Tessa Dare Quotes

Though he would be struggling to keep his meal

Dedication: For all the girls who walk and read at the same time.

A masquerade is supposed to be a chance to put on a different face, isn't it? An opportunity to be someone else for a few hours. Yet I can't seem to manage it. I'm still me, beneath the mask."
"I know what you mean." Gabe was still himself beneath the armor, too. An interloper among the aristocrats. Unwelcome. Inadequate. "We are who we are, I suppose."
"We are who we are," she agreed.
Gabe despised the defeated note in her voice. He liked who she was, beneath the mask. And when he was in her company, he almost liked who he was, too. The idea that anyone would overlook her made him vaguely furious.

She gazed at the man across from her. Her lover. His powerful shoulders worked beneath his shirt as he pulled on the oars. The display of strength and agility, set to a steady rhythm…memories of their lovemaking assailed her with quiet force.
In some other place, under some other circumstance, they might have been a courting couple. Rowing across a placid lake, caressed by a glowing sunset. From a distance, this could have been the picture of romance.
But the reality was confusion, and resentment, and pain. Did she feel sorry for misleading him? Sophia considered. She was not sure she could. By his own admission, he would not have made love to her had she not. And she could not regret that exquisite pleasure; nor could she regret sharing it with him. She looked at the handsome, strong, charismatic, passionate, exhausted man across from her. Selfish and wicked though she might be, she could not feel sorry that he was now bound to her-that for good or ill, he had not left her behind.
Sophia was, however, unequivocally sorry for one thing.
"Gray," she said, "I'm so sorry I've hurt you."
His eyes flashed, and there was a slight hitch in his stroke.

I'm so sorry," he said between kisses. "For what I said that night. For leaving you earlier. I never meant-"
"I know," she whispered, wrapping a leg over his lip and shinnying up his body. Her lips grazed his ear. "I know. Just don't leave me again."
"Never." The word burst out like an oath or a prayer, and God help him, he meant it. "Never," he repeated, looking straight into her glimmering eyes. Then he sealed the vow with a kiss, deep and desperate and true. "Oh God," he groaned when their lips finally parted.
She kissed him again, working her warm, slender fingers under the collar of his shirt to stroke the chilled flesh of his shoulders and back. He buries his face in her neck, inhaling the beautiful scent of her. He'd forgotten how roses smell sweetest after a rain. Trailing light kisses down to her collarbone, he began carrying her toward the bed.
"Make love to me, Gray."
She didn't need to ask. They both knew what was going to happen. But Gray felt the significance of her words. He might have bedded ladies and whores the world over, but for the first time in his life, he was going to make love to a woman. And not just a woman. His woman.
And this idea that should have been so unthinkable, so frightening-to his surprise, Gray found it wildly arousing. They tumbled together onto the narrow bed, and she began pulling his shirt free of his trousers. He rose up on his knees and impatiently yanked it over his head.
He peered at her frock i

That girl loves you, Gray. We're going to get out of this, and when we do-I'd bet a hundred sovereigns to one, Sophia will be there waiting for you."
"Sophia?" Gray blinked. "Her name is Sophia?"
Joss chuckled. "I was right. You didn't know."
"But-" Gray scratched the back of his neck. "But how did you? Since when have you known her name?"
Joss shrugged, his expression composed. "Since sometime yesterday." He laughed at Gray's befuddled silence. "When you dropped your trousers to take a piss. It's painted on your arse.

I was twelve when my father's stories began appearing in the Gentleman's Review. But that was almost fourteen years ago. And, in the natural way of things, I've aged one year every year since.

Susanna and Lord Rycliff had, in her observation, the ideal marriage. They understood one another, completely and implicitly. They disagreed and argued openly, demanded a great deal of each other and themselves, and they loved one another through it all. They were partners. Not just in love, but in life.

You can't just take her," Jeremy said, his voice growing rough with anger. "She belongs here. She's my wife."
Henry's eyes narrowed. "Not if I kill you, she isn't. Then she's your widow.

Cleverness is like rouge - liberal application makes a woman look common and desperate. Wit is knowing how to apply it.

That's it," she said, balling her hands in fists. "I'm not letting you out of it this time. I insist that you take me to Scotland. I demand you ruin me. As a point of honor.

I'm going to build that house with my own hands, from the foundation to the roof. I'm going to do it for us, and I'm going to do it right, so it lasts forever. Can't go raising walls on a shaky foundation. Can't go slapping thatch over rafters so thin, they'll topple with the first winter storm. Do you know?"
She nodded. "I know."
He reached for her hand. "It's the same with us. I mean to build something with you. Something that will last. Much as I want you, I don't want to rush and bollocks it up.

Lady Penelope Campion- the aging, frazzled, unsightly spinster who...
Who wasn't any of those things. Not by a mile. As fortune would have it, Lady Penelope Campion turned out to be a fair-haired, blue-eyed beauty.
In his mind's eye, he could still see her sprawled across his bed in her dressing gown. Like an all-grown-up Goldilocks, having crept into his house uninvited to test the mattress. Too soft, too hard...?
He didn't know her opinion, but Gabe's reaction was the latter. His cock was in its usual morning prime, standing at full mast.

