Serious Face Expression Quotes

Sophie, have you had any contact with Archer Cross?"
Every eye in the room was on me, and I had this bizarre urge to cover my face. I knew everything I was feeling was painted all over it. "No. I thought maybe…" I turned to cal. "Did you see him? When you went in to get Dad at Thorne Abbey?"
It's not like I expected Cal to go, Yes, I did. In fact, I was keeping him in my pocket. Here you go. But when Cal met my eyes and said, "Your dad was alone in the cell when I got there," the words physically hurt.
You're lucky, I reminded myself. Your dad is here. So is Cal. And Jenna is safe. What were the chances that you'd get everyone back?
"The cell door had been broken down," Cal continued, "so your dad and I figured The Eye took him."
"You don't remember anything?" I asked Dad.
A rueful expression was on his face as he shook his head. "I was unconscious, I'm afraid."
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I said, "I'm sure you're right. He's probably with The Eye." And they were either still keeping him as their pet warlock, or they'd found out about the two of us working together, and killed him. Either way, Archer was gone. ~ Rachel Hawkins

He was smiling. It was one of those sincere smiles grown-ups give kids when they're trying to get them in arm's reach for something bad. Doctors smile that way right before they give you a shot; teachers look the same just before they tell you they found out what you did. The Big Bad Wolf probably smiled at Red Riding Hood like that when he was pretending to be her grandma. Despite all my mother's flaws including her mean streak, I never once saw that travesty of an expression on her face. ~ Pat Cadigan

He gazed up at me in that way that made me feel cherished. His expression was simultaneously wondrous and joyful. I realized that I put that expression on this beautiful man's face. ~ Mia Sheridan Archer's Voice

Maylon Stark was medium-built and husky. That was the only word to fit him, husky. He had a husky face, and the nose on it was badly bent and flattened huskily. His voice was husky. His head sat huskily on his neck, the way a fighter carries his chin pulled in from habit. It was the huskiness of a man who hunches up his shoulders and hangs on hard with both hands. And with it Maylon Stark had a peculiar perpetual expression, like that of a man who is hanging hard onto the earth to keep it from moving away, out from under him. The line from the right side of his flattened nose to the corner of his mouth was three times as deep as the same line on the left side; his mouth did not curl, but the deepness of this line made him look like he was about to smile sardonically, or cry wearily, or sneer belligerently. You never knew which. And you never found out which. Because Maylon Stark never did any of them. ~ James Jones

As a matter of face, Zen is at present most fashionable in America among those who are least concerned with moral discipline. Zen has, indeed, become for us a symbol of moral revolt. It is true, the Zen-man's contempt for conventional and formalistic social custom is a healthy phenomenon, but it is healthy only because it presupposes a spiritual liberty based on freedom from passion, egotism and self-delusion. A pseudo-Zen attitude which seeks to justify a complete moral collapse with a few rationalizations based on the Zen Masters is only another form of bourgeois self-deception. It is not an expression of healthy revolt, but only another aspect of the same lifeless and inert conventionalism against which it appears to be protesting. ~ Thomas Merton

It is one of the great weaknesses of reasonable men and women that they imagine that projects which fly in the face of commonsense are not serious or being seriously undertaken. ~ Margaret Thatcher

The expression a woman wears on her face is far more important than the clothes she wears on her back. ~ Dale Carnegie

Darya Alexandrovna, in a dressing jacket, and with her now scanty, once luxuriant and beautiful hair fastened up with hairpins on the nape of her neck, with a sunken, thin face and large, startled eyes, which looked prominent from the thinness of her face, was standing among a litter of all sorts of things scattered all over the room, before an open bureau, from which she was taking something. Hearing her husband's steps, she stopped, looking towards the door, and trying assiduously to give her features a severe and contemptuous expression. She felt she was afraid of him, and afraid of the coming interview. She was just attempting to do what she had attempted to do ten times already in these last three days - to sort out the children's things and her own, so as to take them to her mother's - and again she could not bring herself to do this; but now again, as each time before, she kept saying to herself, "that things cannot go on like this, that she must take some step" to punish him, put him to shame, avenge on him some little part at least of the suffering he had caused her. She still continued to tell herself that she should leave him, but she was conscious that this was impossible; it was impossible because she could not get out of the habit of regarding him as her husband and loving him. Besides this, she realized that if even here in her own house she could hardly manage to look after her five children properly, they would be still worse off where she was going with them ~ Leo Tolstoy

