Tag: #Comedy

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Hott Hotter Hottest

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Hott Hotter Hottest
Serena Bell
(Hott Springs Eternal, )
Publication date: June 9th 2026
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance

Real bodyguard. Fake boyfriend. Unexpected benefits. Trouble guaranteed.

Tucker: Autumn Sato is a happiness influencer. And I’m…well, let’s just say my brand is more big gray stormcloud. If life were going to plan, the closest I’d get to her would be scrolling past her posts as fast as my thumbs could fly.

But my sister needs help, so I agree to bodyguard Autumn at her sister’s wedding. One thing leads to another, and suddenly I’m pretending to be her new boyfriend in front of all her friends and family.

It’s a hot mess, made worse because I swore I’d never do this again. Never get close to someone I was guarding. Never fall for someone whose safety was in my hands. Never let distraction get in the way of my job.

Unfortunately, this entire week is nothing but distractions: trapped in a car with my smoking hot client, only one bed in our hotel room, only one tent on the wedding camping trip… all before the bachelor–bachelorette prom. Meanwhile, someone seems to have it out for Autumn… or my family… or both.

As things heat up between us, I’m left with one question: Can I keep my heart—and the people I care about—safe?

A spicy, small-town, bodyguard, fake relationship, grumpy-sunshine romantic comedy with a hint of danger and a lot of heart.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

—

EXCERPT:

There’s a knock on the door behind us, and it swings open, and—

Wow.

Yeah, this guy is not a blend-into-a-crowd type. He’s gotta be at least six five, and he fills up the doorway—weight-lifter muscles under a lovingly clinging tee, a torso that tapers from broad shoulders to a trim waist, and tree-trunk thighs beneath snug-fitting jeans. His jaw is a hard line to a well-defined chin; his eyes are flecks of pale blue ice; his nose is Roman-warrior-worthy, and his mouth is lush.

Did I say wow? Let me reiterate: Wow.

“Autumn, this is my brother, Tucker; Tucker, Autumn.”

I stand up. Giant White Guy grunts and extends a hand. Mine disappears into his, into heat and calluses and thick fingers that make me wonder—

Nope. Not wondering.

“Thanks so much for being willing to do this on short notice,” I say.

He grunts again.

Okay, so not a conversationalist. We’ll have to work on that because there is zero chance I would date a guy who isn’t a talker. My sister would never believe that.

“Anything you two need from me?” Hanna asks. “Or can you take it from here? I have to run a couple of errands.”

“That’s fine!” I say, hoping to warm him up a bit by being extra friendly, definitely one of my superpowers. “We’ll be great, right, Tucker?”

A grunt.

Not warm yet, but I can work on it.

She gives both of us a look that says she doubts we’ll be great, shoots Tucker another look that I interpret as Behave, and slips out the door.

“So!” I say brightly. “This is gonna be a cinch!”

He raises both eyebrows but doesn’t respond.

“Hanna told you about the discretion thing, right? That my sister can’t know that you’re a bodyguard, because she can’t know that my dad thinks there might be danger at her wedding?”

The grunts clearly have different meanings. I’m taking this one as a yes.

“But I don’t see that as a problem! Because”—I pause for effect—“you can pretend to be my date for the wedding week!”

Author Bio:

USA Today bestselling author Serena Bell writes contemporary romance with heat, heart, and humor. A former journalist, Serena has always believed that everyone has an amazing story to tell if you listen carefully, and you can often find her scribbling in her tiny garret office, mainlining chocolate and bringing to life the tales in her head.

Serena’s books have earned many honors, including an RT Reviewers’ Choice Award, Apple Books Best Book of the Month, and Amazon Best Book of the Year for Romance.

When not writing, Serena loves to spend time with her college-sweetheart husband and two hilarious kiddos—all of whom are incredibly tolerant not just of Serena’s imaginary friends but also of how often she changes her hobbies and how passionately she embraces the new ones. These days, it’s stand-up paddle boarding, board-gaming, meditation, and long walks with good friends.