Jeremy fixed her with a dark look, full of reproach. A hot blush singed the tips of her opal-adorned ears. For a moment, Lucy felt as though she were sitting in the breakfast room wearing only her nightgown - or less. But if he meant to shame her, he would be sorely disappointed. Her lips tingled, and she slowly wet them with her tongue before flashing him a bold grin. He quickly looked away.
Oh, what fun it was to vex him. He made it so easy to do. Hunting and fishing were all welland good, but truly, Jemmy-baiting had always been her favorite autumn sport. Lucy viewedhis staid countenance as an unending challenge. A smooth, thick-shelled egg that begged to be cracked. Any rearrangement of his features constituted a victory, be it a wince, a scowl, or that rarest of expressions - a smile. A smile that showed teeth counted double.Last night had shown her an entirely new way to bedevil Jeremy Trescott. Not with girlish pranks, but with womanly wiles. Oh, yes. She
‟
d cracked the egg last night, but good. Hisexpression of befuddled desire was far more amusing than a wince or a scowl, or even asmile that showed teeth. That last kiss had to count at least ten.She lifted her cup of chocolate to her lips. Closing her eyes, she pressed her tongue againstthe cool china rim, remembering the power of a proper kiss. Drinking in the hot, sweetrichness, feeling delicious warmth spread down her throat and pool in her belly. And lower.She sighed into the cup. If Jeremy

So there's an ... an etiquette to raking. Some seducer's code of honor. Is this what you're telling me?

So buy a home. Find a pretty girl to marry. Settle down and start a family."
Bram shook his head. Impossible suggestions, all. He was not about to resign his commission at the age of nine-and-twenty, while England remained at war. And he damned well wasn't going to marry. Like his father before him, he intended to serve until they pried his flintlock from his cold, dead grip. And while officers were permitted to bring their wives, Bram firmly believed gently bred women didn't belong on campaign. His own mother was proof of that. She'd succumbed to the bloody flux in India, a short time before young Bram had been sent to England for school.
He sat forward in his chair. "Sir Lewis, you don't understand. I cut my teeth on rationed biscuit. I could march before I could speak. I'm not a man to settle down. While England remains at war, I cannot and will not resign my commission. It's more than my duty, sir. It's my life. I…" He shook his head. "I can't do anything else."
"If you won't resign, there are other ways of helping the war effort."
"Deuce it, I've been through all this with my superiors. I will not accept a so-called promotion that means shuffling papers in the War Office." He gestured at the alabaster sarcophagus in the corner. "You might as well stuff me in that coffin and seal the lid. I am a soldier, not a secretary."
The man's blue eyes softened. "You're a man, Victor. You're human."
"I'm my father's son," he shot back, pounding the desk

Gray's teeth ground like millstones. At this rate, they wouldn't need a hanging. The effort required to hold his tongue in the face of these scurrilous falsehoods-it was likely to kill him.

Outside, Her Ladyship coaxed her dog back toward the house, lifting both dog and cart up the few steps to her door. Gabe turned away from the window, rubbing his temples.
"The situation is untenable, and that makes the house unsellable. No one wants to live next to a barnyard. I've tried reasoning with her, but when it comes to those animals, she's surprisingly tenacious."
Tenacious, indeed. And sufficiently reckless to trespass in a house after midnight and recover a parrot from a near-naked stranger's shoulder.
However, even that degree of tenacity had poor odds against sheer ruthlessness. Lady Penelope Campion had a softness for animals.

They'd entered a clearing. A wide, green meadow in the middle of the forest. The entire space was carpeted with bluebells. Thousands upon thousands of sweetly curving green stalks, their tips heavy with sprays of blue-violet blossoms. The sunlight shone from above and slanted through the trees, catching the blooms at different angles. The whole scene splendid.
It was magical.

I know you've always tried to do your best by me, in your own insufferable, arrogant way. You've been a decent brother, Gray. And a damn good friend."
Gray swore. He looked to the side, then back at his brother. "Fair warning, Joss. If you don't take your hand off me ... I will have to hug you."
Joss laughed. "After that speech, I'd be damn disappointed if you didn't.

No, no. Don't make that face. Every time I propose to you, you make that twisty, unhappy face. It wears on a man's confidence.

I didn't do it on purpose." His arms went around her. "I just ... I just needed to keep you up here." He walked her backward until her knees met the edge of her bed, and they both tumbled onto the mattress. "In this bed."
He stroked her hair, fanning it out over the pillows, and framed her face in his hands. "But I couldn't discern what it was you needed to feel safe. I tried everything. Finally, tonight, you gave me the answer. Light. So now you have as many candles as you please. But now it's gone all wrong. Because you're here in this bed. But I'm here, too. And God help me, Izzy." His brow pressed to hers, and his weight settled over her, crushing and warm. "I don't know how to leave.