I think it's time to go ahead and start, don't you? We don't want them to have enough time to make a trip back to shore with her."
Galen swims to within an inch of my face. His lazy grin sends a thousand butterflies whipping up a tornado in my stomach. "Start what? The rescue, or the rest of our lives together?"
Just the words make my heart jump, let alone the look he gives me when he says it. We haven't had much time to talk about what all this means for us, but at least I know we can be together. On our own terms, in our own time. Finally. "Both," I breathe.
"This is not the time to be all mushy," Rayna calls from below us. "I swear you two are expert time wasters. So inconsiderate."
Galen winks at me and dives to his sister.
"Wait," I call to him. He stops. "I just wanted to say, I like your big fin. I think it's sexy." Which is the truth. Now t's more than double the size of any other Syrena. I know he's self-conscious about it; he thinks it makes him stand out more. What Galen doesn't realize is that he already stood out. He was already special. This new fin doesn't change anything. Well, except for making me hotter for him than I already was.
"Really?" Galen says.
I nod and blow him a kiss. By his confused expression, he has no idea what I'm doing. My Syrena human ambassador still has a lot to learn about the intimate details of the human world. And I'll be happy to assist him with that. ~ Anna Banks

We set up our gear for the tune-up and Tony [Iommi] launched into the opening riff of 'Black Sabbath' – doh, doh, doooohnnnn – but before I'd got through the first line of lyrics the manager had run on to the stage, red in the face, and was shouting, 'STOP, STOP, STOP! Are you f**king serious? This isn't Top-Forty pop covers! Who are you people?'
'Earth,' said Tony, shrugging. 'You booked us, remember?'
'I didn't book this. I thought you were going to play "Mellow Yellow" and "California Dream-in'".'
'Who – us?' laughed Tony.
'That's what your manager told me!'
'Jim Simpson told you that?'
'Who the hell's Jim Simpson?'
'Ah,' said Tony, finally working out what had happened. He turned to us and said, 'Lads, I think we might not be the only band called Earth.'

He was right: there was another Earth on the C-list gig circuit. But they didn't play satanic music. They played pop and Motown covers. ~ Ozzy Osbourne

Hyacinth," Lady Bridgerton said in a vaguely disapproving voice, "do try to speak in complete sentences."
Hyacinth looked at her mother with a surprised expression. "Biscuits. Are. Good." She cocked her head to the side. "Noun. Verb. Adjective."
"Hyacinth."
"Noun. Verb. Adjective." Colin said, wiping a crumb from his grinning face. "Sentence. Is. Correct. ~ Julia Quinn

A man finds room in the few square inches of the face for the traits of all his ancestors; for the expression of all his history, and his wants. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Often your utterances and expressions of your face leak out the secrets of your hidden thoughts. ~ Ali Ibn Abi Talib

Confronting our feelings and giving them appropriate expression always takes strength, not weakness. It takes strength to acknowledge our anger, and sometimes more strength yet to curb the aggressive urges anger may bring and to channel them into nonviolent outlets. It takes strength to face our sadness and to grieve and to let our grief and our anger flow in tears when they need to. It takes strength to talk about our feelings and to reach out for help and comfort when we need it. ~ Fred Rogers

