Quotes About Romance

Hunter enfolded Loretta's hand in his and nudged his stallion into a walk, pulling her along with him toward his lodge. He had forgotten how small her hand felt, how fragile the network of bones, how soft her skin. His stomach tightened with delicious anticipation. No brave he knew had a woman such as this.

Over the course of the day, he revealed to her a boyish, mischievous side that she found enchanting. One moment he played the lover, sliding his fingers lightly across the nape of her neck or down her arm as they walked. The next he was a rascal, sweeping her off her feet and threatening to toss her in the water or jumping out at her from the brush, ferocious as a bear.

Why bother with me? Why not find yourself an Indian woman?" "It is you I want." He brushed his knuckles along the hollow of her cheek. "Your skin is moonlight. I am dark like night next to you." He slid his hand behind her neck and drew her toward him. "Sunshine in your hair, moonlight on your skin, this Comanche's bright one, no?

You have stolen my heart from me, Blue Eyes.

Hunter stretched out beside her, head propped on one hand, his eyes never leaving her. She was acutely conscious of his gaze, and when it started to unnerve her, she finally turned to look at him. Banked embers of passion glowed in his eyes.

Hunter grew amused, watching Loretta. When she threw him an accusing glance, he noted that her pupils had flared until her irises were almost black. Crimson rode her cheeks, and a rosy flush colored her slender throat. He wondered if her entire body was pink and wish they were alone so he could find out. Soon. Tonight he would build a fire so she couldn't hide in shadows, and he would learn every inch of her, slowly.

A wonderfully hard arm encircled her, his broad wrist pressed against her spine, his long fingers fanning between her shoulder blades. She let her head fall back to accommodate his caressing mouth. " Hi, hites ," she whispered. "Hello," he murmured against her ear, sending spirals of longing down her spine.

Fling is feeling without the two e's.

If this is about sleeping on the floor, I'll do it," I said. "Because I don't mind." "No, but do you want to take a picture of my nest? It's very romantical.

All my life I have dreamed of you.

That is the delusion of which I speak! You wish the joys of true love upon every milkmaid and stable boy in your land, and yet you consign yourself and another to lives of pure misery that you might possess a well-proportioned ballroom.

I mulled on the tower-bound princess whose lover employed her hair as rope. My own curly locks – one of my better features, I will admit, better being a relative term – hung just past my shoulders, and barely draped over the windowsill.

With time, when I was very old and in my twenties, I might find a man to love, not one forced upon me…

He thought I was aloof and I thought he was arrogant. It just shows you how wrong you can be. But once he kissed me that was that.

Wow," she said when he finally released her. Breathing hard, Dillon propped his forehead against hers. I see your 'wow' and raise you a 'hot damn.' But just to be absolutely certain we aren't overreacting, maybe we should put it to the test one more time." Pele's Tears

When I dreamed about the time you would actually sleep with me, I thought there'd be some sleeping involved.

You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast.

The man who knelt before her would have sprung from her needles, even down the ghostly flecks of silver in his hair. She had not known before that she wanted all these things, that she preferred dark hair and a slightly cruel expression, that she wishes for tallness, or that a man kneeling might thrill her.

She's an Italian flag in occupied territory, and I fall for her like Paris.

She walks into my life legs first, a long drink of water in the desert of my thirties. Her shoes are red; her eyes are green. She's an Italian flag in occupied territory, and I fall for her like Paris. She mixes my metaphors like a martini and serves up my heart tartare. They all do. Every time. They have to. It's that kind of story.

She leaned in, and kissed her Marid gently, sweetly. She tried to kiss him the way she'd always thought kisses would be. His lips tasted like the sea.

Falling in love is embarrassing. It is not hardcore. It is not part of the scene.

The Queen of a distant land fell in love with a bull. Nevermind how odd that sounds! The ancient world was as appalling place.

Byron kissed her gloved hand as they stepped lightly round one another. He could dance like rivers could run. No one had ever kissed her hand before. Emily felt like she was going to throw up and like she was flying all at once.