The moment his hand closed around his rigid staff, her own breeding parts went soft and quivering.

That animal is not your possession. He doesn't exist for your amusement. He has needs, instincts. Urges."
The way he said that word, in that deep, earthy growl, had chills rippling over her skin.
She swallowed hard. "Urges?"
"Yes. Urges." He sauntered toward her- as much as a man could saunter in knee-deep water. "But what could a lady like you know about those?"
"Oh, I understand urges. Right now, I have the powerful urge to do this."
She shoved him hard in the chest, hoping to send him flailing backward into the river.
He didn't budge. Not a teeter. Not a totter.
Not even a blink.
Penny would not surrender. She took a step in reverse and then tried again, adding the weight of her body to the effort.
This time, he was ready for her. He caught her wrists in his hands, stopping her before she could even make contact.
"Now, now, Your Ladyship. This is most unbecoming behavior."
"I know that." She clenched her hands into fists. "You are so maddening. You have a way of provoking me, unlike anyone I've ever known. It's as though I become a different person when I'm around you, and I'm not certain I like her."
He pulled her to him. "I like her."
Penny expected he would shortly ruin that statement.
I like her- smoldering pause- potential to increase the return on my property investment.
Not this time.
Instead, he lowered his head until his mouth brushed hers.
Teased her lips apart, until his tongue

I never thought Greek philosophy could make a damn bit of sense to me. And most of it didn't, but those words just seemed right. 'Love is composed of a single soul, inhabiting two bodies.'" He took her by the shoulders drawing her close. "It rang true for me, in a way nothing else did. Whatever soul I had, Katie, I think I placed it in your keeping twenty years ago. And now, it's as if ... every time we kiss, you give a little piece of it back.

When they rolled to a stop, she found herself pinned by a tremendous, huffing weight. And pierced by an intense green gaze.
"Wh-?" Her breath rushed out in question.
Boom, the world answered.
Susanna ducked her head, burrowing into the protection of what she'd recognized to be an officer's coat. The knob of a brass button pressed into her cheek. The man's bulk formed a comforting shield as a shower of dirt clods rained down on them both. He smelled of whiskey and gunpowder.
After the dust cleared, she brushed the hair from his brow, searching his gaze for signs of confusion or pain. His eyes were alert and intelligent, and still that startling shade of green-as hard and richly hued as jade.
She asked, "Are you well?"
"Yes." His voice was a deep rasp. "Are you?"
She nodded, expecting him to release her at the confirmation. When he showed no signs of moving, she puzzled at it. Either he was gravely injured or seriously impertinent. "Sir, you're…er, you're rather heavy." Surely he could not fail to miss that hint.
He replied, "You're soft."
Good Lord. Who was this man? Where had he come from? And how was he still atop her?
"You have a small wound." With trembling fingers, she brushed a reddish knot high on his temple, near his hairline. "Here." She pressed her hand to his throat, feeling for his pulse. She found it, thumping strong and steady against her gloved fingertips.
"Ah. That's nice."
Her face blazed with heat. "

Oh no," she breathed. "Not the Highwoods." She called after the coach as it rumbled off into the distance. "Mrs. Highwood, wait! Come back. I can explain everything. Don't leave!"
"They seem to have already left."
She turned on Bram, flashing him an angry blue glare. The force of it pushed against his sternum. Not nearly sufficient to move him, but enough to leave an impression.
"I do hope you're happy, sir. If tormenting innocent sheep and blowing ruts in our road weren't enough mischief for you today, you've ruined a young woman's future."
"Ruined?" Bram wasn't in the habit of ruining young ladies-that was his cousin's specialty-but if he ever decided to take up the sport, he'd employ a different technique. He edged closer, lowering his voice. "Really, it was just a little kiss. Or is this about your frock?"
His gaze dipped. Her frock had caught the worst of their encounter. Grass and dirt streaked the yards of shell-pink muslin. A torn flounce drooped to the ground, limp as a forgotten handkerchief. Her neckline had likewise strayed. He wondered if she knew her left breast was one exhortation away from popping free of her bodice altogether. He wondered if he should stop staring at it.
No, he decided. He would do her a favor by staring at it, calling her attention to what needed to be repaired. Indeed. Staring at her half-exposed, emotion-flushed breast was his solemn duty, and Bram was never one to shirk responsibility.
"Ahem." She crosse

He kissed her. Without warning, without permission. Without even deciding to do it, but simply because he couldn't have done anything else. He needed that breath she was holding. It belonged to him, and he wanted it back.

You couldn't possibly."
"I can, and I will."
Heavens. His dark, intense stare nailed her slippers to the gravel path. Her heart pounded in her chest. And then he spoke the gruff, possessive words Penny had started to doubt she'd ever hear.
"I need you, Lady Penelope Campion. I'm not letting you go.

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Emma Gladstone had learned a few hard lessons by the age of two-and-twenty. Charming princes weren't always what they seemed. Shining armor went out of fashion with the Crusades. And if fairy godmothers existed, hers was running several years late. Most of the time, a girl needed to rescue herself.