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Murphy’s Laws

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30 Days.

7 Rules.

1 Undeniable Attraction.

Murphy’s Laws

by Terry Newman

Genre: Contemporary Romantic Comedy 


Thirty days. Seven rules. One undeniable attraction.

After her fiancé skips out on her wedding, Murphy Clarke buries herself in her life-coaching career and develops seven rules to protect her heart. Number one? Never take vacations.

Oops. We find her on a month-long vacation in North Carolina, where she’s alarmed by the sparks flying between her and an arrogant yoga instructor. She’s confident, though, that she’ll be able to keep her other six rules… until she isn’t so sure. Of anything.

Noah Andrews’s name was once synonymous with the San Francisco tech industry, but his heart broke – both physically and emotionally. After a heart attack sidelined his career, his long-time girlfriend dumped him. Why is he now so attracted to this woman who seems to embody the life he left behind?

Witty and full of heart, MURPHY’S LAWS is a story of second chances, small-town charm, and the beautiful chaos that comes when you stop following your own rules… and start following love instead.

 

**Only .99cents!**

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Chapter 1

Murphy

It looked as if the yoga class was about to end. Thank you, Jesus. And not a moment too soon. Murphy Clarke hadn’t intended to spend the third anniversary of her un-wedding in a yoga class some six hundred fifty miles away from home. But somehow her annoyingly perky sister, TC, had worn her down.

As a life coach, she couldn’t just take a month off, like her sister, the teacher, could. Her responsibilities didn’t end at the beginning of summer. She had developed a set of rules, and here she was, breaking the first.

That’s how she found herself in Summer’s Beach, North Carolina, staring at the boyishly handsome instructor who had a penchant for torturing his students with contortionist poses.

She sat up and was nearly standing when—

“It’s time for our ending meditation. Take the stillness and peace of this session as well as the silence into the world with you today.”

Murphy sighed as she sat back down. Apparently, rather loudly. Not only did her sister and their friend, Eli, scowl at her, the instructor fixed a spine-chilling stare at her with his steel-gray eyes. Again. She had walked in ten minutes late—through no fault of her own. Well, her client, Amelia, had a crisis and she couldn’t leave her hanging. She had to take the call. He had flashed her one of those if-looks-could-kill stares  .

Grimacing as she assumed the half-lotus pose, she placed her index fingers to her thumbs and slowly breathed out an om. She checked on her sister. Full lotus. Show off.

“Ommmm.” The instructor breathed out. The students followed with their own om, strung out so it felt as if the entire room was vibrating.

Brrnng! Brnng! Murphy’s cellphone broke the silence. Damn it. She reached into her tote bag and fumbled for it.

Brnng! Brnng! Her cheeks burning, she rooted around the large vacation bag and grabbed it.

“Murphy here. How may I help you…Josh…wait a second.”

She rose, gave the instructor a shrug, and walked to the back of the room.

“No, I don’t think so. I think at this point in your life you’re exactly where you need to be. Don’t you feel it?”

Josh Millcreek was one of Murphy’s first life coach clients. His level of self-confidence fluctuated over the three years of their relationship. This most recent crisis would end soon. She just needed to be there for him. And vacation or not, that’s what she intended to do.

She held the phone in front of her, nearly parallel to the floor as she talked. “You’re not your old—”

A shadow hovered over her phone. She blinked. Frowning, she looked up to see the yoga instructor. His eyes bore into her. He snatched the phone from her hand. She shivered as a spark of electricity skittered up her arm. She swallowed hard.

“What the…?”

The yoga instructor grabbed her phone? The tall, handsome instructor? The one with broad shoulders? And loosely curled caramel-colored hair? She imagined if he’d ever smile, he’d probably have adorable laugh lines. For a split second, she was lost in his penetrating eyes and those shoulders—far too broad to belong to a yoga instructor.

