Resultados para "Emma" en Comedia romántica

I don’t give a damn what people say about me. I’m successful and confident—one of San Diego’s youngest CEOs. But when my womanizer rep costs me a major business deal, I’ve got a problem. One of my brothers suggests a fake girlfriend. Ridiculous. Then I spot the perfect opportunity. At a bar, I overhear a stunning blonde getting utterly humiliated by her ex—who casually informs her he dumped her to marry someone else. What an idiot. She looks like she needs rescuing. So, I sit at their table and kiss her like I’ve done it a million times.

Sir Dominic De Lacy – one of the season’s most eligible gentlemen – has recently proposed marriage… to a woman he scarcely knows. But his father’s choice for him, Miss Maria Nightingale, seems amiable, and at 29, Dominic cannot live the life of a bachelor forever. He hopes he can provide a happy future for her as they learn to care for each other. Maria, however, has other ideas. Midway through their engagement celebrations, she confesses to Dominic that she is not Maria at all, but her identical twin sister, Margaret.

The brokenhearted billionaire visits Cozy Creek to escape. I never expected to become his fake girlfriend or fall madly in love... but here we are. My first impression of Zane Alexander isn't great. The second is worse, but when he uses his powers of persuasion to get me to hang out with him, I can't say no. We quickly go from familiar strangers to flirty friends. When my ex returns, Zane flawlessly pretends to be my boyfriend to protect me. He's so damn good at it, I almost believe it.

I've had a thing for Ivy Scott since I first laid eyes on her a year ago. She's smart, sexy, and everything I've ever wanted. Too bad she was engaged to one of my best friends. But that idiot leaves her at the altar. So, as one of the groomsmen, I have to be there for her, right? Even if that includes a cross-country road trip with the other two groomsmen—her best friend, Liam, and my best friend, Harrison—to the beach house she's inherited in South Carolina.

What I wanted for my birthday: Books. What I got for my birthday: my brother’s best friend playing matchmaker. Let it be known that I am 100 percent against being set up with somebody. And I’m 1,000 percent sure that Josh Carter's not the man to find me a boyfriend. I mean, if I’m so great, why isn’t he the one dating me? (For the record, I don’t know the answer. That’s just what the guy on the internet asked.) I’ll humor him. If I go on his little dates, he’ll teach my bookish, introverted self how not to be totally, completely, utterly, unforgivably awkward.

My name is Evangeline Astley, and the only thing you need to know about me is that I never imagined this was how my life would go. I was supposed to devote all my time to painting gorgeous things to eventually open my own art gallery. Instead, I spent it all trying to sell my art to save my parents’ hotel.

With all my best friends off the market, it’s time that I, Tori Sussex, join them. So where better to find my future husband than the internet? It’s great. I get to get all the awkward stuff out of the way and already know if I’m going to like the guy before we meet in person. It’s a shame nothing's ever that simple. My relationship with Colton Lane, my best friend’s brother, is the very definition of complicated - dirty little no-strings-attached hookups we’ve somehow managed to keep secret from all our friends for the past six months.

Literally colliding with the hottest guy in the world and agreeing to be his date to his sister’s wedding? Done…for some reason. Finding out he’s actually an aristocrat and will one day inherit an ancient Scottish dukedom and castle? Yep, that’s a surprise. Sharing a bed with him at said castle because his family thinks I’m his girlfriend? Okay, I’m sure I’ll survive. Even if he does make my heart pitter-patter and my lady bits—uh, never mind.

I have no idea why I said yes. Maybe I'd had one too many wines. Maybe I'd done it accidentally. Maybe I'd been sleep-texting. One thing I know for sure is this: I absolutely do not want Ethan Hawkins in my apartment, up in my business, taking over my space. Yet he's here, moving his stuff into my spare bedroom, sending a wave of panty-melting, musky man-scent my way every time he walks past me. Here's the thing. We don't get along - at all. We never have, and I don't think we're going to start now that we're under one roof.

Let it be known that I, Saylor Green, am wholeheartedly against blind dating. I think it’s superficial, unnecessary, and designed wholly to force people into relationships they aren’t ready for. So when Dylan Parker takes the seat across from me, I’m ready to dismiss him at one glance. The problem? He’s hot and funny and sweet and the exact kind of guy I read about in the romance novels I sell like hotcakes in my bookstore.

