Clothes On Her Back Quotes

I need you to take Amanda shopping for clothes. The Daimons burned her house down and she has nothing except the clothes on her back."
Nick arched a brow. "From what I saw, she had no clothes whatsoever on her back. Her front neither. ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

Sometimes," she told me, "a girl will give a guy a blow job at the end of the night because she doesn't want to have sex with him and he expects to be satisfied. So if I want him to leave and I don't want anything to happen . . ." She trailed off, leaving me to imagine the rest.

There was so much to unpack in that short statement: why a young man should expect to be sexually satisfied; why a girl not only isn't outraged, but considers it her obligation to comply; why she doesn't think a blow job constitutes "anything happening"; the pressure young women face in any personal relationship to put others' needs before their own; the potential justification of assault with a chaser of self-blame. "It goes back to girls feeling guilty," Anna said. "If you go to a guy's room and are hooking up with him, you feel bad leaving him without pleasing him in some way. But, you know, it's unfair. I don't think he feels badly for you."

In their research on high school girls and oral sex, April Burns, a professor of psychology at City University of New York, and her colleagues found that girls thought of fellatio kind of like homework: a chore to get done, a skill to master, one on which they expected to be evaluated, possibly publicly. As with schoolwork, they worried about failing or performing poorly - earning the equivalent of low marks. Although they took satisfaction in a task well done, the pleasure they described was never physical, never located in their own b ~ Peggy Orenstein

Glory looks at the two small scars on her hands, one in the center of each palm, the body doing its work. [...] The girl who stood up and fell back down, who grabbed onto a barbed wire fence and stopped herself from falling again. The girl who walked barefoot across the desert and saved her own life. She can't imagine any other way to tell the story. ~ Elizabeth Wetmore

A rattle of dishes warned of a servant's entry into the hall, but Christopher was incensed, and half turning with a growl, he gestured Paine back.
"Get out of here, man!"
"Christopher!" Erienne gasped and took two halting steps to follow the befuddled servant, but Christopher came around to face her with a glare.
"Stay where you are, madam! I am not finished with you."
"You have no right to give orders here," she protested, her own ire growing. "This is my husband's house!"
"I'll give orders when and where I damn well please, and for once, you will stand and listen until I'm through!"
More than a trifle outraged herself, Erienne hurled back her answer. "You may command the men on your ship to your will, Mister Seton, but you have no such authority here! Good day to you!"
Catching up her skirts, she whirled and stalked toward the tower until she heard the sound of rapid footsteps coming behind her, then a sudden panic seized her that he would make such a scene that she would not be able to face the servants… or her husband. She raced into the entry, stepping over the puddle, and took to the stairs, forcing every bit of strength she could into her limbs. She had barely gained the fourth step when she heard sliding feet, a loud thump, and then a painful grunt followed by an angry curse.
When she whirled, Christopher was just coming to rest in a heap against the wall after sliding across the floor, partway on his back. For a moment ~ Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

Slowly the highlights emerged: sunlight on the Madonna's face, on the curls, left cheek and shoulder of the child. On the foredrapery covering the Madonna's leg, on the back of John as he straddled the balustrade, on the inside of the balustrade itself to accent its importance in the structure. All the rest, the blockseat, stairs, walls were in quiet
shadow. Now, he thought, one saw and felt the crisis, the intense emotional thinking reflected on Mary's face as she felt the tug of Jesus at her breast and the weight of the cross in her hand. ~ Irving Stone

What do you buy a woman to get back on her good side when you've made her really, really angry? Cake? Fudge?"
The wrinkles on the old man's face scrunched together as he frowned.
"How angry did you make her boy?"
"She set my car on fire. ~ Alanea Alder

When we pull back into the castle courtyard, James is waiting. And he does not look happy. Actually he looks like a blond Hulk . . . right before he goes smash. Sarah sees it too.

"He's miffed."

"Yep."

We get out of the car and she turns so fast there's a breeze. "I should go find Penny. 'Bye."

I call after her. "Chicken!"

She just waves her hand over her shoulder.

Slowly, I approach him. Like an explorer, deep in the jungles of the Amazon, making first contact with a tribe that has never seen the outside world. And I hold out my peace offering.

It's a Mega Pounder with cheese.

"I got you a burger."

James snatches it from my hand angrily. But . . . he doesn't throw it away.

He turns to one of the men behind him. "Mick, bring it here."

