LOL #2 Romantic Comedy Anthology - Volume 2 - Even More All-New Romance Stories by Bestselling Authors (LOL Romantic Comedy Anthology #2)

by Anthology

  He kissed my neck again. “Plenty of time for what I have in mind.”

  “You weren’t thinking of the kitchen counter again, were you?” I asked. I could feel myself flushing as I talked about it…but, at the same time, it felt fantastic to be talking about sex again after so long. “Because there’s a perfectly good bed, upstairs. Or the couch. Or even the rug.”

  “I was thinking we should investigate the cupboards in here—“

  “A little small for—“

  “For honey. And chocolate.”

  “Oh….”

  He bent down, scooped an arm under my legs and picked me up, cradling me in his arms. I let my head go back, laughing out loud. I’d done it. I’d finally stopped stressing and let go, and nothing bad had happened. He spun me round and I laughed again and kicked my legs out—

  And felt my shoe fly off.

  I lifted my head just in time to see the shoe sail across the room and hit the pillar that held the first tier of the cake off the base tier. The little plastic column went flying, like a sapling hit by a cannonball.

  The cake started to tip.

  We both saw what was happening and tried to run over there, but I couldn’t move because I was in his arms, and he was slow because he was carrying me.

  The first tier slid diagonally down, picking up speed, hit the bottom tier and flipped. The three tiers above it tumbled end over end, heading for the floor.

  “NO!” I screamed, scrambling out of Donovan’s arms and rushing forward. I saw three tiers tumble to the floor, pancaking into a mess of cake and icing. I got my hands under the top tier in time, but it was going too fast and broke apart as it hit my hands.

  There was absolute silence for a second. We stood there staring at the destruction. The bottom tier was still on the counter, but irreparably dented and cracked where the upper tiers had slammed down into it. The top four tiers were just a debris field on the floor: heavier chunks of dark brown cake near the center; fragments of white icing scattered up to six feet away.

  I stumbled backward in shock, feeling cake squish under my bare foot. I stepped out of my remaining heel so that I could actually walk. I wanted to throw up.

  Donovan put his arms around me from behind, but the warmth didn’t bring me any comfort at all.

  “I’m sorry,” said Donovan. “I shouldn’t have swung you round.”

  “I shouldn’t have been wearing heels,” I whispered.

  “We could make another one,” he said. “If we work really fast….”

  I shook my head bitterly. “It took us two whole days to make and ice this one. We wouldn’t even have all the tiers baked in time. They’re coming to collect it in less than five hours!”

  It was over. I’d blown it. And this was all my fault. If I’d only got on with the job weeks ago, instead of being trapped by my own fear, we would have had plenty of time to make a replacement. Or if I’d just played it safe and not kissed Donovan, this would never have happened.

  Chapter 10

  “We might as well phone the palace,” I said. “There’s no point them coming to collect it.”

  “There has to be a way out of this,” he said.

  “How?! You can’t make an entire wedding cake in”—I looked at the clock—“four and a half hours!”

  He shook his head stubbornly. “I’m not letting this all go wrong just because a shoe hit a cake.” He got up and paced around.

  I was on the verge of tears. “Like you said,” I told him, “you love a hopeless cause.”

  He turned to me. “Sexy.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what it was, when you talked like Mary Poppins. It was sexy.”

  “Talking like Mary Poppins is sexy?” I asked through the tears.

  He walked over to me and pulled me into his arms. “It is when you do it. And you’re not like the women in LA. You’re fun and cute and real.”

  I blinked back the tears and hugged him.

  A few seconds later, I felt him stiffen and lift his head. “Why don’t we just fake it?”

  “What?!”

  “Buy fruit cake. Cover it in pre-made icing—“

  My eyes widened. “We can’t do THAT! This is a royal wedding cake! The queen will be eating it! The world’s press will be eating it!”

  He stood there staring at me until I’d finished. Then he said, “Do you have a better idea?”

  I stood there gaping at him. I didn’t.

  I swung open the garage door. “I still don’t see why you need to go,” I said.