Earth to Murphy. That, however, didn’t excuse him from stealing her phone. She glowered at him.

“What the hell are you doing?” The nerve of this man.

“Ma’am” —Ma’am? He called me ma’am?— “we’re in meditation. Silent meditation. Who are you talking to?” He nodded toward her phone.

“My client, as if it’s any of your business.” She held one hand out, the other on her hip as she waited for him to return her phone. Instead, he raised it to his ear. What?

“Ms. Murphy is in meditation at the moment. I’m sure she’ll return your call later.” He clicked the phone off and tossed it to her. It bobbled in her hands before she clutched it in her palm.

“Let’s continue our closing routine.” He pivoted and walked to the front of the room, leaving her to stare at his nicely formed butt. “Now that I’ve put Ms. Murphy’s phone on airplane mode.”

“How dare you.”

Murphy grumbled to herself but returned to her spot and sat down next to her sister. She placed her left ankle over her right thigh and huffed.

“What is your problem?” TC kept her gaze on the instructor.

“I told you I didn’t want to go on vacation, but—”

“Ladies, are we ready? Ms. Murphy, you can talk about your fear of vacations after the session.”

“I’m not afraid of—”

“Everyone take a deep breath. Think peace and stillness. This is the attitude you’re taking with you as you leave the class.”

 




Terry Newman is an award-winning author who writes romantic comedy with a splash of fantasy.

Fueled by coffee, peanut butter, and popcorn, she writes stories set in fictional towns in northeast Ohio. Terry loves to place her characters in improbably situations, then allows them to take over…uhm…guide the story.

She lives in a small apartment with overflowing bookshelves, her muse, Moose, and all her characters, in North Lima, a real town in northeast Ohio. And, yes, it does get crowded at times.

 

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How to Love a Prince

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How to Love a Prince
Hayden Stone
(Being Royal, )
Publication date: June 1st 2026
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, LGBTQ+, Romance

What happens when a playboy prince must find a respectable husband to redeem himself and secure the monarchy’s future when he unexpectedly inherits the throne?

When London-based playboy Prince Theodor learns he’s about to inherit the Danish throne, he must clean up his scandalous image by finding an appropriate husband. But his planned redemption arc to audition fake boyfriends to fake marry creates another set of problems, until a fateful trip to Corfu, Greece, leads him to Greek Prince Stefanos, of the former Greek monarchy, and challenges his guarded heart as sparks fly.

It’s too bad they accidentally sink a yacht, which inevitably leads to more scandal, and they must start apart. However, Theodor and Stefanos can’t stop thinking of each other, leading to heated, secret encounters between Greece and England guaranteed to set the tabloids alight once their secret is revealed…

How to Love a Prince, Book 2 in the Being Royal Series, is a light-hearted royal rom-com featuring fake dating, opposites-attract, and forbidden love.

For fans of Red, White & Royal Blue, Boyfriend Material, and The Unlikely Heir.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

—

EXCERPT:

When I pause long enough to go to the bar and get some water, I bump unsteadily into someone. “Sorry,” I manage, clapping a hand on the tall man’s shoulder in apology. It’s solid muscle under my fingers. He’s even more built than I am, and I’ve kept in good shape since my military service years ago and more recent modeling work after that. Before I settled into working with my business partner on our design projects.

The man turns around, frowning, his mouth open to complain. Then his eyes widen in recognition, beneath a tumble of dark, wavy hair.

Of course he’s hot.

I grit my teeth. A hot man is what got me in trouble to begin with tonight. Or, more like, said hot man got himself caught up in the tabloids and then caused me problems.

Also, I might be staring at the stranger.

Not being a British royal usually has its advantages in London. Less recognition, for starters. I’ve lived in London for years now, away from Denmark. I get less than I would get back home anyway, unless on the off chance I come across a Dane or a Danish monarchy enthusiast. Which, surprisingly, happens more often than one might think.

Except I’m hardly being subtle tonight. I want to be seen. Straightening to my full height, I stand my ground in defiance.

