Jane Austen Romantic Novels Novels & Stories

“Sophia loves reading novels—romance novels—but just like what I said, she is actually dense and almost oblivious with the men around her. It would seem that she is more fixated with the idea of what she reads rather than real men, but, of course, I can’t say that she has not had a real boyfriend ever…”

I lean against the door frame, crossing my arms over the chest. “I don’t know, I picked this up from Bianca’s table in her office. It happened this book is actually a romance.” Showing me the cover of a half-naked man. “And since when you like reading a romance novel?” She barks into laughter. “I’m actually having fun. The guy is an asshole and the woman is a demure type.” “Uh, a stereotyped bad boy, playboy. I know you have a thing for that kind of guy.” I don’t know why suddenly I feel a pang in my chest. She’s already my wife, but still, I’m jealous of her imaginary guy.

The whole house was boring and the atmosphere was gloomy, I decided to go into the study, when I was in there with Damon I could recall seeing romance novels on the bookshelf. I am a true lover of romantic novels, they get your spirit high with the sexiness of the male lead and gracefulness of the female but one thing that lacks in all romantic plot is that all are the same, there hasn't been anything new but who cares...... While I checked the bookshelf I notice a couple of erotic novels in there, you should know that I am very happy.

I wanted to read, to do something that reminded me of normalcy. I looked at my growing shelf of books and decided to pick Pride and Prejudice. It was one of my favorite books as I was a sucker for romance novels. I flipped to the first page and began. "It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that a man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife."

“I don’t know. You keep everything in such good condition. I’m almost afraid to touch anything in this room.” “I know you’ll be careful with my things.” She nodded and pulled the book off the shelf. “I didn’t know you liked Jane Austen.” “Why not?” She shrugged. “She’s a woman author.” “I’m broad minded enough to think women have a lot to offer society. I enjoy her work.” “This is one of my favorite books. Sense and Sensibility. The story of two sisters who represent two opposing forces: logic and emotion.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He seemed to be considering her analysis of the book. “I didn’t think anyone else in Virginia understood that.”

At her feet, there were four books. All written by Jane Austen. Pride and Prejudice. Sense and sensibility. Persuasion. Emma. She had another book open in her hands, and when she looked up at me, flashing me a smile that showed off her perfect pearly white teeth, my heart skipped. She was angelic. For a moment, I didn't move. Couldn't. I didn't speak either – just stood there gawking at the beauty of her. She must have thought I was awkward.

She moved not a muscle except that of her mouth-to smile saucily at him. He moved towards her and dragged her up into his arms. She instantly wrapped herself about him and pressed her supple, perfectly curved body against his, and in that moment Jacob knew without a shadow of doubt that no woman in all of England could be half as tempting as Lady Olivia Cavendish. He was humbled by his need for her, by his reaction to her, by her reaction to him...but she only wanted his body. The realisation hit him like a bolt of lightning.

She asked Pearl. Pearl started to say Bukowski but Rhys had ruined that for her. She thought about it and she remembered as a young girl the novel that truly changed her life. "Jane Eyre." She said. "The Brontës. It was Mr. Rochester that truly ruined me. A man and his ghosts. And a woman strong enough to love him despite them." She said. Erik looked at her. It took everything he had to stop himself from telling her right there and then she owned his heart.

Susan blushed, and Alexei tilted his head, curious. “Weird books? Now I’m interested.” “They’re just fiction. Suspense, mystery… Sometimes romance.” She shrugged modestly. “Romance?” He raised an eyebrow. “The sugary kind or the ones that keep you up all night reading?” She bit her lip, thoughtful. “The ones that make you think. I like imperfect characters. Relationships that are built over time. Real feelings, you know?” Alexei’s smile remained, but his eyes grew more attentive. “You don’t believe much in instant passions?”

“You need to go, Scarlett. Now.” She nodded, her cheeks burning with a mixture of shame and a thrilling, defiant heat. She turned and fled. It did nothing to quell the storm he had unleashed inside her. The memory of the kiss, the possessive grip of his hands, the wrecked sound of his voice, it was too much to process, yet a hunger had been awakened that demanded more. The following week, there was a seminar on power asymmetries in the modern novel felt like a special kind of torture. The subject matter which once would have been a purely intellectual exercise, now felt like a personal, pointed critique.