  “Everyone knows you’re making the royal wedding cake. Probably not a good idea if they see you buying this stuff.” Then he stopped, staring at the car.

  “What?” I asked. “Never seen a Mini before?”

  He shook his head in disbelief and squeezed himself into the driver’s seat.

  Forty minutes later, he was back. I’d used the time to get dressed, make more coffee, clean up the kitchen…and, mainly, to pace. We now had less than four hours until the palace staff arrived to collect the cake.

  I helped Donovan carry several huge shopping bags down to the kitchen. We upended them on the counter.

  “Own-brand discount fruit cake?” I asked mournfully. “You couldn’t at least have gone for the upmarket version?”

  “They had more of this sort. I bought out the entire shelf. Even so….”

  I looked at the pile of individually-wrapped fruit cakes in horror. “…there’s not enough,” I finished for him.

  “Yeah. The top tier’s going to have to be cherry sponge.”

  “And what the hell are these?” I squeaked. There was packet after packet of grinning pink elephants, made from icing.

  “For the decoration. I figure we can re-mold them into rose petals.”

  I shook my head. “This is never going to work.” I could feel it all rising up inside me: the panic and the shame of failure and my own guilt at daring to have had a good time for once.

  He put his hands on my shoulders and turned me to face him. “Yes, it is,” he said. “Because you’re the best damn cake baker in the world, as long as I can get you to calm down for once. And I have a pretty good idea how I’m going to do that.” And he kissed me, taking my breath away with the suddenness of it, pressing me back against the counter again as I melted under him.

  “Better?” he asked when we finally came up for air.

  I nodded, panting.

  “Then let’s get to work.”

  Chapter 11

  I was quite proud of my curtsey. “Your royal highness,” I intoned gravely, keeping my eyes on his polished shoes.

  “Jessica.” The prince kissed me lightly on the cheek. “So glad you could come.”

  I hadn’t expected to get an invite to the wedding. It was the social event of the decade: heads of state, billionaires, rock stars…but apparently the prince’s new wife believed in honoring the people who’d made it happen. So there I was with Donovan on my arm.

  “I keep seeing TV crew from LA,” he whispered in my ear. “The news editor said all is forgiven if I get a few exclusive interviews. You’ll do, for starters.”

  “Shh!” I giggled.

  He put his mouth even closer to my ear. “It’ll be probing and in-depth.”

  The prime minister came over and shook my hand. “That was the best wedding cake I’d ever had!” he said. “So moist! So full of flavor!”

  It had been my idea to empty an entire bottle of rum over the cake before we wrapped it in pre-made icing. Alcohol makes everything better.

  “And cherry sponge for the top tier!” he said. “Such a nice change. So original!”

  Donovan wound an arm around my waist and led me gently away. “So everyone wants you to make their cakes, now?”

  I nodded. “I’m going to need an assistant,” I told him. “Feel like a job?”

  He looked at me seriously. “I need to go back to LA, for a little while.” He put a finger under my chin and lifted my head to look at
him. “But I’m coming back.”

  Epilogue

  One Year Later

  You should never make your own wedding cake, just as you should never operate on your own family if you’re a surgeon. But the hell with that. I’m too much of a control freak to let someone else do it.

  For our wedding, I’d made something along the lines of the original royal wedding cake. Only this time, it was chocolate beneath the surface—Donovan’s preference—and I had the tiers all carefully packed away in boxes to be taken to the reception. It was going to be a big wedding, too—Donovan’s entire extended family was coming over from the States.

  I heard him come in behind me and wrap his arms around my waist. “Not taking any chances?” he asked.

  “Nope. You can hurl shoes all you want in here. The cake is safe.” And I felt safe, too. He’d been living with me for almost a year, having quickly picked up a job as the British correspondent for a major US network. Six months ago, he’d proposed on the steps of Westminster Abbey. I’d finally stopped worrying that my life was going to repeat itself and let down my defenses. The royal wedding—and the cake incident—had been a watershed moment for me. I was a lot more relaxed, these days.

