Novel & Cerita Romance Murder Mystery Books

she says and I don't think I've ever felt more besotted with a woman before now. "Cheers princess. Come and sit in here. We're just going over some boring things and then we can do whatever. That's if we haven't got to go out later." "Okay," she says and settles into the sofa with a book. "Is that a bloody romance book?" I ask her which gets Dante to turn and look as well. She only smiles at me briefly before talking. "No actually. It's a murder mystery book" "Oh yeah? Anything good in it?"

James sat in his grandmother's cozy living room, listening intently as she read him the stories of Eli, the vampire who had faced insurmountable odds and emerged victorious through sheer determination and the power of love. James had always loved hearing these stories, but today they held a special meaning for him.

And that's all that mattered even if she was cursing me. . ____ A. Gupta Check out my completed books: Mafia Romance with dark, DARK Heroes: Bride to Be, CAGED, Twisted Marriage!! And another sweet, angsty, steamy book duo: His Broken Princess and His Steel Princess!!

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?"

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.

My fists clenched at my sides, my knuckles turning white with the sheer force of my grip. Arrangement? So are they truly engaged because of some archaic pact? Was Lyra, my Lyra, simply given away as part of some deal I knew nothing about? The thought was a searing brand across my soul, and it made the air feel suddenly thin and suffocating. Angela—the woman I believe is my Lyra—was about to say something, her mouth opening, when a sharp, blinding pain exploded at the back of my head. Oh shit, not again.

"It's a good thing you're going to find out today, right?" ‎ ‎The door opened and I was immediately pushed inside the office. My gaze skidded over coquette styled book shelves, pink fluffy rug beneath classic chairs arranged at the side and a well decorated office table at the center of it all. ‎ ‎As my gaze landed on her, I shifted my cane to the other hand. This time, I was uncomfortable. "If you all react like that to my question, I'll be forced to believe that this is a cult." ‎‎She glanced through the pages of a book she picked from one of the shelves. "Won't that be a lot better?"

Her eyes snapped open at the threat—and he slammed his demanding lips onto hers instantly. He kissed her like he was pouring both his anger and hunger into that kiss, while his hands, still holding the gun, entered her top and grabbed her breasts, the cold metal pressing against her warm, soft skin. But Rosa was still disgusted and terrified of this dangerous mafia king, and she pushed him away. He narrowed his eyes, looking at her with a dangerous warning. “I… I’m not comfortable with a dead body lying here in its blood,” she stammered nervously, still very terrified.

She caressed the words with her fingertips as she read them aloud. Protect her at the cost of your life Elle est la solution She sighed in confusion and she was exhausted to solve the mystery behind these words. She slept that night clutching the memoir and letter to her chest. A little girl was unaware of the sacrifices that words hold.

His thumb moved in the small circle against my pulse point, the gesture I had once found reassuring and now read as the inventory it had always been, the confirmation of what was present, what was contained, what was his. "You don't need them," he murmured. "You have me." I stood in the corridor of Brocandale Manor with his hand on my wrist and Elena's retreating footsteps and the empty bedside table and the missing evidence and the two notes from the poetry book gone and the grandmother's locket somewhere in the purse he had taken while I slept.