The Romantic Englishwoman Novelas e Histórias

The beast lunged forward, clawing at Roman’s consciousness, pacing and panting against the confines of his ribs. Mate, the beast purred, a dark, vibrating hum of absolute reverence. Roman stared down at the woman in his grip. She was petite, but there was a fierce, vibrant energy radiating from her. Her hair fell in disheveled waves around a face that completely paralyzed him. Wide, expressive hazel eyes stared back up at him, framed by dark lashes. Her skin was flushed with the sudden shock of the collision. She was perfect. She was flawless. And she was entirely, undeniably human.

But then she regained her composure, and she took a step closer to Raphael. "I'm someone from your past," she said, her voice low and mysterious. "Someone you thought you'd never see again." As I gazed at the woman, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. She was everything I was not - elegant, refined, and beautiful. Her long, curly brown hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall, and her piercing green eyes sparkled with warmth and kindness. Her elegant white dress hugged her curves in all the right places, and her slender neck was adorned with a delicate silver necklace.

He was hers. “Do you speak English?” he asked the woman who smiled brightly. “I do indeed, sir,” she said in a tone that dripped with sugar, a British accent echoing through her voice. “I was born in London. How may I help you?” Creighton turned to Sandra and reached for her hand, holding it tightly. “My sister recommended your shop to us. I’m interested in buying my wife a few new outfits that will flatter her incredible figure. Do you have anything that would suit our needs?”

She was wearing a short frilly skirt that barely covered her bottom with suspenders and heels so tall Kat wondered how she even walked in them. “Lord Rubenuzzi, darling, I got your message.” She said in a very British aristocracy accent, appraising him in his towel before she then turned to Kat, who was leaning on the bathroom doorframe with her arms folded. The woman’s eyes widened as did her smile as her gaze landed on Kat, her golden skin glistening from the shower. “So it is true!” She turned back to Ruben who had closed the door behind her and was leaning back on it with his usual amused look. “You really do have a woman in your room, how absolutely amazing!”

Her long dark hair cascaded down her shoulders, and her lips, painted a deep red, curled into a sultry smile. Ryan blinked in surprise. “Uh… can I help you?” The woman stepped closer, her perfume filling the air. “Bonsoir, Mr. Winters,” she purred in a thick French accent, slipping past him into the room without invitation. “I’ve been sent to keep you… entertained for the night.” Ryan froze, realization dawned on him. His mind flashed back to what the assistant had said earlier—something to ease your mind. He ran a hand through his damp hair, closing the door slowly.

Emerald turned her head and froze. A stunning woman walked in—small, delicate, breathtaking. Her aura was so soft, she looked breakable. There was no one in this world who could match Rafael’s wife in beauty—no goddess, no queen, no mortal soul. She wasn’t just beautiful; she was otherworldly. Soft, angelic, a presence that felt carved from light itself. Her very existence seemed to quiet a room, as if the air paused just to take her in. Emerald, who had never once felt drawn to a woman, found herself momentarily breathless in her presence—flattened, disarmed, undone—because standing before that ethereal grace felt like standing before something divine.

Before I could respond, a high-pitched squeal interrupted us. “Fatima!” A young woman with a cascade of brunette curls ran up to our table, throwing her arms around Fatima and squeezing her in a bone-crushing hug. “Dolly!” Fatima exclaimed, returning the embrace. “When did you get back to England, and why didn’t I know about this?” she teased, crossing her arms and pretending to frown. I studied the woman closely, noting her beauty. Her doe-like brown eyes sparkled with warmth, her dark eyebrows were perfectly arched, and her naturally cherry-red lips were rare enough to make her stand out. She had an effortless charm, much like Fatima.

"Allow me to give it a try." Lenore hesitated, contemplating the offer. "No, I'll manage." The unfamiliar woman lifted her gaze, introducing herself as Maribella. In that moment, Ava's senses were overwhelmed by Maribella's sheer elegance, rendering her a creature of unparalleled beauty. Her pale blond tresses were slicked back into a flawless ponytail, not a single strand out of place. The sharp angles of her cheekbones contrasted with the softness of her ample lips and luminous eyes, infusing her countenance with an ethereal allure. Maribella's exquisite appearance seemed almost too extraordinary to be real.

In the midst of mingling, a young woman approached her, her appearance alluring yet accompanied by an odd energy. "Congratulations, Mrs. Hamilton. You're one lucky lady," the woman said, her tone laced with an unsettling edge. Dressed in a striking red gown that accentuated her curves, her black hair framed her face, and her piercing green eyes bore into Amelia's. "Thank you," Amelia replied, her introverted nature accentuating her unease. She noticed Angelica nearby and intended to make an exit, but her departure was abruptly halted by the stranger's strong grip on her arm.