Yes, that. Would you care to explain where the money is going, Madam President?"
Letty laughed up at him with warm, loving eyes. "Certainly, Mr. Blackstone. Do you want to hear the explanation before or after I tell you that I have
every reason to believe I'm pregnant?"
That very morning Joel had decided that it was probably not possible for him to be any happier than he was already. Now he realized he was
wrong. He forgot about the little matter of a fifty thousand dollar cost overrun and started to grin like an idiot.
"You're pregnant?" Joel ignored the embarrassed expression on the face of the blond Adonis. "You're going to have our baby?"
"It would appear so." Letty pushed her glasses up onto her nose and smiled demurely. "What do you say to that, Mr. Blackstone?"
Joel tossed the file over his left shoulder. The data on the ad budget was sent flying into the air.
Eyes gleaming, he walked over to Letty and lifted her carefully into his arms. "I say the hell with the fifty thousand dollars. What's a few bucks
between a president and her CEO?"
"I knew you'd be reasonable about it, Joel."
Joel carried her out the door and down the hall. "Let's go back to my office, Mrs. Blackstone, and discuss something far more important than ad
budget overruns."
"Yes, of course, Mr. Blackstone." Letty glowed up at him. "And this time we must remember to lock the door before we start our discussions."
Joel's laughter echoe ~ Jayne Ann Krentz

And all that borrowed magic?" Des continues. "The process is called cobinding, and though Typhus made it sound cavalier and impersonal, it's not like that," Des says.

I stare down at my fae wine. "Then how is it?"

"Remember those horcruxes in Harry Potter?"

I begin to smile in spite of myself. "Are you seriously dropping an HP reference right here, right now?" I ask, glancing over at Des.

"I have your undivided attention, don't I?"

"And all my love."

I mean, I knew he was soulmate material before, but this pretty much just sealed the deal.

Des's face grows serious. "Essentially, when you exchange magic, you're transferring more than raw energy. You're moving a piece of yourself as well."

That's massively creepy. ~ Laura Thalassa

The way everyone looked at me made me uncomfortable. Even Edward. It was like I had grown a hundred feet during the course of the morning. I tried to ignore the impressed looks, mostly keeping my eyes on Nessie's sleeping face and Jacob's unchanged expression. I would always be just Bella to him, and that was a relief. Bella Cullen, Breaking Dawn, Chapter 39, p.747 ~ Stephenie Meyer

He looks again at the face of the little girl. He wonders where she went, that little firecracker life, that smoldering, spitting, whizgig of a girl. He wonders if he can tell from the expression on her face where she's gone to.
And he smiles because he can.
The angels would want her sure. ~ Alden Bell

Tell me what happened."
"He was here," I said, hoarse. "He lit the can on fire and took the extinguisher nearby. I ran to the back to get the other and he pushed one of the shelves over on me."
The muscles in Holt's jaw clenched and flexed beneath the stubble that lined his face.
"Do you ever shave?" I wondered out loud.
He smiled and rubbed at the gruffness. "I just trim it."
I nodded.
"Do you like it?" he asked.
Once again, I touched him, brazenly running my hand along his jaw. It was soft and rough at the same time - the perfect balance. "Yeah, I do."
"Good to know," he said, taking my hand, linking our fingers together, and then his face grew serious again.
"Obviously, I avoided the shelf."
"Did you get a look at his face?" I cringed at the hopefulness in his voice.
"No," I admitted. "I tried, but he kicked me."
His eyes went murderous. Maybe I shouldn't have said that.
"He. Kicked. You," he ground out, making each word into a pointed sentence.
This time I kept my mouth shut.
"Where?" he demanded.
I wasn't going to reply, but his eyes narrowed and I knew he would eventually make me tell him. I was going to have to tell the cops anyway. Weariness floated over me at the thought of enduring yet another one of their hours-long interrogations.
I lifted my wrist, the bandage just dangling from the area now, not covering or protecting a thing.
The waves of hatred that roll ~ Cambria Hebert

