Olivia Parker Quotes

• “You are beautiful and humble and sensitive and the keeper of my heart.
  I know it will take some time, growing up with a beast of a guardian as you did, but there will come a day when you no longer criticize yourself, no longer believe less of yourself, and you will come to love yourself just as much as I love you.
  Well, almost as much, I imagine.
  
  
  -Gabriel Devine, Duke of Wolverest-”

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• “The captain of this sailing vessel has requested a private audience with you in his quarters. It seems you’ve a treasure map hidden on your person, and I mean to explore every inch of you until it is discovered.”

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• “He did not blame them. Because in truth, that's what he did, what he was. Seduce and dominate. Charm and manipulate. A user of women. How they would scoff, Rothbury mused bitterly, if they knew that he was secretly in love with the silly little chit, spectacles and all.”

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• “Those aren't from my mother's garden, are they? She'll throttle you."
  "No," he said, making a grand show of looking insulted. "I would never."
  "Sorry," she said with a cringe.
  "They're from your neighbor's garden, actually.”

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• “What have I done to her?" Gabriel muttered to himself as he crossed the room to crank open a window. Cool air washed over his skin. "What the devil did she do to me?”

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• “I mean, I'm happy to see you, but why aren't you home?"
  "Wherever my wife sleeps is my home.”

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• “I never smiled much." His voice was a low purr in the shadows.
  "Don't be silly," she replied, taking a step closer to the next portrait--and farther away from him. "You smile all the time."
  "At you," he conceded, "with you, because of you.”

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• “See. I told you I would get that boy to the alter eventually. All I had to do was pretend I was a loon.”

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• “By some miracle, Charlotte's polite smile never wavered. It was a proud moment for her. After all, it wasn't every day that a little old lady told you right to your face that your bosom was as flat as a flounder.”

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• “Before Charlotte could utter a syllable, Tristan picked up her gloved hand and kissed her lightly on the
  knuckles.
  “Good day, Charlotte,” he said.
  “Good day,” she answered. She turned to bid farewell to Lady Rosalind, but she seemed to have
  disappeared.
  Numbly, she descended the front steps toward a waiting Rothbury, who only had eyes for the Devines’
  front door, looking quite like he wanted to murder someone.
  “Perfection, dear brother,” Rosalind proclaimed, while peeking out the little window next to the door.
  “Utter perfection.”
  Slipping a finger inside his cravat to loosen it a bit, Tristan craned his neck from side to side, easing the
  building tension. “If he kills me, I’ll see to it that you get hanged for murder as well.”

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• “Indeed, Gabriel knew it wasn't all just empty green fields of moorland grass for miles around. Tucked within the wide landscapes of these uplands was an unpredictability that a less observant person might never be aware of. There were waterfalls concealed in swaths of wilderness, rocky stream beds ramblings in deep valleys, and...knotted sheets?”

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• “It took nearly a year to finish the ever-changing [marriage candidates] list, with the assistance of his sister and his aging spinster aunt, who lorded over their affairs as the self-appointed voice of cultivated reason. During this time, Gabriel struggled to convince straight-from-Oxford Tristan that he must marry, produce heirs, and maintain the family dukedom for Gabriel himself wouldn't marry. He knew he simply did not have the compulsion to inflict that sort of aggravation on a woman.”

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• “This kiss, this first kiss, was not subtle, soft or gentle. It was as if they were ravenous for each other. She opened so easily for him. He didn't expect this reaction from her. Truly, he hadn't expected to kiss her today. But as their mouths joined, their lips caressing, moving hungrily, steadily becoming more demanding, he wondered why he hadn't done this sooner.
  "I could kiss you for hours," he drawled hotly against her mouth. "Possibly for days." It felt as if he was savoring heaven. Something Rothbury never thought he would ever even glimpse let alone taste.
  She responded to his words by grasping at the sodden material of his linen shirt, her arms trapped in between their chests.
  The feel of her lush mouth under him was intoxicating. She tasted sweet, wet, the rivulets of rain upon their faces making the kiss wilder, hotter somehow.
  His lips moved hotly over hers. He had thought about this moment for so long, and now that it was actually happening... it was better than he ever imagined it could be.”