Mick - a big, truck-size bloke - brings him a brown paper bag. And James's cold blue eyes turn back to me.

"After speaking with your former security team, I had an audience with Her Majesty the Queen last year when you were named heir. Given your history of slipping your detail, I asked her permission to ensure your safety by any means necessary, including this."

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a children's leash - the type you see on ankle-biters at amusement parks, with a deranged-looking monkey sticking its head out of a backpack, his mouth wide and gaping, like he's about to eat whoever's wearin ~ Emma Chase

I've made it my business to observe fathers and daughters. And I've seen some incredible, beautiful things. Like the little girl who's not very cute - her teeth are funny, and her hair doesn't grow right, and she's got on thick glasses - but her father holds her hand and walks with her like she's a tiny angel that no one can touch. He gives her the best gift a woman can get in this world: protection. And the little girl learns to trust the man in her life. And all the things that the world expects from women - to be beautiful, to soothe the troubled spirit, heal the sick, care for the dying, send the greeting card, bake the cake - allof those things become the way we pay the father back for protecting us ... ~ Adriana Trigiani

Nadia had invented versions of her mother's life that did not end with a bullet shattering her brain. Her mother, no longer cradling a tiny, wrinkled body in a hospital bed, an exhausted smile on her face, but seventeen and scared, sitting inside an abortion clinic, waiting for her name to be called. Her mother, no longer her mother, graduating from high school, from college, from graduate school even. Her mother listening to lectures or delivering her own, stationed behind a podium, running a toe up the back of her calf. Her mother traveling the world, posing on the cliffs of Santorini, her arms bent toward the blue sky. Always her mother, although in this version of reality, Nadia did not exist. Where her life ended, her mother's life began. ~ Brit Bennett

Laura lay on her back in the faint light of the open hatch. She had discarded her blanket; and the vest which did duty for a night-gown was rucked right up under her arms. Jonsen wondered how anything so like a frog could ever conceivably grow into the billowy body of a woman. He bent down and attempted to pull down the vest: but at the first touch Laura rolled violently over onto her stomach, then drew her knees up under her, thrusting her pointed rump up at him; and continued to sleep in that position, breathing noisily. ~ Richard Hughes

She tapped on the bathroom door. "Ready for clothes?"

The door swung inward.

Leah stared. "Holy crap." Seth was naked, save for a towel he had wrapped around his hips. And his body was pure perfection. His arms and legs both bore beautiful, thick muscle. But not too thick like some of the bodybuilders she'd seen whose arms and legs were so bulky they couldn't rest their arms against their sides and seemed to walk bowlegged. Seth was built more like a professional basketball player. Broad shoulders. A well-developed chest. Even his abs rippled with muscle and begged to be touched.

Realizing she had been staring - aka drooling - she looked up at him. "Seriously, how are you still single?"

But Seth wasn't looking at her face. His eyes were fastened on her body.

Her breath caught when a faint golden glow illuminated his dark brown irises.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," he murmured, his voice deeper than usual and husky with what she thought might be desire.

A thrill rippling through her, Leah glanced down. Her eyes widened.

The rain that had found its way past the awning out front had plastered her pajamas to her skin, rendering them nearly transparent. ~ Dianne Duvall

Since the days of Peter the Great, Russia had looked to the West for her civilization, even to the extend of adopting French as a second language - or as a first for people of station and learning. The United States, recently cut loose politically from England, still drew heavily on the Old World for her art, literature, science and philosophy. Intellectuals from both nations flocked to Europe in search of eduction and aesthetic stimulation, and many became so enthralled with European civilization that they failed to return. In Russia as well as in the United States many an indignant patriot would rant about the need for serving European apron strings. ~ Perry D. Westbrook

Like This

If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,

Like this.

When someone mentions the gracefulness
of the nightsky, climb up on the roof
and dance and say,

Like this.

If anyone wants to know what "spirit" is,
or what "God's fragrance" means,
lean your head toward him or her.
Keep your face there close.

Like this.

When someone quotes the old poetic image
about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,
slowly loosen knot by knot the strings
of your robe.

Like this.

If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,
don't try to explain the miracle.
Kiss me on the lips.

Like this. Like this.

When someone asks what it means
to "die for love," point
here.
If someone asks how tall I am, frown
and measure with your fingers the space
between the creases on your forehead.

This tall.

The soul sometimes leaves the body, the returns.
When someone doesn't believe that,
walk back into my house.

