Perhaps writing a story or a novel was not something that should be done for money, or to win praise, but for the sheer sensual pleasure of it. I liked that idea. It made me want to write lots of stories, to give myself that pleasure.
It was their secret, a secret meant for just the two of them, and she'd never been able to imagine how it would sound coming from someone else. But, somehow, Logan made it sound just right.
She didn't even want to think of how hellish it would be if all the MacGregors made her feel like this one did, all hot and shaky. She'd have to move to the Arctic Circle before the month was out just to cool off.
It was mild monsters like these that made Jack the Ripper go after young women, she decided: who could tolerate yielding the world to someone who behaved as if she had given birth to the very world herself?
I’m a fake fact factory. The things I make are the things I make up. Also, as a side business, I make love. Actually, I just made that up.
There’s no easier way to cure foolishness than to give a man leave to be foolish. And the only way to show a fellow that he’s chosen the wrong business is to let him try it.
We made love like a flag draped over the coffin of a soldier. But that soldier, he fought for that flag’s enemy—he fought for the innocent people living under the shadow of that flag.
Ari is beautiful beyond comparison, and she has my heart and my soul for eternity. I thought I made that abundantly clear last night, but it appears I have further work to do.
We are all flawed, my dear. Every one of us. And believe me, we've all made mistakes. You've just got to take a good hard look at yourself, change what needs to be changed, and move one, pet.
He had short hair. The technical term is bald. I’m sure he would have made a better lover if he were wearing a Donald Trump wig.
As often as we made love I remembered what my poet told me, that this man was born of a goddess, the force that moves the stars and the waves of the sea and couples the animals in the fields in spring, the power of passion, the light of the evening s...
The table that cannot stand upright, is an insult to the carpenter who makes it. God made us perfectly; so when we refuse to carry out the functions we were created for, our father loses the glory He deserves!
Men. You can't live with them...and you can't legally shoot them. I tossed out my husband eight years ago and got a llama instead. Best decision I ever made.
When Ben came back to me, he said, "Why are you laying with your face in the sand?" I made sure all the laughter was out of me before I rolled over. "I think it helps sunburn." I said.
So, great. This is Camp…what do you call it? Camp Fish-Blood?” Aphros frowned. “I hope that was a joke. This is Camp __________.” He made a sound that was a series of sonar pings and hisses.
He was always 'checking in' to see if I needed any help with my campaign, which on the surface seemed nice enough, but it was done in a condescending tone that made me want to staple his lip to his tie.
He whirled in the water and grinned at me. Damn, he was a handsome bastard. I realized he was half-naked. Blue swirls of tattoos painted his chest. When God made that chest, he did to tempt women.
Man, made after God's image, was a nobler creation than twinkling sparks in the sky, or than the larger and more useful lamp of the moon.
His high spiced wares were made to sell, and they sold; and his thousands of readers could as rationally charge their delight in filth upon him, as a glutton can shift upon his cook the responsibility of his beastly excess.
It was as if she had been made afresh out of new elements, and must perforce be permitted to live her own life and be a law unto herself without her eccentricities being reckoned to her for a crime.
Bryan helped me up. "How can you be so good one minute then clumsy the next?" I shrugged. "I've never been very athletic. Not unless you count fencing." "You made fences?
