drink, we started moving. He kept one hand on my lower back as he guided us deeper into the pool, until the water line reached the bottom of my chin, and the tops of his shoulders.

  With one hand still on my lower back, he kept me close while he slipped his other hand down the front of my bikini bottoms. He moved his fingers down slowly, in no rush, even though I was dying to have him touch me.

  We kept kissing, and finally he nudged his hand down and slipped a finger into my flesh.

  He held me close and breathed against my ear. I groaned in lust, already trembling from the swirling of his fingertips.


  “What’s your motivation right now?” he whispered.

  I moaned in response.

  He asked me again, “What’s your motivation?”

  Finally, I opened my eyes and said, “What on earth are you talking about?”

  He slipped a finger inside me and stroked. It felt good, but not as good as it had been before all this conversation nonsense.

  “Motivation,” he said. “As an actor, I was always trying to figure out my motivation in a scene, but I think it’s all junk. In real life, people don’t think about their motivation. Only their intent, which is different.”

  His talking took me out of the moment, and his fingers seemed equally distracted, moving without rhythm.

  I reached down and withdrew his hand from the bottom of my swimsuit. He seemed to not notice.

  “So, from now on, I’m going to focus mainly on intention,” he said. “I think that’s what actors mean when they talk about motivation, anyway.” He was looking in my direction, but over my shoulder, at the lights of L.A. “I started thinking about this on the plane, and it makes sense, don’t you think?”

  I used my arms to help propel myself over to the edge of the pool, where I refilled my plastic champagne glass.

  “Peaches? Is something wrong?”

  “No, not at all,” I said, which was only a bit of a lie. “You’ve got your work tomorrow morning, so I can understand that’s on your mind.”

  “I know playing Drake Cheshire isn’t exactly Hamlet, but I still want to do a good job.”

  “You’re amazing as Drake. I can’t see how you could be better, but you should definitely try.”

  “Thanks.” He kept looking off into the distance. He wasn’t due on set until the next morning, but it seemed like he was already there.

  I tipped my glass over my cleavage and made a small pool of bubbly. “Dalton, if you want to talk about acting, we can talk about acting… any time you want.” I glanced down, trying to drop the hint that maybe we could talk about work stuff after we’d made love for the first time in our shared house.

  He didn’t take the hint, though, and the champagne all trickled away.

  Finally, I said, “I can’t wait to see you in action. I’m really excited.”

  “The episode we’re shooting tomorrow won’t air for a few months yet.”