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Romance Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
Note from a stranger

Note from a stranger

When a mysterious letter arrives at her brownstone apartment, Clara Vance-an editor nursing heartbreak in the heart of Manhattan-finds herself drawn into the story of a town that doesn't exist on any map. Her curiosity eventually leads her to Eli Dawson, a quiet artist with his own secrets. Clara begins to unravel a past that may not be entirely hers with the assistance of her jovial roommate Marla, a reclusive bookseller by the name of Bea, and letters signed by an unknown individual. A moving tale about second chances, quiet places, and the kind of love that comes out of nowhere. October in New York City A coppery wax stamp without initials sealed the creamy white envelope, which was thick and textured. It was in Clara Vance's mailbox, between an unsubscribed issue of The New Yorker and an electric bill. She opened it in the hallway, leaning against the peeling paint of the front door of her brownstone. The bookstore café down the hall was emitting the scent of roasted coffee beans. > "To the girl who forgets to look up: There's a place that misses you. Locate it. It is standing by the lake." There was no signature. merely a return address from Davenport's Reach, New York, a place she'd never heard of. In their tiny, sun-drenched kitchen, she showed it to Marla that night over wine and leftover pad thai. Marla read it twice. "This is either a stalker, a marketing ploy, or an angel whose handwriting is terrible." Too exhausted to care, Clara laughed. "Or the incorrect Vance was simply discovered by mail," The name Davenport's Reach, on the other hand, lingered in her mind as she lay in bed later. The Last Page was run by Bea Kensington. It was a bookstore café on Amsterdam Avenue that was hidden between two flower shops. The shelves creaked, the scones were always warm, and the regulars mostly brought their own mugs. Clara had edited novels there for three years. It was there that Julian Park broke off their engagement six months after she fell in love with him. It was also where she met Rosa, the barista who brewed heartbreak the same way she brewed espresso-bold and with a twist of sarcasm. Before Clara spoke, the letter was noticed by Bea. "That's Davenport's Reach," the old woman said, adjusting her tortoiseshell glasses. "I haven't heard that name in fifty years." "Have you been there?" "More like I left it behind," Bea said. "Before the city pulled me in. There are some places you only visit in letters or dreams. Clara felt the pull again. not only of the location but also of the story. An editor's curse. "Do you think it's real?" Bea sipped her tea. "Does it matter? If a place is written well enough, it might as well be." She met him on the F train. Clara's tote bag had tipped over, spilling manuscripts all over the floor, and it was crowded. He knelt down to assist her and handed her the pages without observing. A sketchbook was in his lap, and his fingers were covered in ink. "Thanks," she said, catching her breath. He responded, glancing at the title of the manuscript, "No problem." "That one has a sad ending." "Have you read it?" He nodded. "Once. In a different life." His name was Eli Dawson. He lived in a fourth-floor walk-up in Brooklyn, painted portraits that looked like they missed someone, and rarely smiled with his eyes. There was something about him that made Clara feel like she had just walked into the second chapter of something she should've started long ago. They started running into each other more-on the train, in Central Park, in the bookstore. Rosa called it "a plot device." The second letter came with a pressed leaf. > "The lake turns silver in October. That's when the geese start calling. You always said the silence there was louder than the subway." It made Clara ache. Over breakfast, she told Marla. "It's like they know things I've never said aloud." Marla played with a spoon. "Maybe they do. Perhaps you are writing to yourself. Your future self." "Or my past." The letters kept coming. Stories were sometimes told. Occasionally, lists Once, a map of a lakeside town with no roads in or out. She told Eli about them on a walk through Central Park, leaves crunching beneath their boots. He looked distant. "My brother used to send me letters like that. After his stroke, he forgot most things but remembered places that never existed." "Henry?" Eli nodded. "I had no idea he was sick," I said. He's doing better now. But changed. He paints only one thing now-a dock, on a lake, with a red canoe. Julian Park appeared at her doorstep one rainy afternoon, hair wet, eyes nostalgic. "I saw your name on a galley proof," he said. "Missing you." Clara's response was, "You missed owning me." "There is a distinction." Life, to Julian, was always like a chessboard. Clara had had enough of him being his queen. The next day, she ran into Zadi Thompson-Eli's ex-at The Last Page. Zadi was all angles and red lips. "You're the editor," Zadi said, leani
His Deviant Lover

