Sylvia > Sylvia's Quotes

“I might take you to fancy hotels, baby. Might walk you through those elegant lobbies and demand you be treated like a queen.” He drops forward, bending down to lick a path between my breasts, up and down. Again and again, before lifting his head. “But I will always be the man who fucks you nasty on the floor once we’re upstairs, with your thong twisted around your dripping cunt. We clear?”
― Tessa Bailey, Follow

“Tom looked at St. Vincent. “I assume the editor at the Chronicle refused to divulge the writer’s identity?”
St. Vincent looked rueful. “Categorically. I’ll have to find a way to pry it out of him without bringing the entire British press to his defense.”
“Yes,” Tom mused, tapping his lower lip with a fingertip, “they tend to be so touchy about protecting their sources.”
“Trenear,” Lord Ripon said through gritted teeth, “will you kindly throw him out?”
“I’ll see myself out,” Tom said casually. He turned as if to leave, and paused as if something had just occurred to him. “Although … as your friend, Trenear, I find it disappointing that you haven’t asked about my day. It makes me feel as if you don’t care.”
Before Devon could respond, Pandora jumped in. “I will,” she volunteered eagerly. “How was your day, Mr. Severin?”
Tom sent her a brief grin. “Busy. After six tedious hours of business negotiations, I paid a call to the chief editor of the London Chronicle.”
St. Vincent lifted his brows. “After I’d already met with him?”
Trying to look repentant, Tom replied, “I know you said not to. But I had a bit of leverage you didn’t.”
“Oh?”
“I told him the paper’s owner would dismiss him and toss him out on the pavement if he didn’t name the anonymous writer.”
St. Vincent stared at him quizzically. “You bluffed?”
“No, that is what the business negotiations were about. I’m the new owner. And while the chief editor happens to be a staunch advocate for freedom of the press, he’s also a staunch supporter of not losing his job.”
“You just bought the London Chronicle,” Devon said slowly, to make certain he hadn’t misheard. “Today.”
“No one could do that in less than a day,” Ripon sneered.
Winterborne smiled slightly. “He could,” he said, with a nod toward Tom.
“I did,” Tom confirmed, picking idly at a bit of lint on his cuff. “All it took was a preliminary purchase agreement and some earnest money.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“More than once, I've seen you talk yourself into the wrong decision by thinking too much. But if you could manage to climb out of that labyrinth of a brain long enough to discover what you want... not what you decide you should want, but what your instinct tells you... you might find what your soul is calling for."
"I don't have a soul. There's no such thing."
Looking exasperated and amused, Winterborne asked, "Then what keeps your brain working and your heart beating?"
"Electrical impulses. An Italian scientist by the name of Galvani proved it a hundred years ago, with a frog."
Firmly, Winterborne said, "I can't speak for the frog, but you have a soul. And I'd say it's high time you paid attention to it.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“Seven is my favorite number," he said.
"Why?"
He nuzzled gently at her stomach. "There are seven colors in a rainbow, seven days of the week, and..." His voice lowered seductively, "...seven is the lowest natural number that can't be represented as the sum of the squares of three integers."
"Mathematics," she exclaimed, laughing breathlessly. "How stirring.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“My time is short," he told Garrett brusquely. "Can you comb any faster?"
"Ask me that again," Garrett replied equably, "and this comb will soon be lodged in a place it wasn't meant to go."
Bazzle snickered, evidently gathering her meaning.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“It’s about to rain forks and knives,” Winterborne reported, water drops glittering on his hair and the shoulders of his coat. He reached for a glass of champagne from a silver tray on the table, and raised it in Tom’s direction. “Good luck it is, for the wedding day.”
“Why is that, exactly?” Tom asked, disgruntled.
“A wet knot is harder to untie,” Winterborne said. “The marriage bond will be tight and long lasting.”
Ethan Ransom volunteered, “Mam always said rain on a wedding day washed away the sadness of the past.”
“Not only are superstitions irrational,” Tom said, “they’re inconvenient. If you believe in one, you have to believe them all, which necessitates a thousand pointless rituals.”
Not being allowed to see the bride before the ceremony, for example. He hadn’t had so much as a glimpse of Cassandra that morning, and he was chafing to find out how she was feeling, if she’d slept well, if there was something she needed.
West came into the room with his arms full of folded umbrellas. Justin, dressed in a little velveteen suit, was at his heels.
“Aren’t you supposed to be upstairs in the nursery with your little brother?” St. Vincent asked his five-year-old nephew.
“Dad needed my help,” Justin said self-importantly, bringing an umbrella to him.
“We’re about to have a soaker,” West said briskly. “We’ll have to take everyone out to the chapel as soon as possible, before the ground turns to mud. Don’t open one of these indoors: It’s bad luck.”
“I didn’t think you were superstitious,” Tom protested. “You believe in science.”
