Quotes About Yearning

Daphne felt something wild and wicked take hold. "Let's walk in the garden," she said softly. "We can't." "We must." "We can't.

Miss. My. Wife.

He loved her. He wanted her. He needed her. And he needed her now.

He stepped toward her, and her heart just ached from it. His face was so handsome, and so dear, and so perfectly wonderfully familiar. She knew the slope of his cheeks, and the exact shade of his eys, brownish near the iris, melting into green at the edge. And his mouth-she knew that mouth, the look of it, the feel of it. She knew his smile, and she knew his frown, and she knew- she knew far to much.

He would not give her up,he could not.For the first time in his life he'd found someone who filled all the empty spaces in his heart

The world seemed somehow different when one was lying down. Darker, more dangerous ... And in that moment, as he slowly closed the distance between them, he became her entire world.

He had to kiss her. He had to. It was as basic and elemental as his breath, his blood, his very soul. And when he did... The earth stopped spinning. The birds stopped singing. Everything in the world came to a halt, everything but him and her and the feather-light kiss that connected them.

She was so beautiful it made her teeth ache. He made a mental note not to attempt poetry.

He didn't like her. He really didn't, but by God, he'd have sold a piece of his soul right then to dance with her

no one had ever brought her flowers before, and she hadn't known until that very moment how badly she'd wanted someone to do so.

I thought you wanted food," she gasped. "I do," he murmured, tugging on the bodice of her dress. "But I want you more.

I always loved everything about you, of course, but for some reason I always found your impatience especially charming. It was never because you wanted more, it was because you wanted everything.

I want you. I want you now, in every way a man can want a woman.

Lucy," he whispered. She closed her eyes. "Be with me," he said. Slowly, she shook her head. "Please don't." He tugged her closer and pulled the candlestick from her slackening fingers. "Be with me, Lucy Abernathy. Be my love, be my wife.

She'd spent seven long years without so much as a hug, and she was starved for physical affection. She had known what it was like to be touched and kissed, and she had no idea how much she'd missed it until that very moment.

He was hungry, needy, and he kissed her as if he would die without her, as if she were his very food, his air, his body and soul.

There was nothing she valued more than a cool and clear head, and Michael had managed to steal that from her with a single kiss. And then he'd done more. So much more. She was never going to be the same. She was never going to be /sane/. 'You look distressed,' he said. She wanted to strangle him. He cocked his head and smiled. She wanted to kiss him. He held up the teapot. 'More?' God, yes, and that was the problem.

It was that spark. That damnable spark that never seemed to dim between them. That awful prickle of awareness that burned every time she entered a room, or took a breath, or pointed a toe. That sinking feeling that he could, if he let himself, love her.

Ella pareció indecisa, de modo que le tironeó la mano, acercándola más, no más de una pulgada, pero en cierto modo tuvo la impresión de que ella estaba a sólo la distancia de un beso.

He tried not to notice that her hair was loose. He tried not to see that she was wearing her nightclothes. They were demure, yes, but still meant to be removed, and his gaze kept dipping to the silken hem, which brushed the top of her foot, allowing him a tantalizing peek at her toes. Good God, he was staring at her toes. Her /toes/. What had his life come to?

Why waste romance on a love that would never be returned?

He did things to her, she realized. Strange, shivery things that left her breathless. He need only to look at her—not in his usual, conversational way, but to really look at her, to let his eyes settle on hers, deeply blue and insightful, and she felt naked, her soul bared.

He needed her the way he needed air.

She should have been relieved that she did not do something she was sure to regret. But she wasn't. She wanted her regrets. She wanted them desperately. She wanted to do something she knew she should not, and she wanted to lie in bed at night letting the memory keep her warm.