"What burden do you have?"
"The burden of duty." His voice lowered to an intense whisper. "I led those men into battle. When they were weary and chilled and sick with fear, I pushed them on. I promised they'd see the day when they'd come home to their wives, their sweethearts, their bairns, their lands. Instead, they came home to nothing.

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What is it? For God's sake, what is it about me you find so intolerable? So wretchedly unbearable you can't even stand to be in the same room?"
He muttered an oath. "Stop provoking me. You won't like the answer."
"I want to hear it anyhow."
He plunged one hand into her hair, startling a gasp from her lips. Strong fingers curled to cup the back of her head. His eyes searched her face, and every nerve ending in her body crackled with tension. The sinking sun threw a last flare of red-orange light between them, setting the moment ablaze.
"It's this."
With a flex of his arm, he pulled her into a kiss.
And he kissed her the way he did everything. Intensely, and with quiet force. His lips pressed firm against hers, demanding a response.

Do you want me, Min?"
"Yes."
"Need me."
"Yes." She writhed against him, wild and slick and hot.
"Love me?" His voice was so hoarse with yearning, the words got lost in his throat. He slid into her, pushing his hard length into her tight body. "Love me," he grunted, driving the words home on a thrust. "Love. Me."
"Yes." She gasped with pleasure, canting her pelvis to take him deep. "Yes."
He pumped her steadily, driving into her at just the angle he knew she craved.

Doubt not my love," he repeated, with a chorus of knights to bolster him. "If men would seek to part us, death itself would be a veil too thin. For lo, though I wander the earth for my king, you remain - now and ever - queen of my heart.

What kind of a modern woman was she, if she didn't reach for her own dream? Maybe it was time to sweep the man off his feet, for a change.

Any self-respecting rake had two kinds of women in his life: those he took to bed at night and those who made him a pancake in the morning. If he suddenly wanted both from the same woman, it was a warning flag. One big and red enough for even a blind man to see.

Griff held out his empty hand. "Pauline, I'm here asking you--begging you, if it comes to that--to take my hand. Just take my hand, and promise before God you will never let it go. I will vow the same. Can we arrange for that to happen, someday soon? In a church?" After a moment, he added in a quiet voice, "Please?

Oh, dear." She let her head fall back to the pillow. "There it went. I've fallen in love with you now."
"Just now?" Chuckling, he came to a sitting position, resting his forearm on one bent knee. "Well, thank God for belated blessings." He ran a hand
through his hair. "It's been coming on rather longer than that for me."
"What?" She sat bolt upright. "What can you mean? Since when?"
"From the first, Amelia. From the very first.

This is absurd," Colin grumbled. "At this rate, we'll arrive next Tuesday."
"Stop talking. Start moving." Bram nudged a sheep with his boot, wincing as he did. With his leg already killing him, the last thing he needed was a pain in the arse, but that's exactly what he'd inherited, along with all his father's accounts and possessions: responsibility for his wastrel cousin, Colin Sandhurst, Lord Payne.
He swatted at another sheep's flank, earning himself an indignant bleat and a few inches more.
"I have an idea," Colin said.
Bram grunted, unsurprised. As men, he and Colin were little more than strangers. But during the few years they'd overlapped at Eton, he recalled his younger cousin as being just full of ideas. Ideas that had landed him shin-deep in excrement. Literally, on at least one occasion.
Colin looked from Bram to Thorne and back again, eyes keen. "I ask you, gentlemen. Are we, or are we not, in possession of a great quantity of black powder?

I'm not a child," Eliza argued with the closed double doors. "I'm a grown woman. With accomplishments and bosoms and everything.

Look at him. The man's not delusional. He's in love.

You're here," he repeated, taking her hand and drawing it against his chest, right above his pounding heartbeat. "In my heart. Somehow you crashed your way into it when I wasn't looking. The same way you barged into my library, I suppose. But you're here now, inside. Emma, you're the very life of me."

She could scarcely speak. "That was quite nicely said."

"You think so?"

"Did you practice it on the way here?"

His chin pulled back in a gesture of offense. "No.

Oh no. Don't smile. You'll kill me. I stop breathing when you smile.

You don't have a wife then? No family of your own?" Sophia kept her tone light, stealing furtive glances at Quinn's hawk's-beak nose and heavy brow between questions.
"Not as yet, miss."
"But surely you've a sweetheart for Saturdays?"
Quinn gave a rough laugh. "Oh, I've one for every day of the week, Miss Turner."
Sophia stilled her charcoal and lifted an eyebrow. "What a relief to learn that your calendar is full, Mr. Quinn. For I warn you, I shan't be tempted to stray from Gervais.

She would allow him to comfort her. And perhaps, someday, she would listen patiently if a dark, dreary night found him well in his cups and he drunkenly confessed to still feeling scores of wounds that weren't his own, but those of men under his command.