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• “Do it again," she whispered, tilting her head, offering her mouth to him.
  Staring down at her swollen bottom lip, he gave it a little lick.
  A small, soft moan sounded from the back of her throat.
  "Ask nicely," he whispered.
  "Please." She gave a lock of hair at his neck an impatient tug.
  He came undone. Delving his tongue inside her sweet mouth, he walked her backward until her back met one of the pillars. With one hand cradling the back of her head for protection, his other hand held her hip immobilized, under his control. Rhythmically, he sank his tongue into her honeyed depths, mimicking the motion of making love.
  She whimpered, the sound a desperate plea. Her fingers threaded through the damp hair at the base of his neck; her other hand clutched at his forearm.
  He squeezed her hip, his long fingers digging into her soft bottom as he rocked her into his arousal.
  For several moments, she ground her hips against him as he plundered her mouth. The kiss was no longer enough. He wanted to take her. Right here, right now. His fingertips trailed down the back of her neck to caress her shoulder, her arm, her breast. His breath hitched when she pushed herself more firmly into his hand. She wanted his touch. He complied of course: he would never deny her. Gently he kneaded her through the fabric of her dress, purposely passing his thumb over the hardened tip. She made a small sound of pleasure that nearly pushed him over the edge.
  The manor, the rain, the mud disappeared. Reason and practicality were momentarily suspended. Nothing mattered in those moments. Nothing but the ever-escalating power of their passion.”

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• “I never smiled much." His voice was a low purr in the shadows.
  "Don't be silly," she replied, taking a step closer to the next portrait--and farther away from him. "You smile all the time."
  "At you," he conceded, "with you, because of you.”

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• “My lord? Are you all right?"
  Rothbury inhaled the fresh, almost lemon-tinged air wafting before him, the scent seeping deep into his lungs coaxing forth an unexpected pang of responsiveness.
  Eyes of sapphire blurred and spun before his gaze. "'Tempt not a desperate man.'"
  "I believe that's enough Shakespeare for one evening, my lord."
  For a moment the air seemed to sparkle about her head, causing him added confusion. "Are you an angel?" he heard himself mutter.”

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• “Do you know what I think?"she asked, rearranging the blanket to wear around her shoulders like a shawl.
  "Not this again."
  "I think there's more to you than you let people believe. I think you actually do care what people think. Oh sure, it's fun having everyone think you're dangerous and cold, but inside, where it matters, you're just warm pudding."
  "Warm pudding?"
  "Quite," she uttered confidently, with a firm nod.
  The things that came out of that woman's mouth never failed to astound him. "Well, I'm going to... to leave now," he said slowly, as if he thought her the strangest creature on earth- just to tease her. When she laughed at herself, he smiled and muttered, "Good night, my sweet Charlotte." Fists on the edge of the couch, he made to push himself up.
  "Wait," she said. And he froze.
  Slowly, she sat up more fully, swinging her legs down. Which put her knees between his planted fists.
  He couldn't help but give a low chuckle. "Charlotte, if I didn't know you better, I would venture to say that you are deliberately tempting me."
  "Tempting you to what?" she asked, her tone utterly oblivious.
  He had had enough. "Remember that little problem I forewarned you about? The one about a man and a woman never being able to become friends because lust gets in the way? That eventually, one or both of us would end up wanting something very intimate from the other?"
  She nodded jerkily.
  "Well, I'm there. I've been there. For years.”

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• “Charlotte groaned feverishly, a tension building within her core that begged for release.
  Grunting, he lifted his hips slightly, expertly angling his body so that part of him pressed against the nubbin of flesh.
  She called out his name, clasping his shoulders. Her hips pumped furiously now, a building, pulsing ache growing and growing, winding tighter and tighter still. Until it exploded.
  And then they both cried out, surging upward and down, their bodies shaking with pleasure.”

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• “It was about time he opened his eyes to see just to whom he was speaking.
  After several quick blinks, he managed to do just that, gazing up into a small, heart-shaped face. A pretty face. Not one of a curvy seductress or a cool-hearted courtesan, but a feminine, delicately featured face. He knew this face. He adored this face.
  "Miss Charlotte Greene," he stated finally, taking a risk and raising his head to get a better look.
  Sitting at his side, the white skirt of her thick night rail tucked around her legs, she smiled down at him with concerned eyes of deep blue. Gorgeous sapphire eyes often hidden behind the rims of small, round spectacles.
  Truthfully, she happened to be the complete opposite of what he was usually attracted to. She was a bit too thin, too short, and too quiet for his tastes, which had always leaned toward the voluptuous, the tall, and the spirited. Normally, she wasn't one to stand out. And he rather suspected she preferred it that way.
  However, while most young bucks readily discounted her merits and furtively joked about her quirky behavior behind her back, Rothbury had always sensed a subtle undercurrent of passion in her dark blue gaze. Unlike the "diamonds" of the ton and demimonde, who slinked across assembly rooms completely aware of their beauty and the power that accompanied it, Miss Greene moved like a woman who hadn't yet realized how utterly fetching she truly was. She clung to the walls, sometimes barely raising her eyes from the floor, rarely spoke but to her closest friends, and shied away from situations that demanded she converse with the opposite sex.
  Strange it was for him to notice those facets in such an unassuming woman. Strange it was he should have noticed her at all. But he always did. The second she walked into a room.”

