Best Romance Novels Historical Novels & Stories

Most of them were what I expected—books on strategy, history, a few on Italian mafia politics. And then, tucked on the bottom shelf, almost hidden— "You weren't kidding about these?" I pulled one out, raising an eyebrow. "Really?" "Put that back." "The Duke's Dangerous Desire," I read aloud, grinning. "A Rake's Redemption. The Highlander's Captive Bride—" "Jameson." Her voice was sharp, but I could hear the embarrassment underneath. "Put them back." "I'm not judging," I said, turning to face her. "I'm just surprised. You kill people for a living, but you read romance novels?"

This is going to be nice, I just know it. I spend hours cooking, snacking, reading, and it feels like a dream. My fae romance novel takes me to a land that doesn’t resemble my life and I’m so happy to lose myself in it. I’m reading along happily when I come across a word that strikes me dead. Mates. Great. Just what I was trying to forget about. I put it down and pull out the other book I brought, a historical fiction novel. No mates here, no way. Dinnertime creeps around and I spend a while making a nice risotto with a side salad and garlic bread. It’s so good it borders on s*x.

In the growing light of dawn, the city of love seemed to hold its breath, as if acknowledging that within these walls lay a passion powerful enough to rival its own romantic legacy. Dawn painted the historic spires of Paris in shades of gold and rose, but my world had narrowed to the dangerous perfection of Nathan's embrace. In this moment, surrounded by centuries of romantic history and wrapped in the arms of my devastating billionaire, I understood that some loves transcend ordinary definitions. What we shared was as rare and precious as the diamonds he draped me in - dangerous, beautiful, and absolutely unstoppable.

He would have, right? I shook my head again and concentrated on the book placed on my lap. It was one of the British, historical romance fictions set during the World War Two. I had randomly picked it up at the bookstore and somehow felt myself drawn towards it. Sappy novel with mopey dialogues and dragged out bits, it still provided me with much needed solace.

But when she looked into his eyes, they were dancing again. She smiled shyly. “I started writing a novel. And…I drew out the character after you.” He raised a brow. “Really? What type of novel?” She shrugged. “Historical romance. You were a rogue knight. For sure you were a rakehell.” She giggled. He asked. “Was there a red-haired damsel in distress?” She stared back at him. His eyes were sparkling. She nodded shyly. “And how did that turn out?” he asked.

At the bottom of the shelf, though, were a handful of romance novels—in English, no less. I pulled out a historical romance by a favorite author of mine. I hadn’t read this one, and I’d already finished the one romance I’d brought with me. I was a total bore and preferred to read printed books still. Probably because they smelled nice. If e-readers could let out a puff of new-book scent, though, I’d buy one in a heartbeat. “The Seduction of Miss Emily Morris,” Olivier read over my shoulder. “That rather gives the plot away, no?”

That alone might be worth the effort. Shaking my head at the thought, I drifted back toward the main shelves, pulling a few books that caught my interest. My stack grew quickly: a historical novel with an intricate map inside the cover, a poetry collection, a book of legends… and, okay, maybe one or two with decidedly romantic-looking covers. Purely for variety, of course. I was just balancing the last book on the stack when the door opened behind me. “Let me guess,” a familiar voice drawled, “you got lost and stumbled in here looking for more romcoms.”

I was pretty good at it and at the urging of my then girlfriend Julie, had submitted a few to a story site named Erotic escapes where under the pen name hotforteacher I'd gotten some pretty good reviews. Most of my stories were about older women with guys my age and Miss Ross had been the inspiration for many of them. Most of my female leads had the same long dark hair, big brown eyes and perfect full lips as my favorite English teacher. Yes Miss Ross had been the nasty little cougar in my mind and in print many times over the last few months. Shit, I'd even joined her writing discussion group because it met every other Sunday at her house.

Arielle rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. “Suit yourself.” She wandered into a bookstore nearby. The cool smell of paper and wood filled the small space. For the first time all day, she felt relaxed. No tense silences. No careful conversations. Just quiet. After twenty minutes she returned outside with a book in her hands. Roman glanced at the cover. “Romance?” “Absolutely not.” “Looks suspicious.” “It’s historical fiction.” “Same thing.” Arielle laughed despite herself. “You’re impossible.” Roman opened the car door again.

HIS TOUCH, HER FIRE🔥 --- Chapter Two The Warning Beneath the Suit The morning sun barely filtered through the thin curtains of Evelyn’s kitchen window, casting long strips of pale gold across the old wood floor. She stood barefoot on the chilled boards, coffee in hand, hair unbrushed, shirt borrowed from her late father—faded red plaid hanging off one shoulder—and tried to ignore the storm rising in her gut. Last night’s encounter with Damien Romano had not just left her rattled; it had torn something loose inside her. Something dangerous. The man had stepped onto her land like he belonged, like the dirt itself bent beneath his polished shoes, and then he’d spoken with a calm so soaked in a