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Sometimes, love was not enough.

Sarah MacLean

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Sarah MacLean
Age: 45
Born: 1978
Born: December 17
Author
Novelist
Writer
Lincoln
Rhode Island
Enough
Sometimes
Love

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Un momento con una donna capricciosa vale undici anni di vita noiosa. A single moment with a fiery female is worth eleven years of a boring life.
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It was a terrifying feeling. And if it was love, he wanted none of it.
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But there, in that remarkable room, surrounded by a laughing, rollicking, unseeing collection of London's brightest and wickedest, Pippa's knowledge of anatomy expanded. It seemed there was such a thing as a broken heart.
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I do not traditionally speak ill of women, but your governess is a cabbagehead
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I had a perfect life in my reach once, and it was a crashing bore. Perfect is too clean, too easy. I don't want perfect any more than I want to be perfect. I want imperfect.
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Meditation is an essential travel partner on your journey of personal transformation. Meditation connects you with your soul, and this connection gives you access to your intuition, your heartfelt desires, your integrity, and the inspiration to create a life you love.
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Even as she’d come to know the real Ralston—the Ralston who was not cut from heroic cloth—Callie had failed to see the truth. And, instead of seeing her own heartbreak coming, she had fallen in love, not with her fantasy, but with this new, flawed Ralston.
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She was all he wanted. He would give everything for her. Without thought. Without regret.
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Men are not nearly as evolved as women are, nor as intelligent, evidently
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Ralston stiffened at the reference to the stupid wager that caused so much pain and unhappiness. He ignored Oxford's proffered hand, and instead met the baron's concerned gaze, and said, Keep the money. I have her. She's all I want.
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He raked his fingers through his hair. She doesn't need me. Ralston smirked. You are laboring under that mistaken impression that it is their job to need us. In my experience it is almost always the other way around.
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And as the bullet ripped through his flesh, Ralston was consumed by a single thought: I never told her that I loved her.
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Truth is irrelevant. What is relevant is whether or not they believe it. The logic in the words grated. The first rule of scoundrels?
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Let me be clear. Last I was aware you were neither my husband nor my father nor my King. Therefore, any control you may imagine you hold over me is just that- imaginary
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I, for one, have no interest at all in having my heart stolen.
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why couldn't someone , somewhere , want her for her ?
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And... as long as they need me, it's easier to forget that I am alone.
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do not like this taste for adventure you have developed, sister.” “I am afraid I cannot guarantee I shall be rid of it anytime soon.
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So, are you... intrigued ... by Stanhope? Intrigued by him? Indeed. Do you find him ... he paused. Intriguing? she teased. He sent her an exasperated look.
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