Like this.

When lovers moan,
they're telling our story.

Like this.

I am a sky where spirits live.
Stare into this deepening blue,
while the breeze says a secret.

Like this.

When someone asks what there is to do,
~ Rumi

They started to walk back through the woods and the wolves bounced around their legs as they went, frolicking like they were still puppies. A tinge of sadness tugged at Loupe's heart. "Etienne?"
"Yes?" He growled and swatted as one of the wolves almost knocked him over.
"I want more puppies."
Etienne froze, his jaw dropping as he stared at her. One of the wolves caught him off guard and a well-timed leg bump sent them both crashing to the grass.
Loupe shrugged and kept walking as Etienne sputtered on the ground. "We'll talk later, then?"
-Loupe and Etienne. ~ Jennifer Blackstream

The kids helped keep me together as well. One day they came in from playing after dinner, and I told them I was just completely exhausted by work and everything else. I said I'd take a shower as soon as I finished up; then we'd read and get ready for bed.
They warmed up some towels in the dryer while I was showering and had them waiting for me when I was done. They made some hot coffee--not really understanding that coffee before bed isn't the best strategy. But it was just the way I like it, and waiting on the bed stand. They turned down the bedcovers and even fluffed my pillows.
Most of the time, their gifts are unintentional.
Angel recently decided that, since the Tooth Fairy is so nice, someone should be nice to her. My daughter wrote a little note and left it under her pillow with some coins and her tooth.
Right?
The Tooth Fairy was very taken with that, and wrote a note back.
"I'm not allowed to take money from the children I visit," she wrote. "But I was so grateful. Thank you."
Then there was the time the kids were rummaging through one of Chris's closets and discovered the Christmas Elf.
Now everyone knows that the Christmas Elf only appears on Christmas Eve. He stays for a short while as part of holiday cheer, then magically disappears for the rest of the year.
"What was he doing here!" they said, very concerned, as they brought the little elf to me. "And in Daddy's closet!"
I called on the special brain cells paren ~ Taya Kyle

We're at a dinner party in an apartment on Rue Paul Valéry between Avenue Foch and Avenue Victor Hugo and it's all rather subdued since a small percentage of the invited guests were blown up in the Ritz yesterday. For comfort people went shopping, which is understandable even if they bought things a little too enthusiastically. Tonight it's just wildflowers and white lilies, just W's Paris bureau chief, Donna Karan, Aerin Lauder, Ines de la Fressange and Christian Louboutin, who thinks I snubbed him and maybe I did but maybe I'm past the point of caring. Just Annette Bening and Michael Stipe in a tomato-red wig. Just Tammy on heroin, serene and glassy-eyed, her lips swollen from collagen injections, beeswax balm spread over her mouth, gliding through the party, stopping to listen to Kate Winslet, to Jean Reno, to Polly Walker, to Jacques Grange. Just the smell of shit, floating, its fumes spreading everywhere. Just another conversation with a chic sadist obsessed with origami. Just another armless man waving a stump and whispering excitedly, "Natasha's coming!" Just people tan and back from the Ariel Sands Beach Club in Bermuda, some of them looking reskinned. Just me, making connections based on fear, experiencing vertigo, drinking a Woo-Woo. ~ Bret Easton Ellis

Lorcan heard the moan of the soldier pinned to the floor beneath his boot. With a sneer, he pushed his foot down harder on his neck. The worthless little bastard had failed him. He'd come back without the bitch.
He glanced over his shoulder at his lieutenants. They watched him, trying their best to hide their fear. But he could smell it. He looked back at the lowering suns. "I want my sister." He growled the words low. "I want my sister!" He slammed his foot down, snapping the man's neck and crushing his jaw. "Now get out of my sight!"
He heard them run from the room.
They better run.
He would have his sister. He would see the bitch dead if he had to destroy half the world to get to her. ~ G.A. Aiken