  He lifted me onto the counter again, just as he’d done a year before. It was becoming a habit, after work or even right in the middle of work. I was starting to look at the kitchen equipment in a whole new way—actually, that went for pretty much all the furniture in the house.

  I looked into his eyes as he moved in to kiss me. His hands traced the shape of my body: my hips, my waist and the sides of my boobs. That was another thing that had changed. I’d finally accepted that he really did love me exactly the way I was.

  He started to kiss down my neck as his hands roamed over and then under my sweater. I glanced quickly across the room. “We have to stop in about ten minutes,” I said, my voice already going breathy. “Or at least pause. I have a pie in the oven.”

  “We’d better get going, then,” he said, pulling my sweater up. Then, “Say it.”

  I flushed and shook my head.

  “Say it,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Or I’ll go really slow.”

  I flushed deeper, but I was smiling.

  “Say it!”

  I took a deep breath, shaking my head at his foolishness. “Hurry,” I told him. “No time for shilly-shallying.”

  He gave a growl and tipped me back on the counter. I giggled and shrieked, kicking my legs in the air.

  Author’s Note - Victoria Wessex

  Thank you for reading Saving the Cake by Victoria Wessex!

  The story of how the royal couple got together is told in He Wanted Me Pregnant! The Curvy Hairdresser and the British Prince by Victoria Wessex.

  The Curvy Hairdresser and the British Prince on AMAZON

  He Wanted Me Pregnant! The Curvy Hairdresser and the British Prince is the latest in Victoria Wessex’s international bestselling series of steamy, stand-alone romances in which the alpha males want more than just a one-night stand. There are now sixteen books in the series with heroes ranging from pirates to CEOs and billionaires to cowboys (and a billionaire cowboy).

  You can browse the whole He Wanted Me Pregnant! series on Amazon here: http://smarturl.it/hwmpamz

  Each time I release a book, I price it at $0.99 for the first 24 hours. My mailing list subscribers get an email so they can snap it up cheap before the price goes up. To get on the list, sign up here! (you must be over 18).

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  Victoria Wessex

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  Sofie and the Movie Star—a Lovestruck Short Story

  Rachel Schurig

  A very pregnant bridesmaid faces impending single-motherhood… and the unexpected attention of an impossibly gorgeous, flirts-with-anything movie star.

  DESCRIPTION: Sofie is six months pregnant, feeling hormonal, and totally not looking forward to wearing a bridesmaid’s dress at her cousin’s wedding.

  As if it isn’t bad enough that that her favorite cousin is getting married and leaving her behind, Sofie’s unexpected pregnancy—and noticeable lack of boyfriend—is causing quite the scandal in her overbearing and overly traditional family.

  To make the wedding extra embarrassing, the guest list includes Jackson Coles, friend of the groom and international movie star… who just so happens to be the hottest man on the planet. Sofie has been dying to meet Jackson, the subject of countless fantasies, for ages—she just never expected her big chance would come when she was knocked up.

  When the ceremony ends and the party gets started, Sofie will find that weddings—and movie stars—can be full of surprises.

  And that Jackson Coles is a much better kisser than she had ever imagined.

  GENRE: Contemporary Romance, 11,000 words or approximately 30 pages. This is a stand-alone short story with a happy ending featuring characters from Rachel Schurig’s popular Lovestruck series. This story can be read alone and has no cliffhanger.

  HEAT LEVEL: Sweet! Contains love and romance, but no explicit sex or strong language.

  Turn the page to begin reading SOFIE AND THE MOVIE STAR by Rachel Schurig, or click here to return to this anthology’s Table of Contents.

  Sofie and the Movie Star—a Lovestruck Short Story

  Rachel Schurig

  Chapter One

  Here’s a life tip for you: if you happen to be hormonal, bloated, nearly seven months pregnant, and nauseated, a bridesmaid dress might not be the best look for you.

  Seriously. Take it from me—there’s just no way to make the situation not suck.

