Quotes from Anne Stuart

And what if you're trying to knock out another man, she said, sarcastic. There was no expression in his cool blue eyes. Then I kiss him, he said in the calmest of voices. Now you try it.

What have you done with Hetty? he demanded. Listened to her incessant prattle, complaints, tears, demands, artless conversation and recriminations for more than twenty-four hours. You will be pleased to know I didn't touch her—if I had I would have throttled her. Take her away, if you please. I'd rather spend the rest of my life a pauper than have to spend even another day with the divine Miss Chippie.

You have everyone else at your feet, Miss Lydia. Why should you need me as well? For a moment she couldn't speak, mesmerized by the torment she saw in the dark depths of his eyes. Because you're the one I want, she said in a hushed voice.

A moment later he was sent sprawling on a hard wood floor. The idiots left him alone – why they thought a simple bash on the head would keep him immobile for long was beyond him. They wouldn't have much of a career if they made mistakes like this. There were times when the incompetence of the enemy was simply an insult.

I thought you were the docile one, he murmured. Yes, my lord, she said meekly. Compared to my sister, my lord. And you're the smart one as well? Even though you were going to put horse dung on an infect wound? Yes, my lord. She straightened her shoulders. And the plain one. His eyes were like a sly weapon, all soft, lingering caresses while he stood just out of reach. I think you're a fraud, Lady Alys. You've yet to convince me of any of those three things.

He would die at her hands. He knew it, with sudden lightening clarity. The man he had struggled so hard to become, the all-powerful, all-knowing Simon of Navarre, would be destroyed by a woman's heart.

He was human, he was warm and strong and ready to kill to keep her safe. What more could a girl want in a man?

Where is the motorcycle?" "I ditched it. Someone will find it sooner or later and return it to the rental company." "Not in the U.S." "We're not in the U.S., in case you haven't noticed. People don't steal lost property, they return it." "How did you get this car?" "I stole it.

He flicked off the light switch, setting the alarm system. Overhead he could hear Reno—music that could only be Japanese hip-hop, for God's sake, and thumps and bumps. Either he had half a dozen girls up there on the floor and he was doing them one by one, or he was doing some sort of exercise. Or dancing. The thought of Reno dancing was enough to send cold shivers down Peter's spine. He preferred the notion of an orgy.

You're right about something else," he said, his voice ragged. "I'm scared to death of you. Because I want you, when common sense and a lifetime of experience tells me I should kill you. I want you, and if I give up then you'll own me, and I'll have nothing left to fight with.

He had no choice in the matter, if he left her hanging by the straps she'd end up being banged against the side of the aircraft. Not good for her, not good for the plane's stability. You always fastened down a cargo, you didn't leave it loose in the back of a plane. That was all he was doing, he told himself putting his arms around her to hold her limp body still, letting her head loll back against his shoulder. Keeping the cargo secure. It was his own damn fault he was getting hard again.

I eat gaijin for breakfast… His words trailed off as Jilly came out of the house, in her pseudo-frock, her combat boots, her spiky hair and her young, young face. He just stared at her, motionless, as if someone had clubbed him over the head with a mallet. Jilly froze where she was, staring back at the exotic creature in black leather and bright red hair who'd invaded the garden.

She could dream of happy endings. For him, if not for her.

He should have known someone like Lucien de Malheur would offer no loyalty, no male solidarity.

Goodbye, Lord Rohan, she said. The door to Lina's house stood open, the footman waitig patiently. I don't expect we'll see each other again. His smile was slow, mocking, irresistibly devilish. Would you care to wager on that, my love?

He wasn't marrying her. Even if she'd have him, which she certainly wouldn't, he had no intention of leg-shackling himself to such a difficult woman. She's always be racing off to save some new stray lamb, and if she even caught wind of the Scorpion's criminal associations she'd probaby try to save them, as well. She was a dangerous woman, never content with the status quo, and she would drag who ever was fool enough to marry her along for the ride.

Your soul may be the epitome of putrescent decay, but apart from minor scarring you know perfectly well that you are quite decadently appealing. His pale eyes widened, and then he explored in laughter. I don't know which enchants me more, putrescent decay or decadently appealing.

the foundations set up as tax shelters by the wealthy tended to spend as much money glorifying the donors' names and providing cushy jobs for their friends

The windows were boarded up, allowing in no light. I take it this isn't your apartment. You think I'd take you to my home? Hope springs eternal.

Ben scooped her up in his arms, holding her high against his chest as he carried her back into the cottage, past the shrouded, familiar shapes of the furniture into the night-dark bedroom. They were alone now for the first time. There was no Emmett, no Harris, no lies or masquerade or motives or revenge. There was just Ben and Rachel, together in the darkness.

I will give you a little hint," Emma said with a wry smile. "A whore's trick, but a good one. It's a part that you're playing, like a grand actress on the stage. It isn't you. It has nothing to do with you. You're simply using your body in service to something necessary. You can smile and flirt and dance and pretend you're someone entirely different, and it won't matter. You, the real you, will still be safe inside.

She should feel sick. Horrified, stunned. But the horrible truth was, she felt fine. He killed. He killed to protect her. And some ancient, atavistic streak inside her wanted to preen and purr. She was one sick puppy.

He turned back, and there was an odd light in his eyes. "Did I ever tell you that I can't live without you?" he said. "No," she said. "You can tell me about it when we survive." She could barely breathe, death was eating its way toward her, and she wanted to laugh out loud with the joy of it.

He was a man who fucked in silence. And when he climaxed, long, hard, endlessly, inside her tight body, he heard his voice in the darkness. Calling her name.