West grinned at him. “I’m a farmer, Severin. When it comes to superstitions, farmers lead the pack. Incidentally, the locals say rain on the wedding day means fertility.”
Devon commented dryly, “To a Hampshireman, nearly everything is a sign of fertility. It’s a preoccupation around here.”
“What’s fertility?” Justin asked.
In the sudden silence, all gazes went to West, who asked defensively, “Why is everyone looking at me?”
“As Justin’s new father,” St. Vincent replied, making no effort to hide his enjoyment, “that question is in your province.”
West looked down into Justin’s expectant face. “Let’s ask your mother later,” he suggested.
The child looked mildly concerned. “Don’t you know, Dad?”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“Are you grumpy in the morning?"
"No, but I wake up on the go. I don't like to linger over breakfast."
"You must not be doing it right. Lingering is lovely. I do it all the time." She stretched her arms and shoulders, and arched her sore upper back, her breast lifting with the motion.
Tom stared at her, mesmerized. "I might stay just to watch you linger.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“Of course," Tom said softly, "you could leave in your wedding dress, and go with me straight to the railway carriage... where I could help you remove it."
A quicksilver shiver chased through her. "Would you prefer that?"
His palm smoothed over the satin of her upper sleeve, and then he rubbed an edge of the fabric gently between his thumb and forefinger. "As a man who likes to unwrap his own presents... yes.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“Just before they boarded the yacht, Cassandra glanced at Tom and reached up to a delicate necklace she'd worn constantly since the day he'd given it to her. She touched the little charm, made in the shape of Euler's infinity symbol, that hung at the hollow of her throat.
And as always, the private signal made him smile.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“Either you have two different colored eyes," he'd commented, "or I'm drunker than I thought."
"Oh, you're as drunk as a fiddler," the man assured him pleasantly. "But yes, they're two different colors: I have heterochromia."
"Is it catching?" West had asked.
The stranger had grinned. "No, it was from a sock in the eye when I was twelve.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“Tom knew he was being a surly ass, when he should have been making the most of the opportunity by trying to charm her. But this situation was not something he wanted Cassandra to associate him with.
The last time they had been together, they'd waltzed in a winter garden. Now, they were de-lousing a pestilent street urchin.
It wasn't exactly progress.
Moreover, it would make Tom look even worse in comparison to the well-bred gentlemen who were undoubtedly pursuing her.
Not that he was competing for her. But a man had pride.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“He couldn't stand by and do nothing. Something inside him had been let out of its cage, and it wouldn't go back in until he'd made the world pay for hurting Cassandra.
When he thought of what she might be feeling, how frightened and furious and wounded she must be... a strange and terrible emotion twisted all through him. He wanted Cassandra in his arms. He wanted to shield her from all this damned ugliness.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“She went on to explain Tom's proposition to write an agreement together, about the things they valued and needed, the compromises they would be willing to make, the lines that had to be drawn.
"But it wouldn't be legal," Devon said.
"I think," Kathleen ventured, "the point is that it shows Cassandra's thoughts and feelings matter to Mr. Severin."
"It means he wants to listen to her," Phoebe added, "and take her opinions into consideration."
"Diabolical bastard," West muttered, although the corner of his mouth twitched with rueful amusement.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“How is Cassandra going to reach the chapel without being drenched?" Tom asked with a groan. "I'm going to tell Trenear and Ravenel to-"
'Let them take care of her for now," Winterborne counseled. "Soon enough she'll belong to you." He paused before adding slyly, "And then you'll be lighting your fire on a new hearth."
Tom gave him a quizzical glance. "She'll be moving into my house."
Winterborne grinned and shook his head. "I meant your wedding night, you spoony half-wit.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“Just erotic. Nothing kinky. It's the difference between using a feather and using a chicken.”
― Terry Pratchett, Eric

“An incredulous scowl crossed his face as he saw a gathering of dockworkers, porters, and cabmen near his wife. A navvy called out to her- "Gi' me a smile, ye sweet tidbit! One little smile! What's yer name?"
Cassandra tried to ignore the catcalls, while the coast guard stood by, doing nothing to shield her.
"Now, now, Mr. Severin-" the old harbormaster said, following as Tom headed toward Cassandra with swift, ground-eating strides.
Tom reached his wife, blocked her from view, and sent a chilling glance at the navvy. "My wife doesn't feel like smiling. Is there something you'd like to say to me?"
The catcalls faded, and the navvy met his gaze, taking his measure... deciding to back down. "Only that you're the luckiest bastard alive," the navvy said cheekily. The crowd broke up with a mixture of chuckles and guffaws.
"On your way now, lads," the harbormaster said, briskly dispersing the gathering. "Time to go about your business."
As Tom turned to Cassandra, he was relieved to see that she didn't seem upset. "Are you all right?" he asked.
She nodded immediately. "No harm done."
The officer looked sheepish. "I thought they would tire of their sport if we ignored them long enough."
