Romance books are far from new but have been growing in popularity over the last few years. Wards and Ruth Ann Nordin to New York Times bestselling authors like Sylvia Day and Chrissy Peebles.Īs you would expect, we have a wide range of romance genres available for you to choose from, including: Authors and GenresĪt Obooko we are proud to have on board some of the most talented romance authors in the world, from independent self-published writers including L. It is one of the many diverse Romance Books online that we have published especially for you exclusively on obooko for legally licensed download.
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We have located the original transcriptions and published the letters in this free historical book, Pretty Dukkys: The Love letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn, which we hope you will enjoy. These letters from King Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn were found in the Vatican Library who stole them and how they came to Rome is a mystery that has puzzled historians for years. Want to learn to write love letters like a King? Read the amorous writings that gave rise to the tumultuous love affair that changed England forever. So, if you are looking for a romantic fix at any time of the day or night, you know where to come! Unlike high-street bookstores, we are open 24 hours each day, every day!Īs with many of the free love stories in this category, it’s obvious that without romance, we would not be here after all, love is what makes the world go round! So it's good therapy to get stuck into a good romance whenever you can.
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The other hand paused in the act of conveying a pinch of snuff to the nostrils of the hooked nose that had, on the skin stretched tight over the bridge, the polish of old ivory the elbow pressing the black cocked-hat against the side the legs, one bent, the other bowing a little back-this was the attitude of Seraphina's father.Everybody loves Romance Books! Especially when they are free of charge. The black cane that had made the tap, tap, tap dangled by a silken cord from the hand whose delicate blue-veined, wrinkled wrist ran back into a foam of lawn ruffles. In that land of white clothes, that precise, ancient, Castilian in black was something to remember. I remember the rattling of the bolts on that door, and the tall figure that appeared there, snuffbox in hand. The door, petulantly thrust inwards, struck against some barrels. I remember the chilly smell of the typical West Indian store, the indescribable smell of damp gloom, of locos, of pimento, of olive oil, of new sugar, of new rum the glassy double sheen of Ramon's great spectacles, the piercing eyes in the mahogany face, while the tap, tap, tap of a cane on the flags went on behind the inner door the click of the latch the stream of light.
To yesterday and to to-day I say my polite “vaya usted con Dios.” What are these days to me? But that far-off day of my romance, when from between the blue and white bales in Don Ramon's darkened storeroom, at Kingston, I saw the door open before the figure of an old man with the tired, long, white face, that day I am not likely to forget.