His Deviant Lover

Sebastian Mila Davies! Mila is a young girl who experienced the hardness of life at a very young age, her father snatched her away from her in a bomb blast which made her a bastard. Her mother abandoned her for a man richer than her dead father making her an orphan, left alone in the world and betrayed by her mother she vows to become better than her and richer than her mother's husband. Brett Harvey is a young and compassionate young man inside the theatre but outside he is a total brat, he hates his father for getting married to another woman when his mother is still alive. He believes in waiting for the right one, but there is something more to him that no one knows about that he is keeping a secret. ~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~ "Ya! Aren't you the girl who I gave my watch to?" Brett stared at Mila with intense anger hidden within his eyeballs. "Do I know you?" Mila asked forging ignorance at his words, she crossed her hands over her chest without a care in the world. "Don't give me that shit, I know you are the one. How dare you send me a doll smeared with blood as a warning, I mean who does that." Brett grumbled out stepping closer to her and trying to intimidate her. The people in the hall gently back offed too, they all knew how harsh their Doctor could be. "I don't care who you are, no one is above threats and warnings. You should be happy I only warned you, next time it will be worst." Mila muttered with a cold tone, she turned away from him and slowly swayed her hips as she padded her way out
TWISTED FANTASY

TWISTED FANTASY

Notice; Book Contains Dark scenes and might be unfavorable to sensitive readers. ~ "You like this don't you?" He asked with his sultry powerful voice that made my skin servile. He had a dark, hard, and powerful aura. I simply nodded lost to the sensations building up in my thighs. He grabbed my hair tightly. "Answer me!" He yelled. The sound of his voice bounced through the walls, as my heartbeat accelerated higher. "Yes." I could feel him smirk behind me as he traced his fingers from my earlobe down to my neck drawing circles around it at a slow pace. His other hand went to my bosom and began tugging, kneading, and caressing. I tried to swallow my moans and kept it buried but no matter how hard I tried to keep it back in it came crashing out like an eruption. "Ahhh!" I exclaimed burning in the furnace of pleasure as my head fell back and beaded sweat formed on my forehead. He was skilled with his hands as he knew what to touch to increase or decrease my pleasure. "Are you ready to cum for me slut?" He gritted to my ears as he tugged painfully at my breast and twisted the other making it unbearable for me to act sane. I wanted him not to stop. I wanted his hands all day fuck! I wanted this pleasure for life. I don't care if I die from it. It felt so good to ever think of anything else at this point. He called me a slut and I didn't get mad at his choice of words. Instead, I found myself getting wettie, hornier, and excited in dire need of an orgasm. "Yes!" I answered quickly, licking my lips. He spun me around to face him. "When next I ask a question, answer yes sir! Have I made myself clear?" He ordered as his hands gripped my throat as though he wanted to choke me. It felt sexy to me. I wanted to be choked, scratched, pulled, assaulted whichever he chooses to take me and how. I'm a slave to my fantasies. "Yes sir!" He let go of me, my fingers crawled up to my neck where his grip had smeared and a naughty smile spread across my face. He moved away from me and stepped a few distance as I heard the shuffling of clothes and my skin tingled in anticipation. I felt his whiskey breath fan my face as he slid behind me. His tongue traced the outline of my ear down to my neck and I felt a shiver run down my spine. We were unclad skin to skin. I was ready for the taking. My pussy throbbed painfully wishing for an intrusion to soothe the aches. His hot tongue on my skin fueled my sexual tension and it slowly rose to a peak to the extent I wanted to cry. 'Please fuck me!' ************ Ryker Armstrong has never met the obstacle he couldn't overcome, with everyone on his beck and call at his fingertips. He hasn't met the lady that could resist his charms or the high stake in status he possesses. Harper Jones had given up the fantasy of having her knight in shining armour and doesn't believe in them. And with her strict upbringing and personality, succumbing to temptation never occurred to her. When two strangers meet, things aren't what they seem. But sometimes life isn't just white and black.