Quotes from Elizabeth Hoyt

She gasped again and opened blue eyes lit with erotic mischief. "Are you trying to steal the reins from me?" Even with his penis buried deep within her, even moments from climax, he arched an eyebrow. "You have them only by my permission.

But…" Both men looked over inquiringly when Maximus spoke. "But I never asked you to help me with Noakes." Makepeace nodded, his expression grave. "You didn't have to." "You never had to," St. John concurred.

Women were something best bought, he'd found. Pay them, f*ck them, and send them away in the morning. That way avoided tears, recriminations, and feminine disappointment. Oh, and small things like being slapped across the face. Mick rubbed his jaw. But Silence wasn't one of his whores, as Harry had pointed out. Mick couldn't send her away. And he couldn't let her starve herself—he wouldn't let anyone hurt her, including herself.

I love you," he whispered as he thrust again. And again. Each movement controlled. Each small movement devastating in its effect. "I love you." She lost all concept of time. She lost her place and surroundings. She couldn't remember who he was—who she was. She lost her mind.

I am a whore, she said. And in addition to that, I am not a nice woman. But despite these facts, my word is gold.

Excuse me, but I believe you have my lady," one of them said in a quiet, deep voice that sent veritable chills down George's spine. Harry.

The butterfly startled at Mary's gesture and floated up, drifting on the breeze, its wings sparkling blue and bright in the late afternoon sunshine. Silence watched it, enthralled, and then her eyes met Michael's. A corner of his mouth cocked up. "Welcome home, m'love.

Will ye be wantin' this now, madam?" "Yes, please," she whispered. She wanted to engrave the sight of him thus, about to make love to her, in her mind.

All her life she'd been warned that men were slaves to their desires, that they held their impulses in barely controlled check. A woman--a lady--must be very, very careful of her actions so she did not put spark to the gunpowder that was a man's libido.

Nothing I have will tempt you?" King Herla murmured. Lin could only shake her head. "Then perhaps I should offer myself," Herla said as he sank to his knees before her. "Wonderful girl, will you have me as your husband?" "Oh, yes," Lin said.

At her gesture Michael cursed and caught her hand, falling suddenly atop her. She stared up at him wondering what bedchamber faux pas she'd committed. He groaned at her look. "I'll let ye pet and play all ye want—after. Now I need"—he pushed her chemise to her waist, parted her thighs, and settled between them—"to be inside ye.

She was already in his palace, in his life. He couldn't go back--and wouldn't even if he could. She was so close to him now that it was as if he held her in his palm like a glowing ember--and gave thanks for the pain even as he inhaled the smoke from his burning flesh.

That thought—that she was carrying his babe—steadied him enough to start off again. It was a strange but not unwelcome feeling to know that she carried his child. That someday she would hold a babe against her pretty white breast and that the child would be part of him as well. For the first time in a very long while, he yearned to see tomorrow.

Have you ever noticed that once you have had a tasted of certain sweets- raspberry trifle is my own despair- it is quite impossible not to think, not to want, not to crave until you have taken another bite?

Why me? Because you draw me. Because you are kind but not soft. Because when you touch me, the pain is bittersweet. Because you cradle a desperate secret to your bosom, like a viper in your arms, and don't let go of it even as it gnaws upon your very flesh. I want to pry that viper from your arms. To suckle upon your torn and bloody flesh. To take your pain within myself and make it mine.

But Sir Alistair's gaze was different. Those other men had looked at her with lust or speculation or crass curiosity, but they hadn't been looking at her really. They'd been looking at what she represented to them: physical love or a valuable prize or an object to be gawked at. When Sir Alistair stared at her, well, he was looking at her.

He went to stand next to the bed and even though the room was unlit, he could make out, faintly, her slight form beneath the covers. The sight somehow calmed his soul. She lay in his bed, in his house, and no matter what bargain she thought she'd made with him, he knew the truth. He had no plans to let her go—ever.

Harry tucked her arm through his and marched her to the door. Stop! What? Men could be so obtuse. Do I look like I've just been tumbled? Harry's lips twitched. You look like the most beautiful woman in the world. He kissed her soundly again. He hadn't exactly answered her question, but it was too late now.

She threw one leg over his and straddled his lap, then reached under herself and found him again. He tore his mouth from hers. "Wait." "No." She looked him frankly in the eyes. "I don't care if you spill at once. I need you inside me now." His beautiful eyes widened and then narrowed. "You'll not always hold the reins, my lady." She smiled sweetly. "Naturally not, but I do now.

I'll not miss a whit of it. Gold nor silks nor fancy books and statues. I can live without them all. What I cannot live without is one Silence Rivers. I love you, my wife. And I love you, my husband. I look forward to being just plain Mrs. Rivers, I do. She leaned back and whispered in his ear, But perhaps you can still be Charming Mickey O'Connor the notorious pirate--in our bedroom. He winked at her as he bent to catch her lips. Oh, to be sure, m'love, to be sure.

You are different. She lifted a hand to delicately trace his hairline. He closed his eyes, feeling her fingers tremble against his skin. For whatever reason, she said softly, when you are with me, you are simply Isaac and I am Coral.

My darling Lucy." He panted against her ear, and then his teeth scraped her earlobe. "I love you," he whispered. "Don't ever leave me.

He lowered his head and beat, fists balled, teeth clenched, the roaring in his ears loud and total. He saw only Thomas's bloody face, his brother's mouth moving, saying something, perhaps pleading, and Griffin's heart swelled with gleeful rage. He'd touched her. He'd hurt her. And for that he deserved to walk upon crippled legs.

It hardly mattered. She was tired of waiting for him to acknowledge who he was. Tired of donning a false mask of gaiety when she was so much more—felt so much more—beneath. No one had ever noticed her mask. No one but him. If he couldn't or wouldn't make the first move, then damn it, she would.