Most Famous Romantic Books Novels & Stories

Infatuated How does one know if they really, really, really like person? All night, I've been re-reading romance novels I've read. Jane Austen, F. Scott Fitzgerald, even William Shakespeare. All of the things I've read brought me to one ridiculous hypothesis. "I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun." – Elizabeth Bennet (Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen)

So while he stands behind me watching me, which both intimidates and excites me, I take each book out, one by one, pulling them from the bookcase, some wonderful editions of Jane Austen, Dickens, Ovid, Homer, Kundera and then 'For Whom the Bell Tolls' and, finally, Lolita. As I put Lolita on the top pile, I let out a sigh. I feel Paul slowly approach from behind me.

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?"

“I’m sorry, but it’s true. Men think wiggling their eyebrows at us or doing what you were doing is sexy, but really, it isn’t, especially when you’re dressed like that.” I shrug and slump on the bed next to her. “I just thought it was romantic, you know?” She leans over to the side of the bed and pulls out a romance book from under the pillow. “Use this. It’s the best manual for what girls really like.” I take the book and study the cover. A man is kissing the neck of a woman whose blouse is slightly off her shoulder. “Blah,” I say and toss the book to the side. I actually think I’ve read it before.

It was a study room. “I’m really sorry. I will just go.” I walked in the direction I came in. I couldn’t comprehend why I keep messing up everything. First it was climbing into his bed when he wasn’t there, then the embarrassing Leo story that my bestfriends took the honor of narrating. “Stay.” He muttered. I stopped in my tracks and looked puzzlingly at him. I avoided eye contact and settled my gaze to the books on the shelf. They were classics from Jane Eyre down to the Lord of the Flies. At the bottom of the shelf stood a huge collection of contemporary romance novels, the largest list I had ever seen someone possess.

Or that they at least, got the wrong impression of her. “They think I don’t like romance?” She asked like there was someone else in the room with her. “Well, I bet they’ve never even messed around with any guy before. They’ve probably never even gotten kissed by a hot guy before and I’m the unromantic one?” “Otherwise they wouldn’t shut up about it. I would have heard stories about it”. “I’ll show them both that I’m not what they think of me”. “I’ll find a hot guy, make out with him and have sex with him”.

Roses, a white dress, the guests, the sunshine: it all felt so vivid, yet so surreal. His gaze landed on the empty spot where the bridesmaid should have been, and it all clicked why that seat was unoccupied. Natalie was gone. She was gone forever. She had taken her life. She had done that with his unborn child when she leapt from the 18th floor. It was all because he tampered with her medicine, because he dared her to prove her true love, and because of his whispered lies of forever and always. He did everything to win her heart.

Salvatore asked. Alexa adjusted her napkin in her lap and contemplated her answer. “Well, I know it’s not exciting or adventurous, but I love to read.” “I think reading is quite adventurous. I enjoy it myself sometimes. What types of books do you like reading?” “I like reading all kinds of books, but literary classics are my favorite.” “Ah, Pride and Prejudice and the like?” She laughed, and he leaned closer to her. “Yes, you could say that.” “What’s your favorite book?” His gaze was locked on hers, and he was close enough she could feel the heat of his breath. He was caught up in the wonder of the moment, and she was captivated too.

Ethan said, granting me a dimpled smile "What does that mean?" I raised my eyebrows. "Well you know, Charles Dickens, Ernest Hemingway, Virginia Woolf, Jane Austen, they're all famous European writers." I didn't know what surprised me more, the fact that he knew all those names or that he made names of 19th and 20th-century writers sound so sensual. "What?" he spoke again, "are you surprised that I know who those writers are?" "Maybe a little." "As you said, don't judge a book by it's cover," he said, sending me a wink.

The walls being light colored didn’t surprise me more than the mountains upon mountains of books he has sitting on bookshelves surrounding the room. I walk around the room running my hands over all the different titles and authors. Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Mark Twain, H.G Wells, and so much more. Wuthering Heights, a first edition version sat in a case in between the shelves by a set of double doors to what looks like a balcony. It stuck out to me more than any of the other titles because it surprises me more than anything that he would read a book such as that. I try to picture in my head him sitting in a chair with glasses, all relaxed and snuggled up reading a classical romance novel