You are the least sane person I've had the
misfortune to meet."
The corners of her eyes pinched a little, just for the
barest second, then cleared. "Well, there are plenty
more people for you to meet, Mr. Merrick, so do not
give up hope yet." But the tone of her voice was far
too cheerful.
He watched her for a moment. Watched as her
face cleared of anything remotely hurt or upset. "Do
you object to being called insane or my saying that I
had the misfortune of meeting you?"
"Neither, of course."
He drummed his finger on the desk, irritated and,
God, how did people live feeling guilty about things?
"You are just fine as you are," he said gruffly.
Her expression froze for a moment, then bloomed
into a smile that would slay demons. ~ Anne Mallory

You had this expression on your face, like you weren't quite sure you were supposed to be on Earth. ~ Pleasefindthis

One evening in April a thirty-two-year-old woman, unconscious and severely injured, was admitted to the hospital in a provincial town south of Copenhagen. She had a concussion and internal bleeding, her legs and arms were broken in several places, and she had deep lesions in her face. A gas station attendant in a neighboring village, beside the bridge over the highway to Copenhagen, had seen her go the wrong way up the exit and drive at high speed into the oncoming traffic. The first three approaching cars managed to maneuver around her, but about 200 meters after the junction she collided head-on with a truck. The Dutch driver was admitted for observation but released the next day. According to his statement he started to brake a good 100 meters before the crash, while the car seemed to actually increase its speed over the last stretch. The front of the vehicle was totally crushed, part of the radiator was stuck between the road and the truck's bumper, and the woman had to be cut free. The spokesman for emergency services said it was a miracle she had survived. On arrival at the hospital the woman was in very critical condition, and it was twenty-four hours before she was out of serious danger. Her eyes were so badly damaged that she lost her sight. Her name was Lucca. Lucca Montale. Despite the name there was nothing particularly Italian about her appearance. She had auburn hair and green eyes in a narrow face with high cheek-bones. She was slim and fairly tall. It turned o ~ Jens Christian Grøndahl

His face was the sort of British face from which emotion has been so carefully banished that a foreigner is apt to think the wearer of the face incapable of any sort of feeling; the kind of face which, if it has any expression at all, expresses principally the resolution to go through the world decorously, without intruding upon or annoying anyone. ~ Edward Lucas White

The only person there was little Sipho Fondini from Standard Six, writing on the wall: "Liberation first, then education." He saw me and called out: "Is the spelling right, Mr M?" And he meant it! The young eyes in that smoke-stained little face were terribly serious. Somewhere else a police van raced past me crowded with children who should have also been at their desks in school. Their hands waving desperately through the bars, their voices called out: "Teacher! Teacher! Help us! Tell our mothers! Tell or fathers! ~ Athol Fugard

I struggled not to laugh at the brand-new bottle of lube in his left hand and the unopened box of condoms in his right. He watched me, his expression dark.
"Just buy those?" I asked lightly.
He nodded once.
"Had it all worked out in your mind, did you?"
He nodded again.
"Have you ever fucked a man, Seven?"
He shook his head, his right hand squishing the box of condoms as he tightened his grip.
"And ... this is what you want?" I looked at his face then, watching for any signs of doubt. There were none as he nodded again.
I opened my arms. "Come here," I said softly. ~ T.J. Klune

It was only later, replaying the scene in her mind again and again, that she began to believe it was the expression of a man who was methodically unplugging himself from reality, one cord at a time. The face of a man who was heading out of the blue and into the black. ~ Stephen King

Every human face is more enigmatic than the timeworn expression on the famous Sphinx out there in the sands of Egypt. ~ Dean Koontz

Foxbrush sneezed again.
He couldn't help himself. It's not something a fellow likes to do when a stunningly beautiful woman is leaning toward him with an expression on her face like Nidawi's wore. But sneezes are not prey to the wants or wishes of those inflicted with them. He sneezed so violently that he nearly knocked his forehead against Nidawi's exquisite little chin. She leapt back lightly, frowning at first, then shaking the frown into a rain of laughter. ~ Anne Elisabeth Stengl

