Nora Roberts Novels & Stories

Nora didn’t know her, but the stranger’s gaze went straight to her. “So, you’re the designer. I should have guessed. No wonder someone would dare talk to Lily like that.” Nora arched a brow, but caught the shift in Travis’s expression—storm-dark and sharp. “You said she’s a designer?” Lily froze the moment Yanny Carter spoke, shooting her a warning look. Yanny ignored it. Spotting the man beside Lily, her voice softened. “You didn’t know, Mr. Luther? Nora’s the one who designed the gown for Best Actress Jennifer Tanner.”

Nolan: The house had grown too quiet. Too still. When the last elder’s footsteps faded and the heavy doors shut behind them, Natalia excused herself without a word. She carried herself with her chin high, her back straight, but I saw it. The crack beneath the poise. The faint tremor in her hands as she clenched her fist. Her heart raced against her chest, but she did not say a word. I waited until everyone was gone before following. Her scent lingered down the corridor, pulling me straight to her room. The door was ajar, and she was inside, methodically placing folded clothes into drawers like she could keep her world together by organizing fabric.

Luca walked in, flanked by a woman I hadn’t seen before. Tall. Built. Sharp eyes. She looked like she could break someone’s neck in one move and still walk off like nothing happened. Her hair was tied back, not a strand out of place. And the moment our eyes met—there was tension. Thick. Cold. Unspoken. Zarek noticed. “This is Nora,” he said, walking over to stand beside her. “She’s one of our top warriors. From today, she’ll be guarding you.” I tilted my head. “Guarding me?”

Vivienne Cabot was extraordinary in a polished, finished way, and standing next to Dominic she looked like the correct answer to a question about what his life was supposed to contain. Nora looked at the photographs longer than was useful. Then she closed the browser entirely, put on her running shoes, and went out into the October dark. Three miles. The playlist she used when she needed to outrun a thought heavy beat, no lyrics she could follow, the sonic equivalent of a white noise machine. She came back sweating and steadier and she showered and ate and sat on her fire escape with a blanket and called her mother. "How's work?" her mother asked.

a quiet, steady voice spoke up from the doorway. Sophia Lang stood at the entrance of the conservatory, her coat draped over her arm, her secure phone held in her right hand. Beside her stood Nora Hawthorne, twenty-four years old, her clear amber eyes fixed on the streaming feed of her uncle in Zurich. Unlike the rest of her family, Nora wore no corporate armor. In her dark green silk blouse, she stood with a quiet, fierce posture—a woman who spent her life watching Victor use her safety as psychological leverage over Elias. She was quietly furious at the toxic legacy of the Hawthorne name, but standing beside Sophia, her presence was unshakeable.

That was my first clue. Beautiful in that polished way that takes real effort to pull off... dark blazer, perfect hair, jewellery that hit exactly the right note between casual and serious. Her smile arrived first, warm and open, right up until I looked closely enough to notice that her eyes were doing something completely different. Calculating. Filing. "Scarlett Voss." She said my name like she'd been expecting me. "I'm Nora. I handle media operations for the Wolves." "Good to meet you," I said.

The woman standing next to Max was a ghost she had buried seven years ago, a memory she had filed away under "unsolvable grief." Nora. Her mother looked older. The vibrant, often frantic energy that had defined Nora Cepheus for most of Isis’s life had been replaced by a heavy, settled quiet. Her hair, once a deep, obsidian brown, was now shot through with thick ribbons of silver at the temples. She wore a simple charcoal coat, her hands tucked into her pockets, her gaze fixed on the ground until the car door clicked shut.

Rayyan looked into the darkness. A woman stood near the staircase. She wore a grey coat and held a small notebook. She appeared to be in her early forties. Her expression was calm. But her eyes were fixed on Rayyan. "Welcome to Liberty House." Rayyan stepped forward. "Who are you?" The woman closed her notebook. "My name is Nora." "Are you the person who sent the invitation?" "No." Rayyan glanced at Aatika. The warning returned to his mind. DO NOT TRUST THE PERSON WHO ARRIVES FIRST.

"Okay" Nora said as she nodded her head and went into her space,the first thing she grabbed was her laptop,her files that were in a case on the ground,Carl's Lego's, opening all her bags she took out everything that were in them even the money she had gotten from Dominco that she had tried to spend but haven't gotten the time and gathered them into one bag leaving the rest on the bed, searching around for what she could take,she kept moving around she wanted to take everything, "Nora! Are you done there let's get going,I've already called for our transport"

Emily Warner, the crazy and happy go lucky side-chick in all of the stories. She is happy that all of her friends met the man of their dreams but she hasn’t. She has never met a man who even remotely loved her. As a kid, she always hoped for a crazy life story like beauty and the beast or toy story or finding nemo. But she worked at a nine to five job, at the age of twenty nine, she was single, while all of her friends were either getting married or pregnant. And there she was sitting in front of the television, eating chips out of her hair.