Let them photograph me. I insist.

I want Aidan to know what he’s missing. He’ll be sorry then, him and his wretched groom.

Except it doesn’t make things any better, and then it dawns on me I’ve still been gawping openly at a gorgeous man, with olive skin and black hair and blue eyes. Which, I’ve got to say, is a stunning combination known to do a number on me. He’s mesmerizing. I gawp like a tourist taking in one of the wonders of the world. Believe me, he’s one of them. Usually, I’m a shade more coy, to my credit, but I’ve had a lot to drink tonight, and my filter is off. In fact, my filter’s probably tossed somewhere deep in the Thames, like a votive offering right alongside some Bronze Age weapons and Roman coins.

“Prince Theodor?” He has an accent that I can’t quite place. It’s totally hot, though.

“Guilty,” I say flippantly, recovering in an artful facade of manners. I run a hand through my hair. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to crash into you. Shockingly rude. Would you like me to get you a drink to make up for it? Please.”

“No need. Already have one.” The man holds up his cocktail, complete with little umbrella and some fancy garnishes. His eyes dance. “You don’t know who I am?”

If I hadn’t been busy staring at his face like I was trying to etch it into my memory for all time, I would have maybe looked at his hand with its cocktail. Confession time. “To be honest, I barely know who I am right now.”

“Fair.” The grin he gives is spectacular, easy, almost familiar. His white teeth match his white shirt. I shiver. “I can see why you might want to forget tonight. Bad luck about the news.”

Now he looks sympathetic. My face burns.

Oh, hell.

Does everyone follow the tabloids? God, has everyone seen my embarrassment coming before I did?

Even so, do I want to forget this stranger? The probability in truth is at around nil. Around us, the dance music thumps on, people laugh and carry on around the bar where we stand in the shifting strobe lights from the dance floor, all purple and pink and blue.

And then, everything comes crashing down again as his words belatedly register in my brain. My mouth hangs slightly open. So much for finding the evening’s prospect. He’s murdered my opening.

“Ouch, man.” My suaveness has gone right out the door of the club and died on the Soho street. Probably by drowning in a well-trodden puddle. “You had to remind me about the news.”

“Sorry.” He looks contrite. Then he searches my eyes, with amusement lingering in his. There’s no malice that I can see, which makes for a refreshing change, at least. “You really don’t know who I am?”

“How rude, I should have asked your name. I’m sorry, my manners have vanished. Terribly sorry. What’s your name, then?” I ask.

He laughs easily, shrugging. “It’s Stefanos.”

I go back to staring. Something is at last clicking into place through an absinthe-induced fog. No wonder he looks a little familiar. “As in, Prince Stefanos?”

That would be Prince Stefanos of the former Greek monarchy. The Greek Royal Family remains, but in exile outside of Greece, spread across Europe.

“Yes.” Stefanos bows his head. There’s something completely charming in the gesture, almost shy. Certainly self-effacing. “And I’m very sorry about the reminder of the tabloids. I know they’re a pain for all of us.”

“You just re-reminded me,” I complain, but I’m smiling, despite the miserable night he seems to insist on reminding me about, like he’s delighting in a few more twists of the knife. And despite my best efforts to forget about Aidan. A stab wound is like that. My gut twinges. Or maybe it’s the drinks protesting in my stomach.

At any rate, I’m distracted by Stefanos, the moment of his glossy hair as he laughs again, ducking his head down as he breaks my riveted gaze.

“I’ve got to say, the prince-per-capita rating in this club is off the charts tonight.” I gaze openly at him, leaning ever so slightly in. Yes, he’s hot. Confirmed. As if there were any question about his hotness. The evening’s at last starting to look better and better. Thank fuck.

“Absolutely—”

Then, in turn, someone careens into me—and my flirting is officially cancelled.

Because it’s officially messy o’clock at the bar before last call.

