Romantic Era Books Novels & Stories

At the bottom of the shelf, though, were a handful of romance novels—in English, no less. I pulled out a historical romance by a favorite author of mine. I hadn’t read this one, and I’d already finished the one romance I’d brought with me. I was a total bore and preferred to read printed books still. Probably because they smelled nice. If e-readers could let out a puff of new-book scent, though, I’d buy one in a heartbeat. “The Seduction of Miss Emily Morris,” Olivier read over my shoulder. “That rather gives the plot away, no?”

“Why is it so dark? Please, turn on the lights, Anth.” I hesitated before pressing the soft buttons of the light switch and then the room brightened up. I heard her gasp first before my eyes took in the rose petals and unlit candles on the floor and on various pieces of furniture in the living room. My eyes scanned the room and spotted more rose petals, even the ones leading to the bedroom. The romantic setting of the place made my nervousness spike higher than before. “Did you do this?” I pushed every ounce of nervousness from my body and approached her then wrapped my arms around her shoulder. I placed my face against hers then kissed her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin and inhalin

I grabbed my purse and headed out the door, turning back for my book on the kitchen counter; reading books will forever be my first love. At The Tasty Place Diner I found what might be my new inspiration. He was tall, almost roughed, not too soft. I don’t know what to make of what happened. “Mr. Blackwood,” he had signed my book; who was he? He was light skinned. I usually like men a shade closer to purple. His chest was broad, too broad. Usually my men are slimmer. He had lazy eyes that looked intense just when he needed them to be. Bedroom McDreamy eyes... And he smiled like a humming bird, glorious and slick.

"I don't believe we are enemies. Do enemies kiss like this? Do they want each other the way we do? And I don't want to stop here, not now, Ryder. I want to go all the way to the end." His heart leaped inside of him - in a funny-saddened way. He was supposed to be punished by her people but here he was, pushed to the edge of the bed and being succumbed to the affections of a pretty woman. He as well would love to see the end of this exciting passion that they both shared. But it was dangerous, tantalizing but dangerous. He leaned forward, pulling her head down to meet his wanting mouth. She tasted like lemon grass mixed with vanilla - a taste of their passion. But he wanted more.

Luca, my own Italian stallion. In my fantasies, anyway. He's tall and built. His olive-toned, tanned skin draws me along with his midnight black hair and those dark brown eyes. Yum. Of course my fantasies aren't really happening right now. Because in my dreams, he catches me and then ravishes me, making me forget any other man. I've really been reading too many romance novels. Seriously. We just stare at each other, my blue-eyed gaze caught in his brown. I'm barely breathing, waiting for what he's gonna say. I know he's not my "real" dad.

I fled the room as if the hounds of hell were at my heels, heart hammering, thighs embarrassingly slick. --- The summons didn’t stop. The next day he called me to clean his chambers. The room was almost spotless — only a few books out of place and pillows slightly askew — yet he made me clean it twice under the weight of his stare. His scent, dark pine and warm musk, wrapped around me until I felt dizzy and aching. By the time I finished, my nipples were tight against my dress and heat throbbed low in my belly. He dismissed me only after I caught him inhaling deeply, as if drinking me in.

The rest of the days were beautiful; the nights, more beautiful and magical. Roxanne waltzed through them in a beautiful halo of happiness. When she wasn't with Jaxon, she thought about him as she read with Grace and Martha, Especially when they read erotic books. It felt like a song, a siren song, pulling her body to his. When she was with him, he was making love to her body in one way or another, with his body, with his words, with his eyes, Or he was f*cking her hard.

A sharp bell rang out, echoing through the night. A shrill voice announced, "The time has come. Let the bride enter!" A black carriage, lavishly decorated yet unsettling, rolled in slowly. The door opened, and a bride in a blood-stained wedding dress stepped out gracefully. "Where's my groom?" George hurried over, waving for the puppets to drag me away. He pointed at the players seated at a long table. "My lady, please take a look. Which one do you favor?" The bride lifted her veil. Blood slid down her face like melting wax. Her crimson eyes swept across the crowd. "I'm not satisfied with any of them. Not a single one looks pleasing."

Edward handled most of them while I restocked shelves and learned the layout. Around two, a woman came in looking for a specific dark romance. "Do you have anything like Butcher & Blackbird?" she asked. "I just finished it and I need something similar." Edward looked at me. "Maliya?" I stepped forward. "Have you read Haunting Adeline? Or the Broken Bride series? They've got similar dark romance vibes with morally gray love interests." Her face lit up. "I haven't read either of those. Where are they?" I led her to the romance section, pulled both books, gave her quick summaries.

She had been so cold for so long, and now she could feel a burning desire rushing through her, bright and overwhelming. When he lay back on the bed and spoke her name into the quiet, something inside her stirred, soft at first and then insistent. His awareness of her felt like a hand brushing against her soul. Every time he shifted, every time his breath changed, she thought it rippled through her, a quiet pull that made her drift closer without quite meaning to.