Philip Marlowe: You the guy that's been tailing me? Harry Jones: Yeah, the name's Jones. Harry Jones. I want to see you. Philip Marlowe: Swell. Did you want to see those guys jump me? Harry Jones: I didn't care one way or the other. Philip Marlowe: Y...
Simon," said a voice at his shoulder, and he turned to see Izzy, her face a pale smudge between dark hair and dark cloak, looking at him, her expression half-angry, half-sad. "I guess this is the part where we say goodbye?
I have carried that ring every moment of the last twelve years. I bought it the day after I first saw you at the ball. The ruby reminded me of the rose gleaming in your black hair." ~Lord Malcom Ashford
So you’re suggesting we take the train up to York, meet a ninety-year-old man, leap on him, and yank out his hair? I’m sure the Clave will be ecstatic.” “They’ll just say you’re mad,” said Jessamine. “They already think it, so what’...
With his final blow delivered, he pulls me up toward him, first by my hips, and then by my hair. Groping my breasts and kissing me, he is full of congratulations. ‘Well done, Megan, you took your punishment well. Now it’s time for your reward.
Her unusual dark hair and sultry eyes made her stand out--- Anne Boleyn was Tudor England's Angelina Jolie amid a sea of Reese Witherspoons.
Above him loomed a grotesque fat man [...] His bedrobe was large enough to serve as a tourney pavilion, but its loosely knotted belt had come undone, exposing a huge white belly and a pair of heavy breasts that sagged like sacks of suet covered with ...
The feeling of his lips on my skin and his hand just below my breasts sent shivers through my body. I ran my hands through his soft hair, slipping in a kiss as he ran his tongue up my neck. His lips met mine again.
Tanned, toned, curves in the right places and that small waist…lips, hair, eyes all packaged up like a siren. If she’s a siren, I heard her call, and I’m diving in hook, line, and sinker. - Drew Donovan
He runs his hands up my back and into my hair, pulling me closer. I lose myself in the feel of his body against mine and the way his soft lips coax mine to life. Almost without thinking, I wrap my arms around his warm waist.
Well, I go wherever the ring takes me. Not because I’m a gold digger or anything; it’s more of a Lord of the Rings thing. This ring gives me powers. Though I’m totally going to lose it when my hair falls out and I start calling it ‘my preciou...
He tastes of white wine and apple pie and Christian. I run my fingers through his hair, holding him to me while our tongues explore and curl and twist around each other, my blood heating in my veins.We're breathless when Christian pulls away.
He caught my hands as they pulled through my hair, and pulled my body against his, and I felt all the holes in me. My sobs echoed through them like caverns, and I never would have thought empty could be made of such weight. I couldn’t breathe aroun...
He stood there tall and dashing, peering down at her with a set of mesmerizing sapphire eyes. It wasn’t the eyes that had her sex-drive squealing into overdrive; it was that…hair. Now, Tarrah had never really been into redheads before, but damn, ...
What was a kiss without a kiss?" It was a tablecloth tugged from beneath a party service, everything jumbled against everything else in just a few chaotic moments. Fingers in hair. Hands cupping necks. Mouths dragged on cheeks and chins in dangerous ...
You’re as lovely as a flower in the stark of winter… Your hair is the color of wheat under the midday sun, and your eyes—” “Yes, yes. My eyes are like the sea or the sky or some such nonsense,” she quipped with a laugh, the lilting sound ...
Aloneness was like riding a bike. At gunpoint. With the gun in your own hand. Aloneness was the air in your tires, the wind in your hair. You didn't have to go looking for it with open arms. With open arms, you fell off the bike: I was drinking my wi...
She was one of those golden mulatas that French-speaking Caribbeans call chabines, that my boys call chicas de oro; she had snarled, apocalyptic hair, copper eyes, and was one whiteskinned relative away from jaba.
My dad had premature gray. I was always the one with the most energy, the one who continued to practice longer. I ran up and down the stairs of different stadiums. I didn't feel the need to cover up the fact that I was losing my hair or it was grayin...
Miles Davis would have this lineup of all these amazing musicians and one day would just say, 'We're done.' After tons of great records and tickets sold, he said, 'Now I'm going to grow my hair out and play my horn through a wah-wah pedal.' Rather th...
A secondhand wardrobe hand clothes doesn't make one an artist. Neither do a hair-trigger temper, melancholic nature, propensity for tears, hating your parents, or HIV. I hate to say it - none of these make one an artist. They can help, but just as be...