I reckon we could all use an opportunity to endear ourselves to our wives." He looked to Rycliff and Thorne. "When's the last time you did something heroic for your lady?"
Rycliff smirked. "Last night."
Thorne drained his tankard and cracked his neck. "This morning."
"I didn't mean in bed," Colin said. Under his breath he added, "Braggarts.

He growled, moaned, winced, and cursed. Yet despite all these sounds of seeming displeasure, he made no effort to discourage her. He made his body hers to explore, just as she'd been longing to do ever since he'd come upon her that first night, draped in a towel and dripping wet.
With one finger, she drew a teasing line down the center of his chest, all the way down to his navel.
He bucked his hips. His erection grazed her sex, and she gasped at the sudden contact. Their bodies were separated by the fine lawn of his shirt and the wool of his trousers, but she could feel him- his length, his heat, his hardness.
His desire.
She'd felt triumphant in tackling him to the bed, but that was nothing compared to the surge of power rushing through her now. The thick, hot column of arousal wedged between her thighs- it was for her. All for her. Excitement rocketed through her body and came to settle in her sex, melting onto a soft, throbbing ache.
Desperate to soothe that ache, she rocked against him. The friction sent a pulse of bliss through her body. Judging by his tortured groan, he felt it, too.
His head fell back against the mattress. "God. Yes. Again.

I don't suppose there are eggs? If I do say it myself, I make a very good pancake." Oh, no. This just grew worse and worse. I make a very good pancake.

Her chin lifted. "Very well. Here is my best offer. Half of my nakedness for all of yours."
He pretended to think on it. " It's a bargain.

I want to have you in every way known to man, and then
invent a dozen more.

He passed into the galley and was greeted by a cloud of fragrant steam. The exotic scent of spices mingled with the tang of roasting meat. Startled, Gabriel choked on a sip from a tankard. In the corner, Stubb quickly shoved something behind his back. The old men's eyes shone with more than holiday merriment.
"Happy Christmas, Gray." Gabriel extended the tankard to him. "Here. We poured you some wine."
Gray waved it off with a chuckle. "That my new Madeira you're sampling?"
Gabriel nodded as he downed another sip. "Thought I should taste it before you serve it to company. You know, to be certain it ain't poisoned." He drained the mug and set it down with a smile. "No, sir. Not poisoned."
"And the figs? The olives? The spices? I assume you checked them all, too? For caution's sake, of course."
"Of course," Stubb said, pulling his own mug from behind his back and taking a healthy swallow. "Everyone knows you can't trust a Portuguese trader."
Gray laughed. He plucked an olive from a dish on the table and popped it into his mouth. Rich oil coated his tongue. "Did you find the crate easily enough?" he asked Stubb, reaching for another olive.
The old steward nodded. "It's all laid out, just so. Candles, too."
"Feels like Christmas proper." Gabriel tilted his head. "Miss Turner even gave me a gift."
Gray followed the motion, squinting through the steam.
I'll be damned.

There's more than one way to share pleasure."
She was quiet for a long moment. "How many ways?"
He rolled onto his side to face her, skimming a single finger from her breastbone to her belly. Here's an idea. I'll demonstrate them, and you keep count.

A little smile on your face, because you'd just untangled a new translation." He cleared his throat. "Like this one. Tumi amar jeeboner dhruvotara." She tilted her head, puzzling over the phrase. "That's not Hindustani." "Bengali. It means 'You are my life's bright star' in Bengali." The sweet words were edged with frustration, not tenderness. His knuckles cracked. "Obviously, I was saving that one. For the right morning.

I can't believe that any man would care enough to go to all that trouble. Not for me."
He stopped pacing and approached her. He put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to meet his intense blue gaze. "I am wearing a cravat and cuff links at the godforsaken Beetle Ball. Does this not count as going to trouble for you?"
"But ... that's not for me. Not really."
"Maddie, mo chridhe." His grip on her arms softened to a caress, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. "Like hell it isn't."
-Maddie & Logan

This is the normal way with birthdays, see? Amazingly enough, they arrive on the same day, every year.

Gabriel nudged her with his shoulder. "Look."
The newborn goat was standing on his own wobbly legs, taking drunken steps. When he toppled sideways, he bleated indignantly.
Gabriel started to reach for him, but Penny held him back. "Wait."
Marigold roused herself and ambled over to her kid, licking him about the head until George lurched and swayed himself to his hooves, and when he nosed at her swollen underside, she allowed him to nurse.
"Oh. That's lovely." Penny snuggled under Gabriel's arm.
"Thank God she finally took to him," he said.
"How could she not? Look how adorable he is. Best little goat in the world.

He let his eyes flitter over her. "I don't see anything 'precisely.' I can tell you're slender. I can see you're wearing white, or some light color. Your face is pale, your lips are reddish. And there appears to be a dark brown octopus attacking your head."

"That's my hair."

Ransom shrugged. "You asked what I see. I see tentacles.

