Quotes About Temptation

She would certainly allow John to give himself the credit for turning her head and luring her into sin—all men like to feel they are leading the dance—but the truth was that if Susan had not made the decision to go astray, it would not be happening.

John thought himself irresponsible, but surely women were a safer addiction than gambling.

She most definitely had an instinct for passion, an instinct that matched his own, that had nearly caused him to lose his head. Well, now he knew her skin was petal smooth; he knew the rich wine of her mouth; he knew the feel of that delicate, puckered nipple rubbed against his cheek---

She knew again the delicious little frisson of fear that came with walking the edge of something she knew better than to cross. She had forgotten what this was like. How a man could heighten every moment, remind you of the point of possessing sight and smell, let alone skin and nerve endings and a heart. That a man could so easily make your heart sing like a bloody lark or plummet like a stone.

This man offered her forever. And if Prescott had asked a month ago...If he'd asked the day before she'd encountered Jonathan Redmond at midnight outside the Duke of Greyfolk's house... Ah, but she was a different woman now. One kiss had changed that. And a ballroom orgasm.

How he felt (hard as a wall, safe as a house, dangerous as a wild animal), how he smelled (sweat, sawdust, smoke, musk, sex), how he tasted (like sin, if sin was a liqueur)- taken together they should have all comprised an adventure. And then a lesson. And then be rapidly consigned to history.

He reached out and drew his finger lightly from her ankle right up the curve of her calf. When his finger reached the crook of her knee, he stopped. Astonished to see it there. Silently, a little frantically, he considered excuses: An insect was crawling up your stocking, Susannah. I was checking to see if you were injured, Susannah. I was--- Don't stop. It was her voice. Husky, abstracted. And the words roared like a brushfire over his senses.

Just a little, a voice in his head urged him. He could show her just a little of passion, he reasoned; he could show her gently, skillfully, give her just a taste. Because lord knew what would become of her, and what sort of man would ultimately have the taking of her. He was certain he could give her pleasure, and she deserved that. He was distantly amused, even a little alarmed, at how reason and lust had conspired to make his desire to crawl beneath Susannah Makepeace's skirts seem noble.

Such a blue, his eyes were. Like the center of a flame, as though some internal furnace lit them. She was tempted to hold her hand up to them, to see if she could feel heat.

As much as I would enjoy inspecting your... rosette more closely, Miss Makepeace--- and the smile spread, becoming that intimating, preternaturally confident smile of the night before, ---I'll forego that pleasure for the moment.

When she drew near, the rich musk of him wrapped her again: shaving soap, ale, and that delicious, darker something--- him . It might as well have been opium for what it did to the run of her thoughts.

She'd removed her gloves to sketch, and what a soft little paw she had; he was tempted to linger over it for a moment, as he would any small pleasure, and allow his imagination to complete for him how soft the rest of her would be.

But you'd sell your soul for it, wouldn't you? For one day of feeling beautiful.

Would I cheat to save my soul? No. But to save my G.P.A.? Yes.

The surgical nurses were right. Theo Buchanan was gorgeous.. and sexy as hell. But none of that should matter. She was his physician, nothing more, nothing less.. His hair was sticking up and he needed a shave, but he was still sexy. There wasn't anything wrong with her noticing that.. unless, of course, he noticed her noticing.

Every man has a weakness, he patiently explained. I'll find theirs, I promise you. Every man? Yes, he answered emphatically. His hand moved to the back of her neck. Twisting her curls around his fist, he jerked her head back. His face loomed over hers, his breath warm and sweet as he stared down into her eyes. What is your weakness, Brodick? she asked. You.

It must be sheer hell for you to be cursed with such a pretty boy's face, he drawled. The agony of finding a different woman in your bed every night must wear you thin. I don't know where you get your stamina with this terrible burden you bear. The muscle in Ramsey's jaw flexed, which pleased Brodick considerably. We know you've had as many women in your bed as I have, Ramsey snapped. But I meant what I said. There are more important matters to discuss.

what are you doing? making love to you. roll over katie. but we...you're... sure am. we can't.. it's just one night, right? yes. night's not over

Everyone knows there are foods that are sexy to eat. What they don't talk about so much is foods that are sexy to make.

Somewhere along the way, I discovered that in the physical act of cooking, especially something complex or plain old hard to handle, dwelled unsuspected reservoirs of arousal both gastronomic and sexual.

It was as if, without realizing it, I had been completely disarmed by her legs.

But I was tempted to let rumors fly, like keyhole whisperings.

Nuevamente se volvió a mirar a la mujer, y sin embargo, no sintió ninguna tentación de acercarse más. Una mujer cubierta de arena podía resultar visualmente atractiva, pero no inspiraba el deseo de tocarla.

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