Quotes from Christina Dodd

This was what MacLean did to her; he made her blood pump through her veins, made her see and breathe and think as she had never done before, made every sense revel in the celebration of life.

He looked directly at her. His gaze softened. His voice became that purr of blandishment that sent shivers up her spine. "No, MacLean men recognize beauty in their women, and once they find their one true love, they see beauty nowhere else.

As long as I'm holding you, all of my dreams have already come true.

But someone had been in here, probably a large African-American fairy godfather, for laid out on the bed was a dress

I want a house in the country. Just a cottage, with a fence and a cat to sit in my lap and a dog to sleep at my feet. A spot of earth for a graden with flowers as well as vegetables, food on the table, and a little leisure time in which to read the books I've not had time to read or just sit... in the sunshine.

Perhaps the sorrow was not, after all, emanating from the attic, but from her.

She should be inured to disappointment. She never should have had hope. No. No hope. Of all the illusions a governess couldn't afford, hope was the shiniest and most tempting, and the one dream she could never, ever afford. Apparently Charlotte's heart had forgotten that truth.

Look, Madeline, Lady Gertrude said, everyone's gaping at you! I know. The future duchess stared straight ahead, her shoulders stiff, her back straight. Never had Remington seen a woman less comfortable with her own distinction. Never had he enjoyed the success of his own plan quite so much. The ton adored only one thing more than a romance, and that was a scandal. He had- and would- give them both. Maybe it's because of your hair, he murmured. Madeline shot him a glare.

In a voice both low and curious, he said, "You're not what I expected." "No," she whispered. "I suppose I'm not." Time seemed to slow and stretch. He observed her with intensity, as if she were a songbird he had trapped and would cage forever.

It seemed all Englishmen imagined one had to attend Oxford, dress in black and breathe the air of Britain to understand the workings of business. Business, he could have informed them, varied not a whit anywhere in the world.

He could plan an attack, prolong a siege; those abilities could be trained to deal with the female mind. She considered him her passionate lover. She consented to marry him as the protector of her lands. Yet there had to be a stratagem that directed Saura's thoughts away from the practicalities of body and property and toward this melding of minds that William labeled love.

If he was not careful, this woman would fascinate him.

She wished she were as indifferent as she had always been with every other man. But there was something about Mr. Knight that made her notice him. Demanded that she notice him.

He had expected to be challenged by this woman, not captivated. She surprised him, and surprise made him vaguely uneasy.

Life is to be lived, not shunted aside until all the days are aches and ashes.

You kiss like a woman who stands on the outside, always peering in the window of life and wishing she were there, yet never having the guts to demand entrance.

If only he hadn't tasted the loneliness on her lips and recognized the same loneliness that pervaded his soul.

She was changing his thinking, and he didn't like that. Yet he had learned one thing in the desert. Sometimes destiny held him in its grip. He could fight this attraction. He could keep his thinking. But then he could not have Charlotte. And she he would have.

But she is a woman, and a haughty woman at that." "That's a bitter dose for haughty men to swallow," Saura answered with humor. "You show a formidable insight." His humor acknowledged hers.

When he spoke, it was almost poetry and much too much truth—two sins the ton would not easily forgive.

Wynter made her uncomfortably aware that too many restrictions and too little hope bound her to her plebeian existence.

Please come. I know my William is there somewhere, buried beneath the mountain of anger and disgust. My son is still there, but only lost. Please help me find him.

You know, Guinevere Mary, the kind of woman you could be, and I know it, too. And I won't be satisfied until you are." Her

He did not need to be distracted by a woman. A gorgeous woman, yes, but just a woman. He didn't understand her. That was the problem. She was beautiful but unaware of her beauty. She was rich but not grasping. She was timid, yet she rode fearlessly, and for a scroungy dog she roared like a lion. Because of her, he'd had his best boots nipped by a mutt's sharp teeth. Because of her, he'd ordered all flower arrangements changed from red to yellow roses.