Marius made a movement.
'Oh, don't go!' she said. 'It won't be long.'
She was sitting almost upright, but her voice was very low and broken by hiccoughs. At moments she struggled for breath. Raising her face as near as she could to Marius', she said, with a strange expression:
'Look, I can't cheat you. I have a letter for you in my pocket. I've had it since yesterday. I was asked to post it, but I didn't. I didn't want you to get it. But you might be angry with me when we meet again. Because we shall all meet again, shan't we? Take your letter.'
With a convulsive movement she seized Marius' hand with her own injured one, but without seeming to feel the pain, and guided it to her pocket.
'Take it,' she said.
Marius took out the letter, and she made a little gesture of satisfaction and acceptance.
'Now you must promise me something for my trouble...' She paused.
'What?' asked Marius.
'Do you promise?'
'Yes, I promise.'
'You must kiss me on the forehead after I'm dead...I shall know.'
She let her head fall back on his knees; her lids fluttered, and then she was motionless. He thought that the sad soul had left her. But then, when he thought it was all over, she slowly opened her eyes that were now deep with the shadow of death, and said in a voice so sweet that it seemed already to come from another world:
'You know, Monsieur Marius, I think I was a little bit in love with you.'
She tried to smile, and died. ~ Victor Hugo

I was taken to my first fashion show - Nina Ricci haute couture - in Paris by the White Russian princess, down on her luck, whom I was boarding with in Paris in 1963. I was captivated by the glamour of the gilded salon, the elegant clothes, and the audience of grand ladies. ~ Suzy Menkes

With that, I follow my little chem partner out of the room and down the hall.
"Stop following me," she snaps, looking over her shoulder to check how many people are watching us walk down the hall together.
As if I'm el diablo himself.
"Wear long sleeves on Saturday night," I tell her, knowing full well she's reaching the end of her sanity rope. I usually don't try to get under the skin of white chicks, but this one is fun to rattle. This one, the most popular and coveted one of all, actually cares. "It gets pretty cold on the back of my motorcycle. ~ Simone Elkeles

For once in her life, the thought of being on the back of a magnificent horse did not command Rycca's attention. She was far too busy looking at her magnicifent husband as he removed his sword belt and blithely shucked off his trousers. Naked, he walked straight into the pool, submerged completely, and came up a few minutes later, tossing streams of water from the thick mane of his hair.
"Hand me the soap,would you?"
Such a simple task, yet to fulfill it he would have to come closer.Or she would.
"That's a lovely gown," he said, smiling.
"All my gowns are lovely thanks to the Lady Krysta and your own generosity."
"It would be a shame to get it wet."
She looked at him in alarm, wondering if he would actually do such a thing. His answer was a look of pure innocence, which immediately confirmed her suspicions.
"Do you have any idea how any women must have labored so long to make this gown?"
"No,do you?"
"Well,no,not actually because I never had a gown like this before, but even so, surely you wouldn't do anything to damage it?"
"Just to be safe,why don't you take it off?"
Oh,yes,that would certainly be safe. Indeed,never was she any safer than when was she naked and in his arms. Except, of course, from the danger of her own emotions.
"I bathed when I awoke."
"The day is warm."
"The pool looks deep.Recall, I cannot swim."
"Recall I mean to teach you. ~ Josie Litton

Abby's eyes seemed almost as vacant as those of the girl in the photograph. Then a shiver came over her and she blinked. Gently, almost affectionately, she put the picture back on the wall. She touched it one last time and said, Poor little bird. I wonder if she ever escaped her cage. ~ Madeleine Roux

Helen, beloved of the goddess of love, went downstairs to crawl into her empty bed as Lucas, the son of the sun, leaned back on his elbows and watched his father-god brighten the bare wooden planks of her widow's walk. ~ Josephine Angelini

MAN AND WOMAN

Man is a like a desert without the rain of a woman. Nothing can be born and grown without her nourishment. She is a life-giving river that gives and loves without holding anything back. And without her water, man would walk around aimlessly, feeling incomplete and hollow like an empty well. The longer he roams, the deeper the hole within his soul expands, growing bigger and bigger like a barren tree whose branches resemble the cracks on hard, dry soil. And he shall continue to feel incomplete and malnourished, until he encounters a godly woman. To show him life and quench his thirst. ~ Suzy Kassem

You had two prerequisites." Regin plopped down on a snowbank. "And I do believe I have Russian ex-mil contacts, and I speak the language-"
"Oh, come on! I've since learned that you do not by any stretch. You think Dostoyevsky is Russian for 'How 's it hanging?'"
She blinked up at Kaderin as she paced by. "Then how do you say it?"
"I-don't-know."
"Then how do you know it's not Dostoyevsky? No. Really." She blew a bubble with her gum – possibly the first to do so at this location – but it flash-froze, and she had to crunch it back to gum consistency with her molars. "Obi-Wan, I was your only hope."
(Kaderin and Regin) ~ Kresley Cole