When he'd ordered the Aphrodite converted to accommodate passengers, the builder had given him an option. Did he want four gentlemen's cabins, similar to the ladies'? Or would he prefer to squeeze six smaller berths into the same space?
Gray's answer? Six, of course. No question about it. Two extra beds meant two extra fares. He hadn't dreamed he'd one day occupy one of these cramped berths.
Six feet of angry man, lashed into a five-foot bunk, in the midst of a howling gale-it wasn't a recipe for a good night's sleep. Gray craved the space and comfort of his former quarters aboard the Aphrodite-the captain's cabin. But as his brother had so officiously pointed out, Gray wasn't the captain of this ship anymore.
Throw his arse in the brig, had Joss threatened? Gray tossed indignantly, his chest straining against the ropes hat held him in the child-sized bed. The ship's brig didn't sound so bad right now. He'd put up with a few iron bars, the rancid bilgewater and rats, if it meant he could stretch his legs properly. Hell, this room was so damned small, he couldn't even get his blasted boots off.
He kicked the wall of his berth, no doubt scuffing the shine on his new Hessians. He hated the cursed things anyway. They pinched his feet. Why the devil he'd thought it a brilliant notion to get all dandified for this voyage, Gray couldn't remember. Just who was he trying to impress? Stubb?

Your breasts are alabaster orbs.' "What?" Rufus objected. "That's stupid. I'm not saying that."
"Do you have some better suggestion?"
"Why can't you just say she's got a fair set of titties?

I've waited too long for this. Days. Weeks. Years.

Trust me, I know how it stings when someone tells you the truth about yourself. It's like catching a glimpse of your reflection in a looking glass when you're not prepared. Intolerable. I was furious when I read your pamphlet - ­but only because I knew it was the truth. I'd known it for some time. The reality set in somewhere around the Tropic of Capricorn. When I left you behind at Greenwillow Hall . . . I'd missed out.

There was good in him. Raw, molten goodness, bubbling deep in his core. But he didn't possess the charm or manners to control it. It just erupted periodically in volcano fashion, startling anyone who happened to be nearby.

Devilish men should not be allowed to hold kittens, babies, or bouquets of wildflowers. There ought to be an Act of Parliament.

In every instance, she'd wanted to get the better of Dash. And she'd ended up making something better of herself.

"If that's the case," she said, "then I should continue to spite you."

"And what better way to keep me within spiting distance, than to marry me and spend life at my side?

Izzy was utterly convinced. Never mind Arabian horses, African cheetahs. No creature in the world could bolt so quickly as a rake confronted with the word "marriage". They ought to shout it out at footraces rather than using starting pistols.
Ready, steady ... matrimony!

This was the true fairy-tale ending. He'd given her the 'happily' part the day they'd agreed to marry. This room was the 'ever after.'
And the best part of all?

So many years stood between them and 'The End'.

I'm offering you a title and fortune. All you have to do is lie back in the dark, then spend nine months swelling up like a tick. What could possibly deter any woman from accepting?"
"What, indeed. Perhaps a disinclination to feeling like a broodmare.

She was entirely unaware of the protocol when becoming acquainted with a man's rampant sex organ. Did she reach out and give it a handshake? Touch one finger to the tip? Bid it a polite howdoyoudo?

She sketched songbirds when she was supposed to be minding her lessons, and she sketched church mice when she was meant to be at prayer. When she had time to ramble out of doors, anything in Nature was fair game- from the shoots of clover between her toes to any cloud that meandered overhead.

Sophia shielded her eyes with her hand and peered up at the Irishman's face. His hard eyes wandered form her hand, to her face, to the sketch in her lap. He made a gruff noise in his throat-the sort of noise men make when they're working up to saying something and don't quite know how to get it out, but want to keep up the aura of brute masculinity in the midst of their indecision.
He was making Sophia nervous. He meant to ask her something, and she was afraid to learn just what.
"Yes?" she prompted.
"The crew…We had it out between ourselves, Miss Turner. There were a bit o' scuffling, but I came out on top." He suddenly crouched before her, transforming his silhouette from tree-trunk to boulder in an instant. His craggy face split in a devilish grin. "I get to be first.

Outside of muttering his way through Sunday service, Aaron had not voiced a conscious prayer in more than ten years. He supposed it wouldn't help his chances in the hereafter if he returned to the fold with Saints preserve me from premature ejaculation. No matter how sincerely uttered.

At length, she gave up on the pulling and pushing, and went straight to her last resort.
Pleading. Big, brown calf's eyes implored him for mercy. Little did she know, this was the least likely tactic to work. Logan wasn't a man to be moved by tender emotion.
However, he was a man- and he wasn't unmoved by a pretty face. What with all her exertions, he was starting to see a flush of color on her cheeks. And an intriguing spark of mystery behind those wide, dark eyes.
This lass didn't belong in gray. With that dark hair and those rosy lips, she belonged in vibrant color. Deep Highland greens or sapphire blue.
His own smile took him by surprise.
She was going to look bonny wearing his plaid.

