Gina Conkle > Quotes

“The warm wool blanket dropped to the floor, and Lydia set her hand in the earl’s firm grip. She stuck her foot outside, but awareness wasn’t with her. That cavernous black doorway claimed her attention, and therein was her problem. Trouble came in mere seconds, as it usually did for her. The step was slick. She slipped. The sole of her leather shoe slid off the step’s edge. “Oww!” she yelped as her foot banged the graveled drive hard. Legs buckling, down she went, like a graceless sack of flour. What’s worse, she slammed into the earl, her shoulder punching his midsection. “Ooomph!” Lord Sanford grunted but moved quickly to save her from falling all the way to the ground. Her face mashed against leather and linen. Strong hands held her arms. At least she didn’t knock the earl down. Grabbing for purchase, her fingers touched warm wool…buttons…skin. Her face pressed into fabric, she murmured, “I’m so very sorry.” Lydia tried to right herself, but relief turned to horror: she was a mortified eye level with the pewter buttons of Lord Sanford’s breeches. Stalwart English mist snapped sense into her. That and seeing his placket bunched low in her fist. Her fingers grazed smooth flesh. Another, more interesting sliver of Lord Sanford’s skin was exposed: pale, intimate skin just below his navel. Lydia yanked back her hand, and a pewter button went flying. “Oh no!” she cried as humiliating heat flared across her face and neck. “Miss Montgomery? Are you injured?” Lord Sanford asked above the wind, slowly lifting her up. He sounded unperturbed at having a woman’s hand on the front of his breeches. hands on the front of his breeches.”
― Gina Conkle, Meet the Earl at Midnight

“Her feet shifted underneath her. “I’m not sure what troubles
you.”

The wolf prowled, though he sat in a great chair. His uneasiness
made her skin tight and her heart race. Hakan was a handsome
man, very appealing to all of the fairer sex tonight with his black
jerkin stretched across broad shoulders. He had shaved for the
Glima festival, and his blonde hair, lighter from summer, loosened
from the leather tie.
“Many thoughts trouble me tonight, but Astrid’s not one of
them.” In the dim light of the longhouse, his white teeth gleamed
against his tanned face.
“Does your head ail you?” She clasped her hands together,
comfortable with the role of nurturing thrall.
“Nay, but ‘twould please me if you sat close to me and played
your harp.”
“Music would be pleasant.” Skittish and studying him under
the veil of her lashes, Helena retrieved her harp.
She sat cross-legged on a pelt near his chair. ‘Twas easy to
strum a soothing song and lose herself in the delicate notes her
fingers plucked. But when the last note faded, the restless wolf
stirred on his throne, unpacified.
“Why did you play that game with Astrid? Letting her think
more goes on between us?”
Ice-blue eyes pinned her, yet, ‘twas his voice, dangerous and
soft, that did things to her.
“I…I don’t know.” Her own voice faltered as warmth flushed
her skin.
Glowing embers molded his face with dim light. Hakan
leaned forward, resting both elbows on his knees. His sinewy hand
plucked the harp from her, placing it on the ground.
“Why?” Hakan’s fingertips tilted her chin.”
― Gina Conkle, Norse Jewel

“The saucy Miss Tottenham slipped the strawberry into her delectable mouth, all the while looking at Cyrus. His thigh muscles tensed inside the velvet prison of his breeches. Hot pleasure shot through his body at the sight of the red berry slipping through her lips. Adding to his misery, a spurt of juice from the tender morsel painted her bottom lip red. He nearly groaned.
Tradition named the apple as the fruit of man's downfall, but tonight he'd argue mightily for the dangers of a ripe strawberry on a certain woman's lips.”
― Gina Conkle, The Lady Meets Her Match

“Here's the "explorer" paragraph: Lydia swayed into him, her back arching, but his hands caught her. His warm hand splayed wide against her upper back. The other ventured lower, massaging circles, lower, lower. Edwards’s hands, like his kisses, belonged to an explorer, not a ruthless conqueror. Testing and checking, his firm but gentle caresses enticed her into his web of curiosity and question. His kisses, his touch were not the rehearsed moves of a long-practiced rake, but genuine affection and sensuality braided into an explosive mix that promised to incinerate them on the spot if they didn’t stop.”
― Gina Conkle, Meet the Earl at Midnight

“He gripped her hips, and standing up, slowly pushed volumes of silk with him. Blue fabric puffed and pillowed between them. His hand traced a slow caress the length of her from knee to hip. Edward’s nostrils flared, as did his eyes, when his roving hand slipped behind her, grappling bare skin. She quivered from tantalizing male touch exploring forbidden flesh. Lydia read Edward’s face, the flush of tanned skin and mouth unable to close, as knowledge seeped into his brain: she’d said her vows, eaten dinner with the utmost decorum, and chattered politely with all and sundry in this secret state of undress. Edward groaned and jammed her body hard against his. “You’re naked under your skirt.”
― Gina Conkle, Meet the Earl at Midnight