"Ignoring doesn't work," Tom said curtly. "It's the same as permission. Next time, pick the ringleader and go for him."
"He was twice my size," the officer protested.
Tom shot him an exasperated glance. "The world expects a man to have a backbone. Especially when a woman is being harassed.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“He should rest his mind and body as much as possible to ensure a complete recovery." She wrinkled her nose playfully at Bazzle, who was curled up on the other side of the bed with a ball of red fluff cuddled against his chest. "That means we mustn't let the puppy disturb Mr. Severin's sleep."
The puppy had been a gift from Winterborne and Helen, delivered just that morning. They had received word of a new litter from a friend who bred toy poodle dogs, and at their request had sent the pick of the litter when he was ready to be weaned. Bazzle was enchanted with the little creature, whose presence had already helped him to stop fretting over the fright he'd received.
"There's a dust wad on the bed," had been Tom's comment upon first seeing the puppy. "It has legs."
Now the toy poodle stretched and yawned, and toddled up along Tom's side, staring at him with bright amber eyes.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“Have you set your sights on anyone?"
Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "They're all the same. Just like last year."
Tom tried to feel badly about that. But he couldn't help feeling a primal pang of relief, his heartbeat settling into a satisfied rhythm... Still mine... still mine.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“She went from one pair of arms to another, laughing and flirting.
It was nothing short of grueling.
She was aware of Tom's presence the entire time. And all the while, she was painfully aware that none of this was remotely comparable to that evening in the Clare winter garden, when Tom had waltzed her through shadows and moonlight as if on midnight wings. She'd never experienced that kind of ease, almost a rapture of movement, before or since. Her body still remembered the touch of his hands, so capable and gentle, guiding her without push or pull. So effortless.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“Men may profess their yearning to find a modest and sensible girl to marry. But none of you can resist chasing after a golden-haired flirt with a well-endowed figure, all dimples and giggles- without giving a passing thought to how empty-headed she might be."
"Guilty as charged," one of the men admitted, and they all chuckled.
"She's not empty-headed," Tom said, unable to keep silent.
Adelia gave him a piercing glance, her smile firmly fixed. "I forgot- you're acquainted with the family. Don't say Lady Cassandra is a secret intellectual? An unacknowledged genius of our modern times?"
Another round of chuckles, this time more subdued.
"She's highly intelligent," Tom replied coolly, "and quick-witted. She's also extraordinarily kind. I've never heard her speak ill of anyone."
Adelia flushed at the subtle rebuke.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“I'll awaken as early as necessary," Cassandra said.
"You may not find it worth the effort."
"Why? Are you grumpy in the morning?"
"No, but I wake up on the go. I don't like to linger over breakfast."
"You must not be doing it right. Lingering is lovely. I do it all the time." She stretched her arms and shoulders, and arched her sore upper back, her breasts lifting with the motion.
Tom stared at her, mesmerized. "I might stay just to watch you linger.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“What about sleeping arrangements?"
Cassandra felt her stomach flip, not unpleasantly, and her face began to warm. "Perhaps we should have our own rooms, and you could visit?"
"Certainly." Tom fiddled with a pencil. "I'll want to visit fairly often."
She glanced at the empty doorway before turning her attention back to him. "How often?"
Tom set down the pencil and drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "In the past, I've gone for long periods of time without... hang it, what's the polite word for it?"
"I don't think there is a polite one."
"During a drought, so to speak, I've always focused my energy on work. But when it's available... that is... when I've found the right woman... I tend to be..." Tom paused, mentally riffling through various words. "... demanding. Do you understand?"
"No."
That provoked a wry grin. Tom lowered his head briefly, then slanted a look up at her. A flicker of firelight caught in his green eye and made it gleam like a cat's. "What I'm trying to say is, I expect I'll be keeping you busy every night, for a while.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“The rain-sifted light was weaker now, coming in through the transom windows in pallid silver and dark rainbow dapples. Through heavy-lidded eyes, she watched the play of muted color and shadow across Tom's shirt. Eventually, his long-boned, eloquent hands slid up over her knees and beneath the legs of her drawers. He untied her white lace garters and rolled her silk stockings down into neat circles. After dropping them to the floor, he unfastened his shirt and discarded it, taking his time, letting her look her fill.
His body was beautiful, built with the long, efficient lines of a rapier, every inch wrought with tough muscle. A light furring of hair covered his chest and narrowed down toward his midriff. Cassandra sat up on the mattress and touched the black fleece, her fingertips as shy and fleet as a hummingbird in flight.
Still standing by the side of the bed, Tom reached out to gather her against his chest.
Cassandra shivered at the feel of being surrounded by so much bare skin and body hair, so much hardness. "Did you ever imagine we would be doing this?" she said in a wondering tone.
"Sweet darling... I imagined it about ten seconds after we met, and I haven't stopped since.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra