Quotes About Intimacy

It was those blue eyes that were really to blame, of course, but then, in all fairness, she had to admit that he was not really responsible for those. She could not look away from them even when they came closer. Finally, when she could focus no longer she had to close her eyes. But that did nothing to break the spell because by that time his mouth was on hers.

So this was what it was like to be a wife, to be loved! She relived again, moment by moment, the whole of their lovemaking.

She had forgotten—ah, yes, she had forgotten just how much he could stir her blood and make her ache with longing for him.

When she had been in his arms, his mouth on hers, she had surrendered completely to a physical longing that should have died years before. She had wanted him and given in to that desire. She had loved him.

Had he really held her and kissed her, not in anger, but in real need? Had there been tears in his eyes when he first lifted her against him? Had he called her 'darling,' as he had done during those days in Devon? And he had been going to take her to bed. She could have made love with Robert last night. Her needle paused above her work as shivers sizzled up her arms and along her spine.

Oh, Robert, please kiss me, she begged suddenly. Make me forget all my fears.

I love you,' he whispered again, against the top of her head.

But it was into his eyes she looked, and having once done so, she could not look away again.

They always quarreled bitterly when they were alone together—or they made love.

Sometimes his eyes could look dreamy. It was when he drooped his eyelids over them as he was doing now. It was a familiar, long-remembered look. His size, his nearness, his body heat, the smell of his cologne no longer seemed threatening. They became like a shelter around her, wrapping her in the sensual pleasure of the present moment, shielding her from everything that threatened from the outside.

She might have said yes. It was a shameful admission to have to make even in the privacy of her own thoughts. Perhaps especially there. He exerted a very powerful magic over her. Even more powerful than when she had first known him.

He did not immediately answer. Their eyes locked and neither looked away. Camille swallowed as he pushed away from the counter and came toward her. He set one hand on the table beside hers and the other on the back of her chair. He drew breath as though to say something, but then leaned over her instead and kissed her.

She had kissed him back, eagerly, inexpertly . . . and had rashly gazed into his eyes afterward and told him with passionate conviction that she loved him, that she would always, always love him.

Have you missed me, Elizabeth? She considered. Yes, I have, she said. I feel relaxed and at home with you, William. Nothing more? he asked ruefully. I cannot say I feel relaxed with you. I love you, I believe.

Our wedding night, she whispered, and dreams were reborn as she rested her face against his neckcloth.

You do know her rather well, your Grace, he said with respect. Eversleigh regarded his brother-in-law steadily. Of course, he said. I happen to love her, you see.

Oh, she cried, exasperated, ''I'll not stand for this, Marius! Then you shall just have to lie down for it, my love, he said soothingly.

She gave up the struggle. She gave up everything. Nothing mattered any longer except this moment. She raised her head and sought his mouth.

Do you love me? she asked him, lifting her face to his . . . He kissed her. She clung to him, tasting his answer in his mouth.

But body and mind knew alike that he was Piers, that she had given all of herself to him, with nothing held back. She knew it, and she reveled in the knowledge. For all her life she would know that they had been lovers for one brief and glorious night.

I am exceedingly fond of her, he said. Which is not a particularly ardent thing to say, Viscount Luttrell pointed out.

He had to force himself not to pull her into his arms to comfort her. Damn it, he had hurt her when he had meant only to tease. And he was uncomfortable with feelings of compassion.

She was suddenly plagued by a thoroughly novel desire to rush across to where he still sat in his chair, and cradle his head against her breast. She had never seen him vulnerable, had never even dreamed that he had any weakness.

He hovered at the edge of a kiss, just as a few nights before he had hovered . . .