“They sat in a sphere of quiet, save the sound of their
breathing and the carriage’s creaks and sways. Outside,
the coachman yelled his encouragement to the steeds
moving them forward. The whole carriage cocooned
them in a peculiar world with the heaven’s wool-thick
mists pressing against the windows.
Her hand didn’t stop rubbing his neck, but she
shifted her leg, bending her knee to rest her leg on
his thigh. Her patten slipped off, dropping to the floor
with a thud.
Cyrus’s head moved off the squab. “Are you
undressing for my benefit?”
His smile’s wicked curve played on her. From her
stays to her drawers, everything was too tight, too
much against her skin. Cyrus reached for her hand
working his neck muscles. He brought it to his lips and
kissed her knuckles thrice with slow adoration.
“We don’t have to stop,” she said, her voice breathy
and quick. “I’m sure you have more aches and pains.”
Mid-kiss, he smiled against the back of her hand, his
warm breath brushing her skin.
“There are so many ways a man could go with
that.” Humor lightened his voice. “But I’m sure you
mean to provide tender care to my neck only.”
She grinned at her unintended innuendo. This was
the experience she craved—to flirt and tease, to kiss
and touch. Cyrus put his lips to her wrist, marking her
with hot kisses. A spangle of pleasure shot up her arm.
“You would break down the meanest soul with
your soft heart.” He set her hand on the blanket’s
scratchy folds, his thumb caressing her wrist.
“High praise, indeed, sir.”
Tinseled sparks danced across her skin, not letting
her recover from those gentle touches, his lips to her
arm. He stroked a lone finger on her hand that rested
between them.
“And you don’t care one bit that I’m the son of a
Midland swine farmer, do you?”
Cyrus asked the unexpected question, but his voice
conveyed confidence in her answer. Was her chivalrous
brawler showing a hidden spot? She peered at
him, wanting a better view of his shadowed features.
How was she to decipher this latest turn?
The carriage bumped and rocked, and the outside
candle lantern swung another shaft of light inside. His
quicksilver stare pinned her.
“Miss Mayhew, have you ever wondered how a
freehold farmer got to be in such a fine place?”
― Gina Conkle, The Lady Meets Her Match

“Mr. Ryland was a riddle to unfold, an attractive one at that. The lone candle flickered behind him, outlining powerful shoulders, tempting solidness she wanted to test.
"But an evening of harmless flirtation isn't out of the question."
His gaze fixed on her. "I'd welcome an evening free of complications."
Did he just proposition her?”
― Gina Conkle, The Lady Meets Her Match

“I'll eat whatever you put in front of me." He grinned uneasily, eyeing the egg. "You'll not toss that at my head, will you?"
"This?" Helena held the light brown egg between thumb and forefinger. "Why would I do that?"
Sven glanced from Hakan to Helena. She cupped the egg and let it roll across her palm.
"Helena." Hakan's voice threaded with warning. "Twould please me greatly to have my eggs cooked this morn."
She gave the egg a small toss and it plopped into her palm intact. "As you wish.”
― Gina Conkle, Norse Jewel

“Claire coaxed free another loop of cloth. The slow side of cotton against cotton matched the soft tenor or her voice.

'I have lots of talents Mr. Ryland. Listening is only one of them.”
― Gina Conkle, The Lady Meets Her Match

“The primary reason to leave was her art; the singular reason to stay was a man.”
― Gina Conkle, Meet the Earl at Midnight

“Helena smiled to herself, knowing they were discussing her...
"Even though she makes me a farmer?"
"She makes you a happy farmer.”
― Gina Conkle, Norse Jewel

“A woman on the verge of moral downfall ought to be well dressed. Claire's particular transgression was gartered to her thigh, a paper hidden by yards of silk. She walked through the empty alley, confident in one comforting truth: no one dared ask a lady what her skirts concealed...”
― Gina Conkle, The Lady Meets Her Match

“Hakan was a chieftain ready for battle. Fear, the haze of it like when the Danes had attacked her village, skittered across her skin.
"Break the fast with me," she pleaded softly.
He hooked a finger under her chin. "You've convinced me to do many things I've not done before." He looked at the trees where her loom sat idle. "Like spend a summer day in the shade, and now you want me to keep my ship, my men, waiting. What will you have me do next?"He paused as if drinking in the sight of her. He hadn't shaved, and his jaw bore several days' growth. She itched to know the feel of those blonde whiskers. Her lips parted with bold, unspoken invitation.”
― Gina Conkle, Norse Jewel

