I have traveled all over the world and gone to the highest peaks, and the densest jungles. The Carpathain Mountians will always be my homeland, but my home is a woman. Solange Sangria. You are home to me. Your body is my home. Your mind. Your heart and soul. It matters little to me where we are.
Sarah, honey, I hardly think kidnappers are going to take the time to buy a memento of their stay. I could be wrong, but it seems rather unlikely.
We can do anything you like. Just be with me.
Are you ever going to kiss me without swearing first?
She was crawling out from under the huge tour bus when he first caught sight of her. She was small, like a child.
Your name is Lily Whitney. You are the woman I want at my side night and day. I want you to be the mother of my children someday. I want you for my lover. I want you for the person I turn to when the world gets to be too much.
There was a certain feminine satisfaction in having the last word, delivering her line smartly, and breaking the connection between them quickly and decisively.
You can’t go back; I can’t go back either, but we can go on.
Trust. Such an easy word. Such an impossible quality.
His energy is very malevolent. Don’t get sick or I’ll start asking you if the baby is all right in front of him.
There were a thousand secrets in her eyes, a thousand wounds. A lifetime of distrust and betrayal. Isolation. How did one overcome such things?
Nicholas wanted to believe in fairy tales. She’d read her share, hoping for miracles, but in the end, there was no hundred acre wood to play in with her little stuffed animals. There was pain and crushing disillusionment and betrayal.
I made the decision fifteen years ago that you were my life. My everything. You were with me in my dreams my dark lover my friend and confidant.
She was temptation wrapped in casual elegance.
I look at you, and I see the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth. Inside and out you are beautiful. I know you better than anyone else could ever know you, because I can see into your thoughts and read your memories. The very light in you, our tremendous capacity for loving, humbles me.
We could get kinky and see how bats and rats make love, he suggested in a whisper, warm breath against her neck. You are a sick man, Jacques. Very, very sick.
He worked at stealing her heart to replace the one she’d taken from him.
Jonas. Their rock. Shattered into so many shards. Holding himself together through the sheer force of will.
I just want some time, Mikhail, to think things through. It’s frightening, the way I am about you. I think about you every minute; I want to touch you, just to know I can, to feel you beneath my fingers. It’s as if you crawled into my head and my heart, even my body, and I can’t get you out.
I have to figure out why I worked at a job I hated for years. I have to find out why I can’t see what everyone else sees in me. I don’t feel beautiful. When I look in the mirror, I never saw beautiful. For this to happen to someone like me, it’s devastating, Jonas. I don’t want you to think it’s vanity, it isn’t. I can’t see me and I need to be able to do that. I need to find out what I’m like and what I want. I have to be comfortable in my own skin before I can be in a relationship the way you want.