Lisa Kleypas Quotes

Oh, the way he was looking at her, really looking at her . . . this was the Christopher of her dreams. This was the man who had written to her. He was so caring, and real, and dazzling, that she wanted to weep.“I thought . . .” Christopher broke off and drew his thumb over the hot surface of her cheek.“I know,” she whispered, her nerves sparking in excitement at his touch.“I didn’t mean to do that.”“I know.”His gaze went to her parted lips, lingering until she felt it like a caress. Her heart labored to supply blood to her nerveless limbs. Every breath caused her body to lift up against his, a teasing friction of firm flesh and clean, warm linen.Beatrix was transfixed by the subtle changes in his face, the heightening color, the silver brightness of his eyes.She wondered if he were going to kiss her.And a single word flashed through her mind.Please. . .

They (mothers-in-law) never leave when they say they will. When my mother-in-law visits, the mice throw themselves at the cat, begging to be eaten.

Win told me that one isn’t improved by being at the top of the mountain, one is improved by the climb.

I beg your pardon?” Catherine interrupted. “Are you implying that women have poor judgment?”“In these matters, yes.” Leo gestured to Christopher. “Just look at the fellow, standing there like a bloody Greek god. Do you think she chose him because of his intellect?”“I graduated from Cambridge,” Christopher said acidly. “Should I have brought my diploma?”“In this family,” Cam interrupted, “there is no requirement of a university degree to prove one’s intelligence. Lord Ramsay is a perfect example of how one has nothing to do with the other.

But I must warn you, Miss Hathaway ... life has a way of fouling up our plans. I speak from experience.

I don't want adventure.""I think you do. I think in a moment of weakness, you might surprise yourself.

Ah. That is the price of love, I'm afraid—the pain one suffers from its loss. I'm not convinced it's worth it. Perhaps if one must love, one should do so in moderation.""Moderation in love," she mused aloud. "It's not something that would inspire a poet, is it?""A poet's view of the world would make for an uncomfortable life, wouldn't it? Everyone at the mercy of his or her passions, all of us tearing our hair out for the sake of love...

... He didn't know how to say good-bye. His throat ached from the strain of holding back his emotions. “I don't want to leave you,” he said humbly, reaching for her cold, stiff hands.Emma lowered her head, her tears falling freely. “I'll never see you again, will I?”He shook his head. “Not in this lifetime,” he said hoarsely.She pulled her hands away and wrapped her arms around his neck. He felt her wet lashes brush his cheek. “Then I'll wait a hundred years,” she whispered. “Or a thousand, if I must. Remember that, Nikki. I'll be waiting for you to come to me.

You’re far too prickly tempered to be a mistress. You’re far better suited as a wife.

You’re far too prickly tempered to be a mistress. You’re far better suited as a wife.

He uttered a curse that startled her with its foulness, and gripped her head between his hands, forcing her to stare at him. His voice was savage. "For twelve years I have been in constant torment, wanting you in my arms and believing it would never be possible. I want you for a thousand reasons other than your legs, and...no, damn it, I want you for no reason at all, other than the fact that you're you. I want to shove myself deep inside you and stay for hours...days...weeks. I want morning and noon and nightfall with you. I want your tears, your smiles, your kisses...the smell of your hair, the taste of your skin, the touch of your breath on my face. I want to see you in the final hour of my life...to lie in your arms as I take my last breath.

He shook his head, staring at her like a condemned man who beheld the face of his executioner. "Aline," he whispered, "Do you know what hell is?""Yes." Her eyes overflowed. "Trying to exist with your heart living somewhere outside your body.""No. It's knowing that you have so little faith in my love, you would have condemned me to a lifetime of agony." His face contorted suddenly. "To something worse than death.

You are not a perfect woman.You have an evil temper, you’re as blind as a mole, you’re a deplorable poet, and frankly, your French accent could use some work.” Supporting himself on his elbows, Leo took her face in his hands. “But when I put those things together with the rest of you, it makes you into the most perfectly imperfect woman I’ve ever known.