Quotes from Elizabeth Hoyt

Good Lord, His Grace the Ass hiding in the bushes," Apollo muttered. "Whatever are you doing here?" "Ah, Kilbourne, you've regained your voice," Wakefield drawled. "Pity, but I presume my wife is thrilled. And you are?" He looked pointedly at Montgomery.

And she arched, screaming, the lightning blazing from her center, sparking through her limbs, flying out her fingertips. She was incandescent. He fell atop her, heavy and male, pulling her legs up around his narrow hips, and ground down into her, once, twice. His cock jerked within her and she could feel every muscle in his body tense. He groaned into her ear like a man dying and then fell senseless and limp. And as she followed him into exhausted slumber she heard his single word: Mine .

The peach gown she'd chosen was the color of the sunrise, the rippling watered silk seeming to subtly change from rose to pink to nearly orange in different lights. She'd fallen in love with it at once.

What are you looking for?" she asked abruptly. "It's rather rude for a gentleman to enter a lady's room without permission." "I'm not a gentleman." "Really? I thought otherwise.

Oh, how she wanted this man! She wanted to hold him like this tomorrow and fifty years hence. She wanted to be by his side every morning when he woke, she wanted his to be the last voice she heard before she fell asleep at night.

Now, now, said Vale in a sickeningly sweet voice reminiscent of a nursery nanny. I already gave him a drubbing for courting Emmie. Reynaud raised his eyebrows. You did? He did not, Hartley said even as Vale nodded happily. I threw him down the stairs. Vale pursed his lips and looked skyward. Not my recollection, but I can see how your memory of the event may've become hazy.

He inhaled and spoke without thinking, ignoring their audience. "What has happened?" "You know full well, Your Grace, for what—who—I fight." Her eyes were glittering and he couldn't believe it, but the evidence was clear. Tears. His goddess should never weep. He took her arm. "Artemis.

Diana," he murmured in her ear, licking. "Diana, you are everything I've ever wanted and shall never have." Tears pricked at her eyes and she opened her mouth to sob. "That's it," he said. "Weep for me. Bear my pain. Take my come. For I can give you nothing else.

Overhead the moon guided him, his fair mistress, his unattainable lover.

She pulled back and murmured, "I'm still mad at you." "Are you?" His wounded voice had descended into Stygian depths. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to her jaw. "Yes." She yanked at his hair in emphasis. He grunted, but her grip didn't prevent him from lowering his mouth to hers again. He nipped at her lips and then licked at them, softening the sting. "I'll have to see what I can do to regain your good graces.

We all know that we'll die someday, but believing it is another thing entirely.

Why? she asked urgently. Why me? Because, he murmured, you draw me. Because you are kind but not soft. 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 on your very flesh. I want to pry that viper from your arms. To take that pain within myself and make it mine.

He was like a young tiger, all muscle and passion, and she wanted to ride him--not to tame the beast, but to feel for a small moment all of his vitality.

She flew in, all fiery flashing eyes and flushed cheeks, her bosom heaving beneath black wool. She was magnificent. Tell them to let her go! Séraphine ordered him imperiously. Tell them to let her go right now . She stood over him, her lips wet, her body shaking with her rage, and he wanted to take her and roll her beneath him and fuck her into the mattress.

For a moment she stared at him, panting, breathless and wordless, it seemed, with rage. He'd had no idea she would respond to his capture of her queen so violently. It was rather arousing.

I'm afraid I'm rather used to females making themselves shameless for me.

It would be the height of idiocy for the Duke of Wakefield to pursue the cousin of the woman he wanted as wife. And yet, for the first time in his life, Maximus wanted to let the man rule him instead of the title.

He smelled the scent of roses and it nearly maddened him. Or perhaps he was already mad. "Run now," he whispered. She stared at him, refusing to move. "Very well," he snarled, and took her into his arms.

It was the sad state of the world that people judged others not by the best that they could be but by the worst thought in their own hearts

She was lost. He broke their kiss and laid his forehead against hers. "Make me stop." "I can't," she whispered. "Then… we're doomed," he said, his voice husky and low.

She watched his chest rise and fall and remembered and reflected. All her life things had been taken from her: Apollo, Thomas's affection, Mama and Papa, her home, her future. No one had ever asked her opinion, garnered her thoughts on what she wanted or needed. Things had been done to her, but she'd never had the chance to do things. Like a doll on a shelf, she'd been moved about, manipulated, flung aside.

She'd never find another man like him as long as she lived. He was ruining her for any other, and the pleasure of it was beyond bearing.

A giant black beast came rushing up to her, the sound of hoofbeats thundering in her ears. She cowered, waiting to be trampled, but instead strong arms reached down and seized her, sweeping her up. I have you now, my Séraphine, growled the Duke of Montgomery in her ear. Did you really think I wouldn't come for you?

Well, Scarborough cares, doesn't he? Maximus doesn't—not really. No doubt he's a bit compelled by the chase, but if he doesn't win"—she shrugged her shoulders—"he'll simply find another suitable heiress. She—Lady Penelope herself—doesn't really matter to him. And if it comes right down to it, wouldn't you chose passion—however old—over dispassion?