Books With Beautiful Prose Novels & Stories

She didn't look up as the cliffs gave way to the open road. "What’s so gripping?" I asked. My voice sounded thin in the plush cabin. She didn't speak. She just flashed a wicked, crooked grin and tossed the heavy hardcover into my lap. I flipped it over. The Art of Seductive Persuasion, Vol. 5 by Luna Runa. I felt my nose twitch in a sneer. "You have a mate, Selene. This is overkill." She gave me a look so flat and judgmental I felt it in my marrow.

I had never really observed them when I was here before. Most of the titles were academic—thick volumes on economics, finance, business strategy. But there were also novels tucked in between. Literary fiction, some thrillers, a few poetry collections. "Didn't know you read poetry," I called out. "Everyone needs a little beauty in their life," he called back. I smiled and continued browsing. Then I noticed something odd. There was a gap in the middle shelf, like several books had been removed. "Adam?" I walked toward the bedroom.

" So, let's go. If it's important to you. What are the books? " There are two novels. Sweet Ana and The Prostitute's Secret. " Wow, I thought you were going to say The Great Gatsby or One Hundred Years of Solitude… But that's okay. " Prejudice with contemporary literature, then you? - He jokes, and his sincere smile framed by his perfect features leaves me floored for a few seconds. " That's right. I'll read them then. " Without reading reviews on the internet before. " Promise. " They're at my summer house, here at Metropolity. I can get them or… you can sleep with me tonight.

She paused, taken aback by Arielle’s sudden enthusiasm. “Even if it means Mom crying all night,” Estelle chimed in from across the room, rolling her eyes dramatically. Crystal shot her a mock glare and defended herself. “You don’t understand the beauty of a good book. So what if it’s sad? If the author can move you to ugly tears, it means they have written something truly special.” She turned back to Arielle, her expression softening. “That’s what makes this book so good.” “I couldn’t agree more,” Arielle said, nodding fervently. Her eyes sparkled with admiration. “Maa, have you tried Chains of Desires by the same author? If you loved this one, there are so many others you’d enjoy!”

5 years ago, I was blessed to open a publishing house as well. E.H. Publishing has had success with multiple top-selling books, and awards. I am grateful for my success, and the benefits packages that accompany it but, were I being honest with myself, I feel empty. It has been several decades since I felt a woman embrace. I have tried, I have tried to move on but, soon all becomes dust in the wind and I have yet to find someone who touches my soul just as my sweet Eliza did. I will never again be able to see her, feel her again.

I need to take time. I remember the small room I entered last time. I slowly opened the door and turned on the lampshade. The books on the table were still scattered. I tried to look and read each one of them. These are all interesting books. Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer, The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli, The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, and a lot more. I tried to find something that might help me, but I found nothing.

I stuttered a reply. "Wow! You look very beautiful in person, way more beautiful than you look in your pictures. You even have a nice lip colour," he said, giving me a weird compliment and he winked, making my panic button go off immediately. His weird compliment had triggered an old memory that can only spell trouble for me.

The glasses perched on her nose reflected the soft radiance of the lamp, creating a tranquil ambiance in the room. As Veronica immersed herself in the narrative, the words on the pages became a soothing balm for her soul. The author's prose painted vivid images, and the plot provided a welcome distraction. The book served as a refuge, offering solace and a temporary escape from the tumultuous emotions that lingered in the recesses of her mind.

Emma said, walking deep into the living room. "Thanks." She walked to a set of shelves on the far side of the room, running her fingers over the spines of his books. A lot of them were classics, novels by Dickens, Voltaire, Dumas, Melville, and Hemingway. She smiled when her fingers ran over the spine of not one, but three copies of Mitchell's Gone with the Wind. There were modern novels, too, including Stephen King and Sidney Sheldon, but they didn't look as well read as some of the others.

Curiosity was eating at her. With an effort, she made herself focus on the other titles. He had books on negotiating, battle tactics, history, agriculture…boring. Didn’t the man read any fiction? There was a book on stained glass that looked mildly interesting, but she kept scanning the shelves, hoping for something more enticing. Her search was rewarded. There, right in the middle of his shelves at eye level, was an entire shelf of books devoted to lovemaking. Wiley’s eyes boggled as she read the titles: An Illustrated Guide to the Sensual Arts. A Woman’s Climax. Emotional Need and the Sensual Virgin. There were dozens of titles.