Monica McCarty Quotes

She deserved someone who could see what she had to give and would lover her for it. Who wouldn't turn away from her every time she made a mistake. She wanted to be important to someone. Perhaps, it was unrealistic, but the alternative was far worse. She could live with a broken heart, but not at the expense of her soul.

His eyes flared, and he tightened his grip on her arm. "Don't press me, Meg."
She didn't miss the intimate use of her Christian name, but there was no mistaking the threat this time.
His voice was deep and liquid and seemed to wrap around her. She knew she shouldn't provoke him, but he brought out a mischievous side of her long forgotten. Lifting one brow, she asked, "Or what?"
Before the taunt had left her mouth, she was in his arms again and jerked firmly against the broad chest she'd just admired. She gasped. Not from shock, but from the realization of how much she liked being pressed against him. Of how she savored the sensation of her breasts and hips molded against the hard length of his body, of melting against him, of being secured in his arms. A wave of heated awareness shuddered through her.
His eyes were hooded, his expression dark and full of promise. "Or I will prove to you just how innocent you are, my sweet, and how very little control you have over a man and a man's desires.

Her body sighed, taking him in as if she'd been waiting for this her
whole life.
Perhaps she had.

Only one man walked with that kind of impatience - as if he was waiting for the world to catch up to him.

His gaze pinned her. "I think you'd better reconsider." Her breath was so tight she barely managed, "Why?" He smiled. "Because I don't think Felton would like having his wife in my bed, and that's where you are going to be." Mary gasped. But he didn't let her reply. He opened the door and left her standing alone in the room, gaping.

She'd loved him too much and given too much of herself away in the process. She had given him everything and never demanded anything in return. Why was she surprised that when she finally did, he refused?

Taking Flora to his room, rather than any other, amounted to a public declaration of his intentions. She was his, and he was saying as much.
Lachlan didn't give a damn what anyone thought, he wanted her with him. It was as simple as that.

It seemed she would not be able to ignore her duty; it had just arrived.

His kiss was brutal, punishing, for making him feel like this. He was
desperate. Out of control. Never had he experienced this kind of irrational
urgency. He needed her. Like a starving man needed food. Like a dying man
needed salvation. Now. Before everything went to hell. Before she could change her mind.

He kissed her as if he couldn't get enough of her.

Again.
Apparently, three broken engagements weren't enough. It was her duty to marry, and marry she must.

You want to know what's wrong?" He took her chin, forcing her to look at him. She could feel the angry pounding of his heart through the soft leather of his jerkin. "I'll tell you what's wrong. I want you so bad, I can't
think straight. My body is on fire. I can't look at you without wanting to pull you into my arms. I can't touch you without thinking of running my hands
all over you." Her eyes widened. The raw desire in his gaze shocked her.
Never had she thought herself capable of driving a man to such extreme
passion. "But that is only half the problem." His eyes had narrowed to slits, the lines around his mouth etched white. The dark stubble of his beard cast an ominous shadow along his hard, square jaw.
Whatever the problem, it didn't bode well for her. She tried to pull away, for the first time truly frightened, but he wouldn't let her go. His arms
were like steel.
"You want to know what's really wrong, Elizabeth?" His face was only inches from hers. "I saw you kiss him." He spoke each word with damning precision.

The Laird of Coll was undoubtedly a hard man. He didn't smile often, but when he did, it was as if the sun broke through the clouds. And he was smiling right now as she considered his question, knowing very well that she was enjoying herself.

You're a hard man to love, Lachlan MacRuairi, but I do belive I'm up to the challenge."
"We'll probably argue."
"Aye, it seems likely."
"I have a bit of a temper when I get angry."
"I have noticed," she said wryly.
"I can be a mean bastard. I"ll probably say something to hurt you."
She laughed. "Are you trying to scare me off?"
He gave her a rueful smile. " Maybe."
"Well, stop - it isn't going to work. I'm quite aware of your faults."
He frowned. "I didn't say they were faults.

A wave of possessiveness came over him, almost frightening in its
intensity. Mine. The thought of another man looking at her was almost
enough to make him change his mind about leaving.

Thief, brigand, outlaw, scourge: Those were names he was familiar with, not hero. Yet for a moment, this wee lass could make him want to believe that it was a possibility. Make him believe that there might be a flicker left in the embers of his blackened soul. That maybe there was still something inside him that hadn't died.
He regretted that one day soon he would have to prove her wrong.