Glancing over, I was astonished to see Adrian watching me, a look of contentment on his face. His eyes seemed to study my every feature. Seeing me notice him, he immediately looked away. His usual smirky expression replaced the dreamy one. ~ Richelle Mead

Landscapes, even when their general type is similar, are capable of as many expressions as the same type of human face, and, without our being able fully to tell why, affect our spirits as we look at them with as many moods and meanings. ~ William Hurrell Mallock

Then I made a stupid mistake and looked up at him. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, his face was open and vulnerable in the moonlight. I caught a hint of wonder there as we stared at each other. Slowly, he leaned forward. I caught my breath, a tiny gasp escaping. He stiffened, and his expression shuttered closed, eyes going hard and frosty.
[ ... ]
'This is getting old,' he said in a voice that matched his eyes. ~ Julie Kagawa

Oh, you are the cutest thing I've ever seen," her voice rises a little higher the more excited she gets. Then she looks up straight at Camryn and says with a serious face, "Oh my God, I want one. ~ J.A. Redmerski

She didn't want to be empty, didn't want to vanish. She wanted to be whole.
She said, "I want to remember you."
An emotion flared in his face. He braced her hips, tugged her closer. His lids were heavy, eyes dark. His mouth was a wet gleam. She didn't recognize his expression. It was new. She leaned in and drank the newness of him.
Their kiss turned savage. She made it so. She felt his teeth, reveled in the sure knowledge that it had never been like this between them. Yet at the same time, she felt each kiss they'd shared before, felt them live inside this one. His mouth left hers, rasping down her neck. He buried his face in her skin.
She sought his mouth and found that he tasted different now. She was tasting the taste of her skin on his mouth. Coppery. She dipped her tongue into it again.
"Kestrel."
She didn't answer him.
"This is a bad idea."
"No," she said. "It isn't."
He pulled away, closed his eyes, and dropped his head to press his brow against her belly. She felt rich with the words he muttered against her nightdress. His mouth burned through the cloth.
His chair scraped back. He no longer touched her. "Not like this."
"Yes. Exactly like this." She tried to find the words to express how this helped, how he somehow mapped the country of herself, showed the ridges, the rise and valley of her very being.
"Kestrel, I think that you're…using me a little."
She stopped, unpleasantly startled. It occurred to he ~ Marie Rutkoski

I couldn't imagine loving someone with that kind of intensity, and knowing that the one you're with is the only one you'll ever want."

I realized that I was rambling so I stopped talking as Trace just looked at me. His expression was completely unreadable. He wrapped his hands around my face as he looked deeply into my eyes before he whispered, "I can... ~ L.A. Fiore

As a matter of fact it required only a tolerable show of virtue for Peter to win encomiums at any time. He would brush his curly mop of hair away from his forehead, lift his eyes, part his lips, showing a row of tiny white teeth; then a dimple would appear in each cheek and a seraphic expression (wholly at variance with the facts) would overspread the baby face, whereupon the beholder ... would cry "Angel boy!" and kiss him. He was even kissed now, though he had done nothing at all but exist and be an enchanting personage, which is one of the injustices of a world where a large number of virtuous and well-behaved people go unkissed to their graves! ~ Kate Douglas Wiggin

Jacob, is something wrong? Is Isabella okay?"
"Probably. She is not well today. It could be a normal thing for a human female, but since she is usually as resistant to common ailments now as we are, she is nervous. I figured Gideon could ease her mind."
Noah missed the wince that crossed his friend's face that would have given away the indignant argument flying through the Enforcer's thoughts. Jacob's female counterpart huffily took umbrage to his claims of exactly who it was that was nervous and who had insisted on seeking Gideon, because it certainly had not been her.
"Tell her I hope she feels better," Noah said, his fondness for Bella quite clear in his tone. "Bear with her, old friend. She's breaking new ground. It can be pretty frightening to play Eve for an entire race."
"Do not worry. When it comes to my Bella, I would do anything to see to her happiness. That includes making others do anything to see to her happiness," Jacob said. He meant the words, of course, but he was hoping they'd help sooth someone's bristling pride.
"I'm sure Gideon is going to love that," Noah laughed.
Jacob grinned, altering gravity so that he began to float up from the floor.
"If you see Gideon before I do, will you tell him to come to Bella?"
"Of course. Tell her I said to start behaving like a real Druid or I - " Noah was cut off by a sharp hand motion and a warning expression from the Enforcer. It came a little too late, however, if Jacob's pained ~ Jacquelyn Frank

