I like you, Miss York, because you are wicked, and there can be no finer blessing for a man than a good and wicked wife. Wouldn’t you agree?
Lori sat way back in her chair and gave him the once-over. “What in the world’s gotten into Ben Lawson? jokes? Flirting? Maybe I should sleep with Molly. I think she’s got a magic hooha.
I wouldn’t yell ‘fire’ at that slimeball if his ass was in flames.
Aw, hell, Tessa. I was in ninth grade. By the time I got to the part where I imagined a girl without panties on, it was all over.
That werewolf fantasy would be a hard one to pull off. She’d have to troll through the forest in high heels, just praying one of the scruffy campers was actually a raving beast.
Edward, it will take time to find a willing and acceptable match, won’t it? Decent men do not hang about at crossroads just waiting for ruined women to take them home.
She might not do it tonight, and she might not do it with that French boy, but she was going to get laid, and soon, because she was forty-three years old and she damn well needed it.
Don’t be maudlin. You’re a librarian, for God’s sake. Toughen up.
He stood there a moment longer, fantasizing once again of rescuing Lori Love. She’d turned out to be a damsel in distress after all, but not the innocent, helpless kind. No, she was a damsel of a different sort. The brave kind who fought and lied and stole and did really dirty things with the knight in shining armor. Just before she sent him on his way with a pat on the back. And that was that.
Despite the man’s intimidating mountain-man looks, Wallace dated men, women and some people who seemed to skate between genders.
She’d never felt more powerful. She wanted to do this again. In an hour. In the middle of the night. In the morning. She wanted to wake up like this, shaking and strong and whole and broken all at once.