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• “Tangled up in sheets and pillows, Charlotte scrambled rearward on her back using her elbows and heels. But the earl was too quick- even with the blindfold still in place.
  "Oh, no, you don't," he said with dark amusement. He crawled stealthily toward her, like a stalking panther, his tousled dark blond locks completely loose and hanging in his face. "You're not going anywhere until I find out who you are."
  The muscles of his chest rippled with his movements. For a second Charlotte felt paralyzed by her fascination. He was mesmerizing. Hesitating, she had to remind herself to keep moving backward, for some wicked part of her wanted to do nothing more than wait for him to catch her.”

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• “You did say you would help me find a husband."
  "Didn't I?" he joked, meaning himself.
  She grinned. "A real one."
  "Good-bye my wife," he said, one side of his mouth lifting, a roguish gleam in his eye.
  "You are coming?" she persisted. "You promised to help me." She felt suddenly desperate. Not for finding a suitor before she found herself shackled to Witherby, but for Rothbury. Desperate to know what he was thinking.
  "I don't know," he said. "I was thinking of coming to Town for a slightly different reason."
  "And that is..."
  "To seduce my wife." And with that he knocked on the side of the carriage, signaling the driver to go, leaving Charlotte with a curious feeling deep in her belly, a flicker of heat.
  It wasn't fear, however. It was anticipation.”

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• “Dropping to his knees before her, he loved her, worshiped her with his mouth, kissing her stomach, her hips, her thighs, and finally reaching her moist, intimate center.
  She cried out his name and he knew she was shocked at his behavior, but he didn't care.
  He devoured her, holding her tightly against his mouth as he drank her.
  Alternating between swirls of his tongue and long, languid licks, he let her moans and sighs be his guide to pleasuring her. Her body shook and he knew she was close. He quickened his movements.
  He slid his hands from her bottom around to her waist, and to her rib cage. Reaching her breasts, he plucked at her nipples while he suckled the tiny nubbin of flesh hidden in her folds.
  She screamed. And he continued his sweet torture until her knees buckled.
  He caught her to him. Holding her close he carried her to his bed, his cock so fiendishly hard he thought he'd go mad if he didn't take her at that moment.
  In a stunningly short amount of time, he rid himself of his clothes and joined her on the bed. Her legs spread for him and he sank himself between her thighs.
  Her limbs shaking, Charlotte wrapped her legs around his waist and eagerly met her husband's lips for a kiss.
  His body was simply magnificent, she thought, running her hands down his muscled back, over the hard muscles of his arms and chest.”

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• “And then in a swift, calculating move, Rothbury sprang forward, covering her body with his own.
  For a second her breath felt trapped in her chest and she was instantly immobile underneath his weight. His warm, hard thigh sat heavy between hers.
  Panting from exertion, a shameful lick of heat ignited deep in her belly. Effortlessly, he joined her wrists together, holding them above her head with only one hand while the long, blunt-tipped fingers of the other trailed a silky path down her cheek.
  "Who are you?" he whispered.
  Her breath hitched at the explosion of feeling and thought thrumming through her. He looked so dominant above her, so beautiful, like he was created specifically for seduction. None of her wicked imaginings had prepared her for the plethora of sensations he sparked with only his fingertips upon her face.
  Belatedly, she realized her body refused to listen to her mind. She had quit squirming. In fact, she had begun to relish the intoxicating feel of his long, lean-muscled body atop hers. His warm, bare chest pressed onto her bodice, his solid thigh planted firmly against her sex.
  Her eyes dipped to his mouth, which was partially open, baring his straight white teeth. All she would have to do was arch her neck and her mouth would fasten to his.
  She shivered, surprised and ashamed at the way her body reacted to him. She needed to escape before he discovered her identity.
  But her mind warred between what was right and what felt wonderful. In the end, years of dire warnings from her pious father about the sins of the flesh returned at least some of her good sense.
  "Get off of me," she demanded, albeit weakly.
  "Absolutely not," he growled, his breath feathering hotly against her mouth, her cheek, her neck. "I'll not let you get away now. Not before I find out who you are. Wanted a taste, did you?”

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• “Madelyn knew her aunt, drunk or sober, simply did not have the continuity of thought to see beyond her opinions to the implied insult.”

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• “Oh, thank you! Thank you," she chirped, surprising him by bounding across the room and clasping him tight for a quick hug.
  His arms hung heavy and loose at his sides during her gentle siege.
  Rothbury had enchanted exotic opera singers into returning to his bed time and again. He had warmed coldhearted courtesans into confessing their undying love and he had seduced a number of beautiful, feisty women who were just as fickle in picking their lovers as he was. But Charlotte's hug unsettled him, knocked him off balance, one might say.
  He didn't want her to let go. But he wouldn't dare bring up his arms to hold her either. Without a doubt he knew if he indulged himself, all he felt, all he thought, would be exposed in the warmth of his embrace. And then there would be no turning back. He would be bared, revealed, humiliated.”

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