Had he but turned back then, and looked out once more on to the rose-lit garden, she would have seen that which would have made her own sufferings seem but light and easy to bear
a strong man, overwhelmed with his own passion and despair. Pride had given way at last, obstinacy was gone: the will was powerless. He was but a man madly, blindly, passionately in love and as soon as her light footstep had died away within the house, he knelt down upon the terrace steps, and in the very madness of his love he kissed one by one the places where her small foot had trodden, and the stone balustrade, where her tiny hand had rested last. ~ Emmuska Orczy

Larry sat with his arm stretched out along the top of the front seat. His shirt cuff was pulled back by his position and displayed his slim, strong wrist and the lower part of his brown arm lightly covered with fine hairs. The sun shone goldly upon them. Something in Isabel's immobility attracted my attention, and I glanced at her. She was so still that you might have thought her hypnotized. Her breath was hurried. Her eyes were fixed on the sinewy wrist with its little golden hairs and on that long, delicate, but powerful hand, and I have never seen on a human countenance such a hungry concupiscence as I saw then on hers. It was a mask of lust. I would never have believed that her beautiful features could assume an expression of such unbridled sensuality. It was animal rather than human. The beauty was stripped from her face; the look upon it made her hideous and frightening. It horribly suggested the bitch in heat and I felt rather sick. ~ W. Somerset Maugham

In the official police account, the plumber was shot and robbed on the street. Not true - guys stick together - the detective didn't want the victim's wife to know he was flagrante delicto with a prostitute when wounded. I didn't want her hurt or embarrassed either. She figured it out herself. I met her later, after their divorce, and she brought up the subject. The hospital returned her injured husband's garments. She was washing them when she realized that, although there were a number of bullet holes in his body, there were none in his clothes. ~ Edna Buchanan

Homer's Hymn to the Moon

Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition; dated 1818.
Daughters of Jove, whose voice is melody,
Muses, who know and rule all minstrelsy
Sing the wide-winged Moon! Around the earth,
From her immortal head in Heaven shot forth,
Far light is scattered - boundless glory springs;
Where'er she spreads her many-beaming wings
The lampless air glows round her golden crown.

But when the Moon divine from Heaven is gone
Under the sea, her beams within abide,
Till, bathing her bright limbs in Ocean's tide,
Clothing her form in garments glittering far,
And having yoked to her immortal car
The beam-invested steeds whose necks on high
Curve back, she drives to a remoter sky
A western Crescent, borne impetuously.
Then is made full the circle of her light,
And as she grows, her beams more bright and bright
Are poured from Heaven, where she is hovering then,
A wonder and a sign to mortal men.

The Son of Saturn with this glorious Power
Mingled in love and sleep - to whom she bore
Pandeia, a bright maid of beauty rare
Among the Gods, whose lives eternal are.

Hail Queen, great Moon, white-armed Divinity,
Fair-haired and favourable! thus with thee
My song beginning, by its music sweet
Shall make immortal many a glorious feat
Of demigods, with lovely lips, so well
Which minstre ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley

Can I stay?" The question broke Ashley Price's heart as she crouched in her messy foyer with her daughter in her arms. She clutched her five-year-old tighter as skinny little arms wrapped around her neck. "Very soon, okay?" Maddie - pink coat, pink boots, pink hat, pink gloves - pulled back and put on her poor-lost-puppy look. "Mo-om, you always say that. I'll be good. I'll be quiet when you paint. You won't even know I'm here. ~ Dana Marton

I want to introduce the world to my princess.'
In a state of disbelief, Izzy took his hand and they walked back towards the stage.
Happiness bubbled up inside her as it slowly dawned on her that this was real. She lifted her
face to look at him. 'I think I'm going to look cute in a tiara. I've never worn anything sparkly on
my head before.'
He laughed and tightened his grip on her hand. 'First thing tomorrow I'm going to buy you one.'
'Slow down.' She winced and stooped to fiddle with her feet. 'My shoes are hurting.'
'This is not news. Your shoes are always hurting, tesoro.'
'Do princesses absolutely have to wear shoes at all times?'
A slow smile spread across his face and he scooped her into his arms and carried her the last
few steps onto the stage. 'Of course not. Didn't you read Cinderella? ~ Sarah Morgan

Abraham Lincoln wasn't much of a dancer. "Miss Todd, I should like to dance with you in the worst way," he told his future wife. Miss Todd later said to a friend, "He certainly did."

