80's Romance Novel Covers Novels & Stories

“Here. Try this instead. And I quit remember? My soul is smooth as glass.” I peer at the cover: The Long Goodbye. “Raymond Chandler? Please. The man couldn’t write a female character to save his life.” Marcus leans in, conspiratorial. “True. But the rhythm, the bite, it’s worth the read.” I arch an eyebrow. “You’re telling me you moonlight as a noir scholar?” “Let’s just say I’ve had time to appreciate how much truth gets hidden in clichés.” The banter is light, but it pulls at something in my chest. Easy, familiar, almost… domestic. I sip my coffee, watching him over the rim of the cup. He notices, and for a moment neither of us looks away.

This' where the meeting would be held. The small library at the wall is stocked with a few interesting books to use and pass some time. I pick up a book that attracts my attention, from a glimpse of it, I detect that it's a romance fantasy. The gold and red combination of the cover with the stylish golden fonts captivates me, the front has a young girl holding on her palms what looks like a magical spindle, with a glowing light around it. The title goes, "When you're alone." A subscript writes, "A supermodel story of the girl who single handedly achieves the most difficult goals."

For a moment, he says nothing and just stares at it. "The Sultry Siren's Secret Desires: An Erotic Tale of Forbidden Love..." he reads out loud, his voice filling the air between us. I want to dig a hole and die. "What kind of trashy novel is this?" Vincent scoffs. "It's not trashy! It's really good actually," I protest, not sure why I feel the need to defend the book. Vincent arches an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "Good, huh?" He points at the cover. "Then what's with the cheesy cover with some shirtless guy?"

he whispered. Smiling, I snagged the one with the prettiest cover, and almost ran toward the lounge chair on the balcony. The kingdom didn't have any new books since Jason's mother was alive, which was a long time before. Nothing from this decade. Having a modern day romance in my hands made me the happiest girl alive. I opened the cover, laid back and delved into the pages.

The sight of it brought back a flood of memories, bittersweet and poignant. “You are a lover of dark romance?” I asked, narrowing my eyes in shock. The question hung in the air, almost surreal. Cole looked at me and then at the cover of the book. “Yes, I am. I’m actually a lover of dark romance and I really like this book. I have read it before, but then I just skim through some pages when I’m bored or better still when I want to reconnect back with the characters,” Cole said, his voice filled with a quiet passion. Gosh, he was using the exact words I would have used if I was the one asked the question.

I wandered aimlessly between the rows of shelves, the soft shuffle of my shoes the only sound I could hear. The quiet was nice. It gave me space to breathe, to think. Eventually, I found myself in front of the romance section. The spines of the books were a rainbow of colors, each one promising a different kind of love story. My fingers skimmed across the titles until they stopped on a green book with a particularly beautiful cover. I pulled the book from the shelf, feeling the weight of it in my hands. The cover was soft beneath my fingertips, almost velvety. It was stunning, the kind of book you’d want to display on a shelf just to admire. The title, "BE MINE," was written in elegant gold

she chirped, clicking play. As the story unfolded, with its sweeping landscapes and tense romantic dialogue, she felt herself being drawn in. Then came the first intimate scene. It was artfully shot, but raw and passionate. A slow, warm flush began to spread through her body, a familiar ache of arousal coiling deep in her belly.

she said, tilting the front cover of the book toward Rain. Parts of the front cover were missing as well, but Rain could clearly make out what it was her friend wanted her to see. In the picture, a woman in a long, elegant gown, with flowing blonde hair, had her arms around a man in a gray uniform. His arms were wrapped around her waist as he smiled down at her, and the woman looked just as happy as she tilted her face toward his approaching lips. They were about to kiss. On the mouth. And the woman seemed to welcome it.

I did not reply to Jeremy Steward's message. I just stared at that photo. I knew the car interior all too well. After all, it was the promotional gift I had given him. Hanging from the glove compartment on the passenger side was the safety charm I had woven by hand. I tapped into that unfamiliar account again and opened her playlist. The pinned playlist was titled 'A Love That Came Late.' Its description read, 'You are the joy that came too late and the one I'll love for the rest of my life.'

She s​igned fo⁠r it automaticall‌y‍ an‍d carried⁠ it‌ insid‌e,​ her hands shaking⁠ as she to‍re‌ off the p‌aper​. Inside wa⁠s a b​ook, it​s le‍ather cover worn‍ soft with ag‍e and⁠ its pages‌ yellowed at the edges. May‍a‌ recognized it i⁠mmed⁠iately as the fantasy novel she had men⁠tioned to Adrian in New Y​ork, the one they had‌ both‌ loved as childre⁠n.