And I’m drunk enough to not have my bones left for balance—and I crash hard, my drink splashing him first—and I fall hard right into Stefanos’s chest.

Author Bio:

More animal than mineral, Hayden Stone is a writer of fun queer fiction, especially with kissing. He currently lives in Victoria, Canada, and has previously lived in Vancouver, Canada and London, UK. He likes strong coffee and is owned by two cats. You can find out his latest news on Twitter or Instagram, or at his website: haydenstonebooks.com

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You Had Me at Meow #CoverReveal

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You Had Me at Meow
Gracie James
Publication date: July 7th 2026
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance

Some girls get fairy godmothers. Abby Thompson gets a talking cat with a British accent and absolutely zero chill.

After her latest blind date—arranged by her loving (but relentless) mother—ends in a concussion, a wine-soaked dress, and enough humiliation to power Manhattan, Abby decides she’s done with dating. Forever.

Too bad her cat, Mr. Whiskers, has other ideas. And he’s suddenly sharing them. Out loud.

“Honestly, Abby, your taste in men is almost as concerning as your taste in sweaters.”

His mission? Fix her train-wreck love life and help her land her dream job. His qualifications? None. He’s a cat. His methods? Questionable at best.

But somewhere between the disastrous first dates, ruthless office politics, and the unexpectedly charming veterinarian who might actually be worth shaving her legs for, Abby starts to wonder…

Is Mr. Whiskers a miracle? Or a catastrophe with whiskers?

Either way, her opinionated feline isn’t backing down. And if Abby wants her dream life, she might have to trust the one life coach she never asked for. Her cat.

You Had Me at Meow is a sweet, laugh-out-loud romantic comedy about finding your voice, risking your heart, and one very determined cat who refuses to let his human settle for anything less than purr-fection.

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Author Bio:

Gracie James lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and their sweet rescue cat, Pinky, and absolutely loves the rain. When she’s not writing swoony, laugh-out-loud rom-coms sprinkled with a touch of magic, she’s usually hiking up a mountain or eating chocolate like it’s a personality trait. Her creative peak occurs somewhere between “I should go to bed” and “well, it’s basically morning now,” and she considers sunrise more of a suggestion than a deadline.

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Mr. Emotionally Unstable

Posted on by Reluctant Retiree

Mr. Emotionally Unstable: A Romantic Comedy
Alina Jacobs
Publication date: May 5th 2026
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance

Someone is breaking into my house… and cleaning my kitchen.
At first, I think I’ve lost my mind. Then I decide it’s kinda nice—until the death threats start.

But worrying about stalkers is for people with disposable time.
Which I do not have, thanks to my entire family showing up unannounced to move in with me.
Yay! Surprise houseguests!

As a mature adult woman in her thirties, my stalker is the closest thing to a relationship I’ve had in years. No one’s lining up for a curvy woman with a bad attitude, bras with holes in them, and zero tolerance for man-children.
And no, Mom, I don’t need you giving my number to every creepy guy you meet at the grocery store.
I’m perfectly happy being single. I have my café, my neurotic overweight border collie, and the shadowy figure peering into my window. I don’t need a man.
Except… I do need to find my newly single little sister a boyfriend-slash-meal-ticket so she (and the rest of my houseguests) will move out.
I’d toss her to my mystery stalker, but he did my laundry, and I’m not ready to give up on those perks yet. Besides, I’ve already got the perfect man for her: billionaire, hot, and way out of my league.
Better yet, I no longer have a crush on him, at least not since Fitzgerald Svensson served me eviction papers with a side of insults disguised as flirting.

Now he keeps showing up at my sister’s dates.
Yes, it’s a group activity. We’re recreating our toxic childhood dynamics here, m’kay?
Which means he must be interested… right?
Only problem—he’s hanging around me instead of her.

But it’s an even bigger problem when I wake up one night pinned by a six-foot-five male with his hand over my mouth, his knee spreading my legs, whispering in my ear, “Surprise, Creampuff.”