“Freedom isn't found in a place, Hakan.”
― Gina Conkle, Norse Jewel

“Danes, Norse... all were from the northlands in the eyes of her people. To their fright-frozen minds, Hakan was another of the dreaded Norse, sweeping over the land like a plague and leaving little in the wake. But summer had yielded a different crop for her: not all Norse were vicious raiders out for death and plunder.
Hakan braced one foot on a rock. "And now the Norse wolf brings you safely home."...
"Aye," she said.”
― Gina Conkle, Norse Jewel

“How could he forget her instructions days ago to deposit all her art supplies in the ballroom? Probably because that brain-muddling embrace outside the gallery scrambled clear thinking. He recalled the distraction of burying his face in the softness of her hair. Her presence seeped into him the same way her simple lemongrass scent invaded his senses. Right now, breathing heavily from exertion, he'd swear her scent surrounded him.”
― Gina Conkle, Meet the Earl at Midnight

“I love the smell of you. Sea air, leather, and your skin...all of you." She sewed soft kisses over his chest, inching toward the hollow at the base of his neck. "You'll never be free of me."
His arms tightened like manacles, squeezing her closer. "Never have I wanted to be free of you.”
― Gina Conkle, Norse Jewel

“Science was the siren that lured him.”
― Gina Conkle, Meet the Earl at Midnight

“Her feet moved into the vast space, but all she could
see was Cyrus. He strode through the room the way a
captain commands his ship. Was it possible his maroon
bruise made him more dashing?
He was a fine sight in a black broadcloth coat. Her
salacious gaze dropped to a brass button lower on his
waistcoat. The metal glimmered, winking at her with
flirtatious intent very near the tuft of hair she remembered
so well at his navel.
The corner of Cyrus’s mouth crooked. If she
looked ready to devour him, he read the message on
her face, no words required.
“Claire.”
He said her name like a treasured sound. Then, her
landlord bent low over her hand, kissing her knuckles
and keeping her fingers in a tender hold.
Her flesh sung a merry tune recalling how she’d
gripped those broad shoulders of his in a fit of passion.
Was that only two nights ago? Her cheeks turned hot
at the memory.
Cyrus rose to his full height, holding her hand. He
planted a kiss on her forehead.
“Mmmm…” he hummed approvingly. “You smell
of almonds.” His lips lingered on her hairline, giving
her another soft kiss. “And vanilla, I think. Something
you cooked?”
He breathed in her scent, standing close yet not
intimidating in the least. His own smell was clean
and starched with a hint of coffee. She reached high,
touching his face like a woman with every right to
partake of the feast he offered.
“It’s face powder.” One finger stroked the smooth
square of his jaw, her voice curving with amusement.
“Today I join the ranks of ladies who meet for luncheon,
and I can’t be sure if I’ve been lured here or
goaded by one very challenging man put on earth to
harass my senses.”
She caressed his jaw, the grain of his skin smooth
to the touch. He must’ve shaved in the last hour. His
mouth quirked sideways, pressing the maroon bruise
higher up his cheek.
“Something tells me you’re the perfect woman to
soothe such a man or put him in his place.” His pewter
stare flicked over her exposed skin, settling on her
cleavage. “As to your senses, I shall treat them with
the utmost care.”
― Gina Conkle, The Lady Meets Her Match

“Lydia swayed into him, her back arching, but his hands caught her. His warm hand splayed wide against her upper back. The other ventured lower, massaging circles, lower, lower. Edwards’s hands, like his kisses, belonged to an explorer, not a ruthless conqueror. Testing and checking, his firm but gentle caresses enticed her into his web of curiosity and question. His kisses, his touch were not the rehearsed moves of a long-practiced rake, but genuine affection and sensuality braided into an explosive mix that promised to incinerate them on the spot if they didn’t stop.”
― Gina Conkle, Meet the Earl at Midnight

“She would rather not breathe if she couldn't paint.”
― Gina Conkle, Meet the Earl at Midnight

“Growing up a steward's daughter on the grand Greenwich estate afforded her many opportunities. But life changed one fateful night, a reminder of who and what she was. Since then, she labored hard, building calluses anew on her hands and heart, all in an effort to fall into a deep sleep every night and forget what had happened years ago. Many more years of hard work stretched ahead of her.
Why not sip champagne once more?
What harm could come of that?”
― Gina Conkle, The Lady Meets Her Match

“My father and brother finessed their way through life ... politics, shipping ... both were skilled with people, where I lack all patience," he said quietly, speaking only to her. "My passion, my purpose is science. I've buried this too long.”
― Gina Conkle, Meet the Earl at Midnight

“I find I want to kiss you, my lord, but I'm baffled by that, since I'm also angry with you at the same time.”
― Gina Conkle, Meet the Earl at Midnight