"John Quincy Adams was a first-rate swimmer. Once when he was skinny-dipping in the Potomac River, a women reporter snatched his clothes and sat on them until he gave her an interview."

"(Andrew Johnson couldn't read until he was fourteen! He didn't learn to write until after he was married!) ~ Judith St. George

The sense of "having a goal in your life "will put you in the side of "giving" instead of "getting" ... most of people focus "more" on what they want from their lives and that could lead to thinking in a (victim-of-life) way ... when you start to play the role of a person who's having a meaning and a goal for his/her life, you will get back the self-esteem you deserve. ~ Susan Jeffers

You, er..." He hesitated. "Not that I mind, but you may want to fix your frock."
She glanced downward. Seeing her exposed breast, she quickly tucked it back in her stays. "See what I mean? Heaps of humiliations. Heaps."
Gabe wondered if the past quarter hour went into her heaps of humiliations, or whether she regarded it as something else.
He wondered, but he wasn't going to ask.
On his part, he wouldn't be filing this memory under the heading of "Humiliations." Oh, no. It was going straight into the stash of "Fantasies" that every man kept under his mattress, figuratively if not literally.
He was never going to forget the taste of her, pure and sweet. The way her skin moved liked satin under his hands, warming to his touch.
And the way she'd responded to him? That was already etched on his brain.
I think it's the urges, she'd said.
The worrisome part of it was, their urges had gone unsatisfied.
They would remain so, he told himself. This afternoon had been a mistake. An enjoyable mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. Time to revive his judgement. Gabe could survive deprivation of all sorts, including this one.
He would not put his hands on Lady Penelope Campion again.
Absolutely not.
Definitely not.
Probably not.
Damn. ~ Tessa Dare

Shelby..." Her tongue skimmed over his while he cupped the back of her neck more firmly. "Shelby," he repeated a moment later, "there was something I wanted to talk to you about earlier, and I'm in danger of becoming as ditracted now as I was then."
"Promise?" She moved her lips to his throat.
"I have a command performance this weekend."
"Oh?" She switched to his ear.
In self-defense, Aan rolled over and pinned her beneath him. "I got a call from my father this afternoon."
"Ah" Humor danced in her eyes. "The laird."
"The title would appeal to him." Alan grasped her wrists to prevent her from clouding his mind as she seemed bent on doing. "It seems he's planned one of his famous family weekends. Come with me."
One brow lifted. "To the MacGregor fortress in Hyannis Port? Unarmed?"
"We'll hoist the white flag."
She wanted to go.She wanted to say no. A visit to his family home came perilously close to that final commitment she was so carefully sidestepping. Questions, speculation-there'd be no avoiding them. Alan heard her thoughts as clearly as if it had been spoken.Pushng back frustration, he changed tactics.
"I have orders to bring that girl-" he watched her eyes narrow- "-that daughter of the thieving, murdering Campbells,with me."
"Oh,is that so?"
"Just so," Alan returned mildly.
Shelby lifted her chin. "When do we leave? ~ Nora Roberts

I wish you'd told me this before."
"It wouldn't have changed anything."
"Maybe not. But talking about wounds can help heal them."
"You don't talk about yours," she pointed out.
He sat down on the sofa facing her and leaned forward. "But I do," he said seriously. "I talk to you. I've never told anyone else about the way my father treated us. That's a deeply personal thing. I don't share it. I can't share it with anyone but you."
"I'm part of your life," she said heavily, smoothing her hair back again. "Neither of us can help that. You were my comfort when Mama died, my very salvation when my stepfather hurt me. But I can't expect you to go on taking care of me. I'm twenty-five years old, Tate. I have to let you go."
"No, you don't." He caught her wrists and pulled her closer. He was more solemn than she'd ever seen him. "I'm tired of fighting it. Let's find out how deep your scars ago. Come to bed with me, Cecily. I know enough to make it easy for you."
She stared at him blankly. "Tate…" She touched his lean cheek hesitantly. He was offering her paradise, if she could face her own demons in bed with him. "This will only make things worse, whatever happens."
"You want me," he said gently. "And I want you. Let's get rid of the ghosts. If you can get past the fear, I won't have anyone else from now on except you. I'll come to you when I'm happy, when I'm sad, when the world falls on me. I'll lie in your arms and comfort you when you're sad ~ Diana Palmer