Man Reading A Book Novels & Stories

The silence sat heavy, pressing against his shoulders as he loosened his tie and stepped deeper into the living room. That’s when he spotted Leo. The boy was curled into one end of the sofa, legs tucked beneath him, a book so large it looked absurd balanced on his knees. His lips moved soundlessly as he read, brows furrowed in concentration. The lamplight painted his small face in warm amber, and Adrian had to pause. Barely four years old. Still soft-cheeked, still round-eyed. And yet — this wasn’t the book of a child. Adrian crossed the room slowly and lowered himself onto the armrest. He tilted his head to catch the cover.

There he was, sitting down lazily on one of the chairs with his left hand spread out and the right one holding a book which he was reading as his full focus was on it, that I wasn't even sure if he noticed my arrival. He was wearing a white long-sleeve T-shirt, the sleeves of the shirt were rolled up to the elbow, showcasing his firm muscles, and his tie was loosely fixed, I could see his suit jacket neatly folded on the arm of the closest chair to him. I couldn't see his face properly as it was seriously buried in the book and just when I was coming back to my senses, I got caught, "Love what you see?"

Anya De Luna POV A shipment of books came in, and I’m busy unpacking them when a man comes into the store. I’ve seen him here before, and usually, he likes to check the thriller section. “Morning,” he greets before he starts to browse the shelves. “Morning. Let me know if I can help you find anything.” “Thanks.” My eyes flick to where Vincent is coloring in a picture of an elephant before I continue to unpack the books. Every now and then, I check what the man is up to before glancing at Vincent.

He walked past me to his favorite armchair without a word, wearing fresh clothes with his hair still damp, and he picked up a book from the coffee table. Then I saw the cover. The villa at sunset. The woman's silhouette in the window. The man's shadow falling across the threshold. My book. The book I had been so careful to keep away from him, the book I had deflected and dodged and lied about for weeks. He had a copy. He opened it to the middle and began to read.

the man said as he came close to Hayden. With a deep bow, the man extended what seemed to be a hardcover book to Hayden. Hayden reached out for it and thanked the man. Without another word, the man bowed once more and turned on his heels before walking back the way that he had came from. I cocked my head to the side in wonder at what had just happened. Did Hayden order a book to be delivered? I could tell from the image on the cover that it was a book regarding artworks. --To be continued…

"I need your help with something." "What?" "What are the chances that you are a great actress?" "I'm always up for a challenge Nate." She beamed. I looked towards the other end of the beach. There's a man sitting on a surf board reading a book. I usually wouldn't read much into it except that it's a familiar scene. I do the same thing after I surf. "Do you see that man wearing a black hat over his head?" Marianna peered in that direction. "I see him. What do you need?"

They have to figure out things themselves. Loki coughed, cackled and made weird bird noises, but I was too busy engrossed in counting the magical little diamonds until I reached the left side of the throne. Behind it, I could hear mumbling just on the other side. Crawling around, I poked my head around the edge of the throne. A man with bright red hair that swayed into the wind or current that hovered around us a had it dancing wildly. His eyes scrunched, reading fine print, his finger trailing down the page as he swiftly turned to another page. In his hand, he held a book, The Idiot’s Guide for being Social. I snorted, which caused him to pause his reading and look straight ahead at the wal

I asked quietly, pushing my glasses further up my nose and trying to hide my embarrassment from getting caught reading erotica in the bookstore’s café. The man leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, flexing his biceps through his navy-blue sweater. “Yes, you can actually. I see you here every day”—he snatched the book from my hand—“and you’re always reading the same smutty book.” My cheeks blazed with embarrassment that I couldn’t hide. He leaned his forearms onto the table. “It’s Friday night. Why don’t you take a break from reading, and we can make our own story back at my place?”

He was fully settled, one ankle crossed over his knee, a book open in his hands, reading with the complete ease of a man occupying a space that belonged to him. My space, my desk, my room. The specific shock of it moved through me before I could stop it and I locked it down fast but not fast enough, and from the slight adjustment in his expression when he looked up, he had seen the half second before I controlled it. "What are you doing," I said. My voice came out flat. He turned a page. "Reading." "In my room." "In a room in my estate." He closed the book without hurry and stood, and the movement had the same quality as everything he did had, completely unhurried and certain. He set the boo