Suddenly Heller turned serious and stepped away from Lawson. He came straight at me - okay, what the hell was he doing? - and I about swallowed my tongue. Heller hugged me like a long-lost brother.
"Thank you for protecting my mate," he whispered in my ear.
"You're welcome. You mean the world to him, you know?" I left it at that because, really, what more was there to say?
"Yeah, I do know. Now he needs to know." Heller stepped back from me, then turned around to face Lawson.
Then he went down on one knee.
Lawson gasped, Remi thrust his fist in the air and yelled, "Yes," and I rolled my eyes. Of course, that was more for show than anything. I did have a reputation to keep up
"Lawson?" Heller
held his hand out to Lawson, who took it. "You're my everything, but I've told you that. My life would be… would be incomplete without you. You're my mate - my one and only. What I haven't done is tell you that… that… I love you, and I don't know why I haven't. I think… no, I know I fell in love with you the moment I looked into those beautiful gunmetal-gray eyes of yours at your shop."
"Jesus, Heller," Lawson gasped.
Heller pulled a small box out of his front pocket. "Shifters don't marry… not like humans. Sometimes we have to shift with next to no warning, so we don't wear jewelry."
"But… you don't shift, and being part human, I guessed marriage means a lot to you. It does, right?"
Lawson wiped his eyes. "Oh God, yes, it does. Espe ~ M.A. Church

I was astonished to see Adrian watching me, a look of contentment on his face. His eyes seemed to study my every feature. Seeing me notice him, he immediately looked away. His usual smirky expression replaced by a dreamy one.
"The mechanic will wait," he said.
"Yeah, but I'm supposed to meet Brayden soon, I'll be-" That's when I got a good look at Adrian. "What have you done? Look at you! You shouldn't be out here."
"It's not that bad."
He was lying, and we both knew it.
"Come on, we have to get you out of here before you get worse. What were you thinking?"
His expression was astonishingly nonchalant for someone who looked like he would pass out. "It was worth it. You looked ... happy ~ Richelle Mead

A MWF sex schedule? How efficient," he mused.
"Please be serious."
A wicked grin flashed on his face. "Fine, pencil me in. I'll be ready and erect whenever you need me. ~ Katie Ashley

cross my mind," Marshall replies with a tone, still cold toward him. Mom tries to salvage the mood. "I think it's wonderful! You make a charming couple. I wish you both the best." My dad gives her a side-glance, which she ignores. Olivia stands there, an angry expression on her usually pretty face. She's glaring at me with such rage and gives Hunt a confused, wounded ~ Lena Black

But beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expression begins. Intellect is in itself a mode of exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face. The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid. Look at the successful men in any of the learned professions. How perfectly hideous they are! Except, of course, in the Church. But then in the Church they don't think. A bishop keeps on saying at the age of eighty what he was told to say when he was a boy of eighteen, and as a natural consequence he always looks absolutely delightful. ~ Anonymous

Fiction is just that–fiction. Yes, it is serious business, but it should also be taken for face value. It's entertainment. It's escapism. It's 365 pages of relaxation. ~ Rachael Wade

He looked down at his empty glass. "One of the other ways in which I am different from my father," he said. "I am not interested in marrying where I do not love."
I spoke in a jesting voice. "And of all the women in the eight provinces, you have not been able to find one you could love?"
Now he looked at me again, and his face was completely serious. "That's the problem," he said. "There is one. ~ Sharon Shinn

I don't think I deserve him."