This is a standalone romantic comedy with a food delivery addicted dog, a hilarious Granny and a heroine of a certain age who has lowered her standards. HEA guaranteed!

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

I follow their horrified gaze. “Creampuff,” I say, voice low, jaw locked so tight it might crack, “you sicced your granny on me? And here I thought you liked me.”

I’m not flirting.

I’m furious.

Because my lobby—my tower—is full of topless senior citizens with knitting needles, terrifying half my hotel clients. I take pride in my hotels. French antiques sourced myself, bespoke carpeting, and my hand-selected marble foyer backdrop a dozen bare breasts swaying like revolutionary flags.

“I’ve cast three hundred stitches of rage!” her grandmother roars, holding up a half-finished scarf like a battle banner.

“Get rid of them,” I snarl at her.

Winnie takes a nervous step back, eyes wide.

Good—she should be nervous.

“You stole my café,” she fires at me.

“And you threw coffee on me.” My voice is cold. Sharp. “Get these women out of my tower. Now.”

She hesitates. Like she’s considering taking their side.

Of course she is.

“Maybe they have a point,” she mutters.

I stare at her.

“Are you going to whip your shirt off and join them?” I snap.

Her face goes strawberry-jam red as my eyes drag—slowly—from her chest back to her mouth.

Her breath catches.

I feel it.

I ignore it.

“I wouldn’t. This is—we’re in public.”

I give her a sharp smile. “Do that,” I offer, “and I might let the protest continue.”

She swallows hard.

I step up to her, crowding her with my height. Sure, flirting’s fun, but this is business.

Her eyelashes flutter.

“And here I thought,” I say, “I was one of your biggest clients.”

Her face blanches. Sure, the fresh-pastry budget is an insignificant line item to me, but to her small business? It’s a lifeline.

She looks like she wants to die.

Good. Let her feel the pressure. She’s not the only one who can be cornered. If she loses this hospitality contract, she’s finished. We both know it.

But only I know that I won’t rip up the contract.

Set her free?

Never. She belongs to me. Wholly.

She just doesn’t realize it yet.

I follow her as she rushes toward her grandmother, my hands jammed in my pockets, in full control as I slowly trail her.

Over by the fireplace, two elderly women string up a knitted banner.

KNOTS NOT HOTELS!

“You need to grow a pair,” her granny is shouting at her. “You can’t let a man treat you like shit and still expect to hit that.”

My eyebrow lifts.

Winnie glances back at me. “He’s not hitting anything.”

“If you don’t get these half-naked elderly women out of my tower, I might.”

“Gran…” Winnie begs.

Her granny steps into my space, hands up for a fistfight.

“You’re a bully.”

“Booo!”

“Bread, not beds!”

“Crochet, don’t pay!”

The topless women encircle us.

I squeeze my eyes shut. If they’re not Winnie’s, I don’t want to see them.

“He acts like he’s never seen tits before,” Granny Frances huffs. “Maybe you should fuck the neighbor’s son, Winn.”

My eyes snap open. Straight to Winnie.

Heat. Anger. Something darker. “Is that why you refused to go on a date with me, Creampuff?”

Her chin lifts. “No. I refused because I hate you.”

I exhale, steady, even. Then I reach up and undo my tie. Watch her eyes bug out as she realizes what I’m doing.

“NO CROISSANTS, NO PEACE!”

I twist off my dress shirt. It’s not lost on me that her gaze slides down my face to my collarbone, down my chest, down…

The chanting starts to trail off.

“Are we sure he needs to be protested?”

Author Bio:

I write the kind of books I love—romantic comedies featuring snarly guys with hearts of gold, kick-ass heroines, and a swoon-worthy happily ever after! Also wine. And cupcakes.

When I’m not writing I can be found drinking tea, surrounded by my massive to-be-read pile! So many books…

You can connect with me on social media or find information on my books at my website.

Sign up for my newsletter so that you can get information about new releases, giveaways, and more!

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