If anyone asks, I knew better than to flash my boobs for Mardi Gras beads. I still don't know why I did it. Maybe it was the dare from my two best friends. Maybe it was the guys on the balcony saying they'd throw Fireball shots with the beads. Or maybe it was the quiet guy in the corner of that same balcony with piercing gray eyes, wavy dark hair, and a smile so tempting I wanted to climb up there and lick it off his face. Maybe it was because I never thought I'd see them again. Not that it matters. Not today. Because the hotel I manage was finally bought.

Let me make this clear right here, right now: I, Halley Dawson, do not care that Preston Wright is kissing other women. Not a lick. Not at all. Nuh-uh-freakin'-uh. I do care that he's doing it six feet away from me behind a gaudy velvet curtain - making him my competition in this year's kissing contest. Why do I care, you ask? Because I've had an unfortunate crush on the insufferable idiot since I was 16 years old, but I also know it's never going to happen.

When bestselling romance author Ellie Aarons finds herself with chronic writer’s block, she’s pretty sure all she needs is a change of scenery. A beautiful lakeside cottage with her cat seems like a good idea. But she’s wrong. She needs more than a change of scenery—she needs a muse.

What do a wrong number text, a burning building, and a quirky florist have in common? A hunky firefighter with an extra-large...hosepipe. In hindsight, I never should have opened that text message. The last thing I needed first thing on a Monday was a picture of some stranger's, um, eggplant, in my inbox. I also should have replaced the batteries in my fire alarm, because my Friday night did not need to end with my apartment building going up in flames. But it's fine. It's fine. Everything is fine.

As the owner of Pick-A-D*ck, New Orleans' premier hook-up website, my job is simple. Connect two people for a no-strings, no-expectations hook-up. The plus for my clients is that I'm the one who gets to sift through the d*ck pics - except this time, they're required. My problem? My brother, co-owner of Pick-A-D*ck's sister dating site, doesn't believe it's possible to hook up with someone three times and not fall in love. I disagree. I know it's possible. And my disagreement is exactly how I end up reconnected with my high school nemesis, Elliott Sloane.

Don’t sleep with your best friend. Take it from me. I did it. And it was awful - I-wish-the-tequila-made-me-forget kind of bad. The problem is, Luke has forgotten. He swears that he can’t remember a thing about that night beyond the trays of tequila shots being set on the tables. But I can't forget. I can’t forget how good his hands felt until I fell over and hit my hip on the dresser, and I sure as hell can’t forget the entire two minutes.

It’s not you. It’s me. No, seriously. It is me. Not only does my name literally mean “unfortunate”, but that’s the story of my life. Everything I touch turns to crap. An apartment fire - that I swear I was not responsible for - means I’m living back at home with my sex-mad parents. Yay, me! Which is why I need my new job as personal assistant to Cameron Reid to get back on my feet. Three months in this job and I can move back out and, hopefully, remember to turn off my flat iron once in a while.

Let it be known that I, Holley Stuart, do not give a single rat's behind about pro baseball's star pitcher Sebastian Stone. I definitely don't care that he's standing in my bookstore. Nor do I care that he seems to have forgotten about the last time we saw each other: senior prom, when he both humiliated me and broke my heart, albeit unknowingly. Now, he needs a date to his sister's wedding. Don't ask me how I ended up being it - I have no idea. But that's the least of my problems. His grandfather is adamant we're dating, and Seb isn't in a hurry to convince him otherwise.

Bad idea number 241: sending a dirty text to your number neighbor. In my defense, my friends did it, too, and their neighbors took it as the joke it was. Mine didn't. He responded with a dirty text of his own. Next thing I know, I have a standing texting date every night at 10:30. Until I have to miss it because the stray kitten who adopted me one week ago is sick. The only person I know who can help me at this time of night is my British next-door neighbor and local vet, Isaac Cooper.

When Naomi met Camden Cole on Oakley Island, she assumed he would be gone in a week or two like any other tourist passing through. Perfect for a fun summer relationship. A temporary one. As a single mom to ten-year-old Liam, she's not holding out hope for husband material and is way too skittish about commitment to consider more. So when both Naomi and Liam start getting too attached, she cuts Camden loose. Better to end things before either of their hearts could get broken.