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The Blushing Pansy, his cousin read aloud, in a tone of abject horror. Tea shop and confectionery. Bram swore. This was going to be ugly.

Tessa Dare

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Tessa Dare
Tone
Swore
Ugly
Abject
Horror
Blushing
Read
Aloud
Going
Cousin
Shop
Bram
Tea
Pansy
Shops
Pansies

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He had to feel those lips on him again. Had. To. This wasn’t a mild expression of preference. This was an imperative. His body was insistent. To continue his existence on this earth, he now needed the following: food, water, shelter, clothing, and Minerva Highwood’s lips.
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Amazing, then, how with that one remark, he made a mortifying situation thirteen times worse.
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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.
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Dedication: For librarians and booksellers everywhere, who gather books and build shelters for tender souls.
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Colin stared at the officer. “Thorne, you scare me. I’m not ashamed to say it.
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One more minute of this, and she’d be a certifiable simpleton.
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Is it truly so unfathomable, that an imperfect girl might be perfectly loved?
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This is true valor, I hope you know. Legends have sprung from less. All Lancelot did was paddle about in a balmy lake.” She smiled. “Lancelot was a knight. You’re a viscount. The bar is higher.
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He was right. They could have a whole conversation without exchanging a word. And the conversation they had right now went like this: Colin, shut it. I don’t think I will, M. Then I’ll make you. Really? How?I’m not certain, but it will be slow and painful. And I won’t leave any evidence.
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Mr. Sand, do you think it's possible to fall in love in the space of a single day? He smiled. I wouldn't know. I only fall in love at night. Never lasts beyond breakfast, though.
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Forgive me, Your Grace. Are you suggesting a woman is some sort of … piece of fruit to you? One squeeze, and you know if she’s ripe?
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You are a sweet man. -God, there it is. He flopped back on the bed, as if shot through the heart. Repeat that to anyone, and I will have you brought up on charges of slander. I wouldn't dream of telling a soul.
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So odd. Most women of his acquaintance relied on physical beauty and charm to mask their less-pleasant traits. This girl did the opposite, hiding everything interesting about herself behind a prim, plain facade. What other surprises was she concealing?
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So there’s an . . . an etiquette to raking. Some seducer’s code of honor. Is this what you’re telling me?
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You’re a terrible cook. That I’ll grant you. You can’t hold your liquor, either. And you have questionable taste in men. So no, you’re not perfect.” His voice sank to a husky whisper, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. “But you’re close. Close enough to restore a man’s faith in miracles.
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What on earth are you wearing? Did you take orders in a convent since we spoke last? Little Sisters of the Drab and Homely.
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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?
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