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Men never hesitated to declare their presence. They were permitted to live aloud, in reverberating thuds and clunks, while ladies were always schooled to abide in hushed whispers.

Tessa Dare

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Tessa Dare
Ladies
Hushed
Presence
Hesitated
Live
Whispers
Always
Schooled
Never
Aloud
Men
Abide
Permitted
Declare
Reverberating

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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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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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No, Susanna, he said. I cannot love you just a little. If that's what you want, you must find a different man. His green eyes were breathtaking in their intensity. His thumb brushed her bottom lip. Because I can only love you entirely. With everything I am, and everything I ever will be. Body, mind, heart, soul.
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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.
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How is it you’ve never married?” A soft splash. “It’s an easy enough thing. Every morning I wake up, go about my day, and return to bed at night without having recited marriage vows. After several years, I have the trick of it down.
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Cleverness is like rouge - liberal application makes a woman look common and desperate. Wit is knowing how to apply it.
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A home isn’t only defined by what you need, Bram. It’s also about the people who need you
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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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I know how mirrors work. They're all in league with the cosmetics trade. They tell a woman lies. Drawing her gaze from one imagined flaw to another, until all she sees is a constellation of imperfections. If you could get outside yourself, borrow my eyes for just an instant... There is only beauty.
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He laughed. A strained, ha, ha, ha, I may die of this laugh.
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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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What is the world coming to, with these modern women? A man can't tell them what to do.
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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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One more minute of this, and she’d be a certifiable simpleton.
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You’re like a gift,” he said, his voice rough. “All wrapped up for someone else. A man can’t look at you, but think of loosing those bows, one by one.
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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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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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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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Amazing, then, how with that one remark, he made a mortifying situation thirteen times worse.
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Is it truly so unfathomable, that an imperfect girl might be perfectly loved?
Tessa Dare