As the new day dawns, and my inkwell runs dry, I hereby make a vow. Not a vow to the man I once hoped to marry, but a promise to myself. From this morning forward, I will never shed another tear for him. There is no need. Because everything Lord Dashwood rejected when he so callously walked away - ­is mine to claim. Mine to use. My wit, my strength, and most of all - ­my heart. I will not put any of these on the shelf.

Where shall we honeymoon? Will you take me to Italy, to see the Botticellis?"
"I will take you anywhere you wish. Anywhere under the sky.

Katie, I want you. I can't make it poetry. I can't make it sound anything other than crude, because it is. I want you in my bed. I want you under me, holding me. I want to bury my cock so deep inside you.

It's like a lizard's foot," she said. "With a footprint that size, that deep? That would have to be one bloody large lizard.

Which one was it? He'll pay for it with his life, I swear to you."
"Settle down, Gray. And for God's sake, don't go punching yourself in the eye just to even the score."
Gray shot him a look. "Not amusing, Joss."
"Oh yes, it is. Give me credit for a joke when I make one. It's nothing, Gray. I've had worse. You've given me worse. And it's no more than a man can expect, I suppose, when he's an alleged pirate."
"Piracy charges." Gray cracked his neck. "What a joke." This was the voyage he'd finally gone respectable, and what had it gotten him? Jilted and jailed. No good deed went unpunished.

I have to go," he said. "You don't understand. Someone wants to kill me.
"Someone wants to kill you?" she repeated. "Well, I want to make love to you. My goodness, Julian. With two such compelling alternatives, however will you choose?

What is it?'
'Something is about to happen, and I want you to see it. I want to be with you when you see it.

The pain of an injury is over in seconds. Everything that comes after is the pain of getting well." He gave her a heartfelt look, full of apology. "I'd forgotten that you see. Coming back to life ... It hurts.

She smiled. "Do you know, I suspected you were a good man, deep down. Even if very, very, very deep down. In a fathomless cavern. Underneath a volcano.

A few days, then. At least give me that much. I ... I've nothing suitable to wear."
"I dinna care about the color of your frock, lass. I'm only going to take it off you again."
She blinked. "Oh."
-Maddie & Logan

I'm not going to accept your challenge. There will be no duel."
"Why not? Because I'm a woman?"
"No, because I've seen the way you spinsters handle a pistol. You'd shoot me dead where I stood.

I've nothing suitable to wear."
"I dinna care about the color of your frock, lass. I'm only going to take off you again."
She blinked. "Oh.

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Two sailors hauled on ropes, hoisting the jolly boat up to the ship's side, revealing two apocryphal figures standing in the center of the small craft. At first glance, Sophia only saw clearly the shorter of the two, a gruesome creature with long tangled hair and a painted face, wearing a tight-fitting burlap skirt and a makeshift corset fashioned from fishnet and mollusk shells. The Sea Queen, Sophia reckoned, a smile warming her cheeks as the crew erupted into raucous cheers. A bearded Sea Queen, no less, who bore a striking resemblance to the Aphrodite's own grizzled steward.
Stubb.
Sophia craned her neck to spy Stubb's consort, as the foremast blocked her view of Triton's visage. She caught only a glimpse of a white toga draped over a bronzed, bare shoulder. She took a jostling step to the side, nearly tripping on a coil of rope.
"Foolish mortals! Kneel before your king!"
The assembled sailors knelt on cue, giving Sophia a direct view of the Sea King. And even if the blue paint smeared across his forehead or the strands of seaweed dangling from his belt might have disguised him, there was no mistaking that persuasive baritone.
Mr. Grayson.
There he stood, tall and proud, some twenty feet away from her. Bare-chested, save for a swath of white linen draped from hip to shoulder. Wet locks of hair slicked back from his tanned face, sunlight embossing every contour of his sculpted arms and chest. A pagan god come swaggering down to earth.
He

Had the girl had any common sense, she would have dropped the line at once. But she had no sense. She made no sense. She was a pale English rose of a governess, adrift in a watery wilderness, on her way to a grueling post on a godforsaken island, when any fool could have told her-a woman so lovely need never work for her keep.
Had the men around her any sense, they would have cut the rope immediately. But they were idiots, bloody shite-for-brains idiots, too entranced by the pretty girl in peril to reach for their knives.
Had Gray his own knife, he would have drawn it. But he wasn't wearing his knife, because he wasn't the captain on this ship, was he? Nor an officer, nor even part of the crew. He was just a stupid, overdressed passenger who hadn't strapped on a goddamned knife that morning because it might ruin the lines of his goddamned brand-new coat.

Why, I ... I still like you." Nerves fluttered in her chest, but she kept her tone light. "Do you like me?"
A few moments passed in silence. She would have counted them in heartbeats, but her foolish heart had become a most unreliable timepiece. It gave three pounding beats in a flurry, then none at all.
Just when she'd begun to despair, he turned his head, catching her in a passionate, openmouthed kiss. He put both arms around her, fisting his hands in the fabric of her dress, lifting her up and against his chest. So that her body recalled every inch of his, every second of their blissful lovemaking. The now-familiar ache returned - that sweet, hollow pang of desire that only deepened as his tongue flickered over hers. In a matter of seconds, he had her gasping. Needing. Damp.
Then he set her back on her toes. Pressed his brow to hers and released a deep, resonant sigh. And just before turning to leave, he spoke a single word.
He said, "No.