As soon as the man had gone, Caitrina moved to stand before him, her soft feminine scent clouding his senses. Would it always be like this - this clawing need for her? The inability to think when she was near? The feeling that if he didn't take her in his arms and kiss her, he would surely die?

She entered the hall at the same time he did from the opposite side. With a cry that told her exactly how worried she'd been about him, she raced into his arms.
She could hear the reverberation of his laugh in his chest as he lifted her up and spun her in his arms. Still in his embrace, he set her feet back on the ground and pressed a quick kiss on her lips, the brevity of which she suspected was due to their audience. His voice was low and husky. "Miss me?"
-Kenneth Sutherland & Mary of Mar

His mouth slid over her jaw and down her throat, her skin as smooth
and sweet as cream. "God, you taste incredible," he murmured, his tongue
sliding a teasing path along the edge of her bodice. "I want to lick every inch of you.

The next morning dawned cool and clear. The early mist had lifted, leaving a thick layer of dew clinging to the hillsides beyond the castle, shimmering in the morning sun like faerie dust sprinkled over a lush bed of emerald.
Like his eyes.

He stilled for a moment, savoring the sensation of being buried deep inside her, of filling her, of being joined together in God's heavenly embrace. He held her gaze and pushed deeper, shuddering with a wave of pure tenderness. The look in her eyes stripped him to the core. He couldn't move, wanting to preserve the moment, wanting never to forget how it felt to experience perfection.

Her mouth was right on his ear, and she spoke her wicked thoughts aloud. "I want you inside me."
That was it. With a violent growl, he snapped. "Damn you, Elizabeth.

Her eyes heated with the anger and hurt that had been held inside her
for too long. "Your trips to the village have not gone unnoticed."
A look of confusion crossed his too-handsome face. "What does my
going to the village have to do with us?"
"I know there are women
"
He swore and gripped her arm, jerked her up against his chest. "Who
put such nonsense in your head?"
She didn't say anything, her throat hot and tight from the ball of tears
constricting it.
"Finlay," he said flatly. She looked at him in surprise. " 'Tis no secret
that he despises me, but I am surprised that you listened to his venom."
"It's not too difficult to believe. You are a man."
"Aye," he said softly. "But I've not had another woman, Elizabeth."
Her heart faltered. Her eyes shot to his, not daring to believe ... He
cradled her cheek tenderly in his big hand.
"How can I when I want someone else?"
He hasn't been with a woman ... he wants me.

Why was she doing this to herself? She was too young to be locked away in this grim castle, weighed down with responsibility that was not hers
to shoulder. She should be at parties, being feted, dancing, and enjoying
herself. Or be surrounded by bairns. My bairns, he thought fiercely.

This smells like shit," MacRuairi said, smearing the black seal grease over his naked skin. They'd bundled their armor and weapons in a pack to keep them dry when they crossed the river. The seal grease would not only help them blend into the darkness, it protected them from the cold December waters.
"You'll be grateful for in in a few minutes." MacSorley grinned. "The water will freeze your bollocks off."
"Which shouldn't be a problem for you anymore," MacRuairi said dryly.
"Damn, cousin, was that a joke?" MacSorley shook his head. "It does snow in hell."
MacRuairi muttered something under his breath as he finished applying the grease.

We'll have to fix your shoulder first," MacRuairi said. He turned him around, grabbing hold of the top of his arm. He handed Arthur his dagger. "Ready?"
Arthur put the wooden hilt between his teeth and nodded. The pain was extreme but quick. After a moment, he was able to roll his shoulder freely in the socket. "You've done that before?" Arthur said.
"Nay," MacRuairi said, a rare smile on his face. "But I've seen it done. I guess you're lucky I'm a quick study.

She read him better than he realized and eyed him warily. "Do you want to know?"
He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Nay." It was in the past. "Then I would have to kill him."
Her eyes widened, his blunt statement surprising her. "You would do that for me?"
The woman was daft. "I will kill anyone who harms you." He cocked a brow. "I hope that doesn't offend your delicate sensibilities?"
"No," she said hesitantly. "Though I'm not used to having such a fierce protector."
He kissed her forehead. "Get used to it.