And this is the potency a first kiss should have: it should be earned. The moments leading up to it should be as tense as a crossbow drawn back. The reader should want it as badly as the hero and hero...
Her laugh was wonderful. It was mischief made musical.
Something was stirring in him, though; a bud of comprehension that could very well bloom into forgiveness if left unchecked.
He wished for access to all the world's languages at once, for then he would have a better word for how he felt and what she was.
But she bravely kept her eyes open; she was both lost and found in the soft, burning depths of his eyes.
She charmed and sparkled and said witty things, but she knew very well she was being charming and sparkling and witty while she was doing it, which somehow felt wrong.
I suppose we all tend to want the impossible. And sometimes in attempting it we achieve something near enough to the impossible to elicit satisfaction.
I will die, however,” he said quite seriously, “if you leave me again. Just watch me.
The one thing she’d been able to count on her entire life was her cleverness. She was so often right. It was humbling and disorienting to realize that she in truth knew nothing at all. One only ever s...
For if light had a sound, it was that laugh.
May I see your dance card?”“Don’t you believe me?” She presented it to him with a flourish.He ran his fingers down the list of names.“Hmm . . . Waterburn? Bastard. D’Andre. Definitely a worthless bast...
Only two things kept her from loathing him.The expression on his face when he'd said, "France." And the expression on his face when he'd said, "home.
I love you," she murmured. The words ... it was as though an entire sun had exploded in his chest.He'd been ridiculous. His thrashing thoughts, his grand confusion and torment and helplessness -- it w...
Jules could have sworn there was a devilish glint in the shopkeepers eye. 'I find today I am in need of a bonnet.'Mr. Postlethwaite was silent. And then his eyes crept toward the marquess's hairline.'...
Their faces were inches apart now, and he traced her lips with one finger, lightly, lightly, then placed his lips there as if he’d drawn them into being.
Rebecca stared back at him, still dazed. She'd forgotten how to speak; it seemed an unimportant skill, anyhow, when such kisses were to be had, when a whole world could be made from a kiss.
The question remains... who takes care of you, Miss Vale?" "I might ask the same question of you, Lord Dryden.
But now he understood why someone would write things like 'she walked in beauty like the night' and so forth. Because poetry was a barrier against raw emotions. It distilled them into bearable music,...
He was close enough now to see that her profile was designed to do dramatic things to hearts: stop them, steal them, break them.
Magnanimous of you.'His mouth twitched. 'Mmm. Use more words like that, please. Schoolmistress words. Long, impressive ones.' He'd made the last three words sound like an innuendo.