I've always tried to make the best of what life gave me. When I was a girl, I longed for a kitten. Instead, I got a weasel. Not the pet I wanted by I've done my best to love Snowdrop just the same ... Since my father died, I've been desperate for a place to call home. The humblest cottage would do. Instead, I've inherited a haunted, infested castle in Nowhere, Northumberland. Not the home I wanted, but I'm determined to make it a home.

She was dreaming after a myth: a gentleman who dallied as a noble beast, rescuing damsels in some enchanted forest. With Luke, she would get a beast wearing the clothes of a man. An uncivilized creature who'd lost all enjoyment in balls and parlor games, who'd forgotten the words to all her trite little songs of green meadows and shepherds and love. Enjoy your fantasy world, Cecily. Let me visit you there, from time to time. "Now

But when the sun goes down? We're all just stumbling through the darkness, trying to outlast another night.

If you're the cook," he said between mouthfuls, "I'm your captain. You can't continue speaking to me that way."
"You aren't dressed like a captain."
Gray looked down at his homespun tunic and the loose-fitting trousers cinched with a knotted cord. The clothes of a common seaman,, borrowed from a sailor now dead. He hadn't the luxury of fine attire on the Kestrel. With the ship so undermanned, he had to be everywhere-climbing the rigging, down in the hold.
"Don't look apologetic. They suit you." Her gaze glanced off his shoulders, then dropped to the floor. "But I see you've kept the detested boots."
He shrugged, spooning up another bite of chowder. "I've broken them in now."
"And here I hoped you were keeping them for sentimental reasons.

When he [Colin] reached the center of the field, he paused to catch his breath and scan the area for telltale tufts of wool. When the lamb failed to appear, he cupped his hands around his mouth and tried again. "Dinner!"
This time, his call earned an answer. Several answers. In fact, the ground shook with the collective bestial response. He spied several large, dark forms lumbering toward him through the twilight dusk. He blinked, trying to make them out. These weren't sheep. No, they were ...
Cows. Large cows. Remarkably fast and menacing cows. A small herd of them, all thundering straight for him where he stood in the center of the field.
Colin took a few steps backward. "Wait," he said, holding up his hands. "I didn't mean you.

I don't care who he is. He needs to disappear." Ransom turned and called out the window. "For the love of G-d man. I have England's sweetheart bent over the desk and panting for me. Go away and come back tomorrow.

You don't need to pity me. I'm here. And I'm alive. So there's your answer, Chase. When am I giving up? I'm not. I did not give up on myself then. I am not giving up on you now." She smoothed her apron. "Now I'm going to tidy myself up, take the girls for ices, eat two of them myself, and not bring you any. When we return, I'll send Rosamund and Daisy in to visit you, and you will behave. Treat me as you like. But you will not belittle those girls for loving you. I won't allow it. And do not ever waste your breath again with more of that 'lost cause' nonsense. Consider yourself found.

I never told her I loved her. What an ass I am. No wonder she left. I mean, I told her in a dozen different ways, but I never said the words."
"Are they so hard to say?"
"Yes, but ... I don't know. They shouldn't be." Gray shook his head. "Do you know, that fifteen-year-old boy had the courage to say in front of the whole crew what I couldn't bring myself to whisper in the dark? He'll make a fine officer someday, Davy Linnet. Got bigger stones than either of us, I'd wager."
Joss snorted. "Speak for yourself.

I'll be needing a closer look tomorrow."
"It's nothing special," she hedged. "Just an average English village. Hardly worth your time. Cottages, a church, a few shops."
"Surely there's an inn," Lord Payne said.
"There is a rooming house," Susanna said, leading them back from the edge of the bluff. "The Queen's Ruby. But I'm afraid it is completely occupied at this time of year. Summer visitors, you understand, come to enjoy the sea." And to escape men like you.

Or could it be that you've come to care for me, carry me in your heart - unexpectedly, irrevocably. The way I've come to care for you." His hands ran up and down her arms. "I want to ask you this, Eliza. I want to ask if you could love me. But I'm not sure I'll like your answer, so I think I'll kiss you instead.

And she was well-enough acquainted with loneliness to understand that the worst part wasn't having nobody caring for you - it was having nobody to care for.

It isna flouncing," he said. "It's pacing."
"If you say so, Captain MacFlouncy."
"Or prowling."
"Prowling." She arched one eyebrow. "Like a kitten?"
He gave an exasperated sigh. "Call me a kitten once more, and I'll..."
"You'll what?"
"I'll pounce on you and lick you like a dish of cream."
Maddie smiled to herself. That didn't sound like such a terrible punishment.

Dukes and their problems.