  It shouldn’t have surprised me, really, that I was having such a hard time keeping it together the day of my cousin’s wedding. First of all, my morning sickness decided that the third trimester was a great time to make a surprise reappearance. I wasn’t puking as much as I did in the beginning, but the nauseated, icky feeling was rearing its head from morning until night.

  Also, my feet had swollen up to about three times their normal size. I actually had to go out and buy new shoes for the wedding. And with the whole impending single-motherhood scenario fast approaching, I was definitely happy to spend my limited financial resources on shoes I wouldn’t have the opportunity to wear again for God knows how long.

  My feet, of course, weren’t the only thing that was swollen. Though my cousins and sister told me repeatedly that my baby bump was much smaller than average, I wasn’t quite sure I believed them. I certainly felt gigantic—not just in my belly but in my face and my ass (God, my ass felt huge) and my hips—even my hands felt fat. Is it possible to get fat hands from pregnancy? Everything about me felt oversized and uncomfortable, totally off-balanced and clumsy. I sometimes wondered how I would manage to make my way down the aisle.

  The most distressing thing, for me, was the hormones. I came from an emotional family, the type of people who think a gathering hasn’t really started unless there’s been at least one crying jag or shouting match. Unlike my family, I always prided myself on my ability to play it cool. I was not a crier. So why had I felt like crying pretty much constantly since stepping off the plane in London?

  It might have had something to do with this—my cousin, Lizzie, my very best friend in the entire world, was standing in front of me in her wedding dress. And she looked absolutely radiant, more beautiful than I had ever seen her, a huge and glowing smile attached to her face as if by super glue. She was about to marry the love of her life, the very cute and totally perfect-for-her Thomas Harper. Oh, and did I mention that Thomas happened to be an internationally famous movie star? Yeah, I would be beaming too if I were her.

  In fact, her overabundance of joy was beginning to have severe consequences on her makeup. “You need to stop smiling for a minute,” another bridesma
id, Callie, said somewhat crossly, leaning over Lizzie with an eye shadow brush in hand. “It makes your eyelids crinkle up and I’m never going to get this on you with crinkled up eyelids.”

  “Sorry, Cal.” Lizzie’s smile didn’t falter in the slightest. “I’ll try.”

  I snorted inelegantly. I had a feeling the chances of Lizzie going stone-faced at any time in the near further were slim to none. “Nice snort, Sofie,” Lizzie told me, still beaming.

  Little brat, I thought to myself, with only the slightest hint of anything resembling malice. Of course, I was thrilled for my cousin. I liked Thomas very much and was more than happy to have him join the family. He’d gone out of his way to win me over from the time they started dating—going so far as to fly me over to London for her Christmas present last year. And when Lizzie had offered me a place to stay in their house a few month ago, Thomas hadn’t complained—as far as I know. How could I not like a guy who was so willing to woo not just Lizzie but her favorite cousin as well?

  No, there was nothing about their marriage that I could object to. After leaving home and meeting Thomas in London, Lizzie had absolutely come alive. She’d always been shy—downright timid, to be honest. Too often overlooked and bullied by her loud, bossy family. Something about her relationship with Thomas had changed that for her, transforming her into the confident, independent girl I saw before me. I would always be thankful for that.

  But, if I was completely honest with myself, it was just a teensy bit hard to not feel jealous. After all, I was the one who was pregnant. And in a matter of weeks (Oh, God, only ten now, and I was so not ready) I would be bringing a kid into the world. Without so much as a boyfriend at my side.

  “You look a little pale,” Lizzie told me, her smile fading slightly. “How do you feel?”

  “Fine.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Really? Not nauseated? I think I have some crackers in my emergency bag—”

  “Lizzie.” She had been worrying pretty much nonstop about how I would handle the transatlantic trip for the wedding. Her concern for me was sweet, and had been ongoing since I first broke the news of my untimely pregnancy. On the other hand, it was entirely possible she was merely worried that I might spontaneously go into labor and delay her marrying Thomas. “Stop nagging. You sound like your sister.”