Quotes from Carolyn Jewel

One must do the outrageous with style. With élan. With complete conviction.

Because, good God, Lily Wellstone had the face of an angel, the body of a goddess, and the spirit of the devil glinting from her eyes. She was a woman worth losing his soul for.

One of her arms was around his waist as her eyes fluttered open. He found himself lost in limpid blue green. She wasn't his. Not legally. He could as yet lay no claim to her heart. He wanted the ceremony that would make her indisputably his. He wanted Sophie to be the mother of his children. He wanted Sophie. He wouldn't ever be whole without her. If he rushed her, he stood to lose everything.

You know, you're not so bad when you try to be nice." "It's not easy." He looked down as he brought the end of the towel around his hip. "Damn thing's pink." The corner of her mouth twitched. "You're man enough to carry it off. Or are you afraid you aren't pretty in pink?" "Baby, I'm so pretty in pink, I'm worried you won't be able to help yourself.

I dislike your formality."...."Your formality keeps us at arms length when I want not even a hairbreadths between us.

He headed for the door but stopped halfway. "I love you, Sophie. I love you with my soul." Her bare arms held up the duvet. "Don't ruin this, Banallt, please." "I'm not a villain from one of your novels, Sophie." She stared at him, wide-eyed. "Unlike them, I can change. I have changed." Unfortunately, she didn't believe him.

He stopped moving for the space of a heartbeat. He bent his head to her shoulder and rocked his hips, pressing inside her. His hair fell forward around either side of his face, a frame of black, silky where it brushed her collarbone. "I am in paradise." His hips rocked again. She closed her eyes tight. She felt his lips on her cheek and then on her eyelids, placing gentle kisses.

Is it possible?" He could have sworn she was teasing. She shouldn't have the energy for that. "What?" He lay next to her on his stomach, wrung out. Completely and utterly sated and yet thinking of the things he yet wanted to do to her. "You did." Her voice was light, teasing even. "What?" "You begged, my lord." He laughed softly. "To have you make love to me like that, I'll beg you every night of my life, Lady Banallt.

With you it's different. I come like a bloody bull with you. I want to reach inside you and make you feel what I do, to know heaven and hell and pleasure so intense you can't tell if it's agony or pure bliss."..."When I make love to you, I am yours. You own me body and soul.

Sure, he'd kill, she didn't doubt that, but she got the impression he'd rather leave you maimed someplace so you could die nice and slow. While he watched and took detailed notes so he'd do better the next time.

He did not want to go to his grave knowing he had risked nothing for the woman he wanted. He wasn't an ass, though. Or if he was, he did not wish to give her incontrovertible evidence of the fact. What to say to her, then, when he knew he was likely to speak too gruffly?

What is this place?" Now that they'd stopped, his body registered violent objection to the abuse of a mile's walk down the mountain. Hell. To pay. Pandelion whined. "Home," replied Miss Willow. He held out his hand for the key. She sighed. "You're a very managing sort." "I am a man, Miss Willow." "I dislike being managed." "Alas," said Sebastian.

Oh, my God. They were going to sleep together, with no sleeping involved.

The patterns overhead shifted so that, had she an imagination prone to hysteria, she could easily convince herself something hid in the curtains above her head. She imagined a face in the shadows and folds of fabric, a face with sad, hollow eyes. The sliver of light shining through a crack in the window curtains disappeared. Shadows deepened and swirled and the face became even more uncannily real.

One must do the outrageous with style. With élan. With complete conviction.

You," he said, "are a bluestocking." "Sir, I am not." "Anne, it's not an insult. I cannot long endure the company of a stupid woman." "Have you often found yourself on the horns of such a dilemma?

He nodded. A curt movement of his head, and she was, for no reason at all, convinced that the man before her was not in dislike of her but simply a man who did not have words come easily to him because he'd grown up alone. She thought of him as a boy. Lonely here, with no father and no mother to hold him, only the servants for company, and Killhope as an unceasing reminder of the centuries of duty and responsibility that were his. Her heart twisted up.

Miss Edith Clay brightened the room with her presence. Just from walking through the door, she'd made the room a happier place. This was true despite his having spent the last several months assuring himself his recollection of her had to be incorrect. His recollection was not incorrect. It was appallingly accurate.

Her smile hollowed out his chest. She'd changed since last he saw her. She was brighter. More vibrant. Happiness suited her.

She had a good, strong voice. She smiled with her voice, too. This, he thought, was the magic that had drawn him to her.

Her gaze collided with the duke's. His eyes were a clear, pale green. Why was he staring so intently when there was hardly another woman less interesting than she?

You are walking to Hope Springs?" "Yes, Your Grace." "In this weather?" She glanced around and gave him a smile. "I haven't any other weather to walk in.

The furnishings she'd chosen reminded him of the woman who lived here. Nothing to admire, and yet he wished to be here. To stay here and be surrounded by rooms that settled him. He was at ease, and the longer he stayed, the more he found to like.

He'd seen that absent look from her dozens of times in London. She thought herself invisible, and was not. Not to him. This was the second time he'd mentioned marriage to her. The second time she heard nothing but his words.