Audrey shrugged. "Probably not. But he doesn't deserve you, either. Maybe that's why you're perfect for each other."

"Do you think it could last?"

"Who cares?"

"I care."

Audrey sucked up her drink and tossed the empty cup onto the ground. There was no way we were going to be able to hide the fact that we'd had a party from Mom. Fuck it.

"You like bacon, right?" Audrey asked.

"Duh."

"So, when you're offered bacon for breakfast, do you refuse because you're worried about what's going to happen when it's gone?"

"No."

"No!" Audrey smacked me in the chest. "You eat that bacon and you love it because it's delicious. You don't fret over whether you'll ever have bacon again. You just eat the bacon." Audrey stood in front of me and held my face between her hands. Her expression was so solemn that it was difficult not to laugh. "Eat the bacon, Henry. ~ Shaun David Hutchinson

Without his even being aware that it was happening, Paul's face rearranged itself into the expression of sincere concentration he always wore while listening to editors. He thought of this as his Can I Help You, Lady? expression. That was because most editors were like women who drive into service stations and tell the mechanic to fix whatever it is that's making that knocking sound under the hood or going wonk-wonk inside the dashboard, and please have it done an hour ago. A look of sincere concentration was good because it flattered them, and when editors were flattered, they would sometimes give in on some of their mad ideas. ~ Stephen King

As Julia scanned the crowd, one face stood out. A young-looking, fair-haired man with strange gray eyes stared unblinkingly in her direction, his expression one of intense curiosity. ~ Sylvain Reynard

And you're okay with this? ... " I studied his calm expression, my own features anything but calm.
"Noooo ... " Aeron drew the word out lazily with a slow, deliberate shake of his head. His face remained strangely composed.
"Then can I please have some of whatever sedative you took ... because this," I waved my hand, motioning from his head to his feet, "is way too cool under pressure. ~ M.A. George

Are you willing?"

Through the shadows, he found her gleaming eyes, her slightly curved mouth. "No, it's too reckless. Too irresponsible."

"You're sounding like a father. Or a constable, Constable."

"I'm both, Miss Connor."

He watched her lips tilt and flow into a glorious smile. "Rory's in bed, safe and sound. Most of the town is in bed, safe and sound. And you're here, with a pragmatic woman who can take care of herself. Two adults and one magnificent challenge."

"More like a dare," he said and drained his glass.

She took a step closer, until her skirt brushed his knee. "Call it a dare if you like."

"No." His resolve slipped a notch when she crouched before him, the pleasing angles of her face flooding into view. She was much, much too tempting.

"I'll do it all. You don't have to participate. That should be enough to prove my case."

"I wasn't serious when I said that. I'm sure you're not, hell, frigid."

She leaned in, her hands sliding along the arms of the chair, her face fading out of view as it closed in on his.

A scent, provocative and earthy, stole in with his stuttered breath. "You see, Constable, I'm always serious." He watched her moisten her lips, so near he could almost taste her. "Close your eyes. I've heard that's the way it's done. ~ Tracy Sumner

I slept and I woke. She gave me a ring made from a leaf, a cluster of golden berries, a flower that opened and closed at the stroking of a finger ...
And once, when I startled awake with my face wet and my chest aching, she reached out to lay her hand on top of mine. The gesture was so tentative, her expression so anxious, you would think she had never touched a man before. As if she was worried I might break or burn or bite. Her cool hand lay on mine for a moment, gentle as a moth. She squeezed my hand softly, waited, then pulled away.
It struck me as odd at the time. But I was too clouded with confusion and grief to think clearly. Only now, looking back, do I realize the truth of things. With all the awkwardness of a young lover, she was trying to comfort me, and she didn't have the slightest idea how. ~ Patrick Rothfuss