Asa Makepeace Quotes

“Then he began plucking the pins from her hair, carefully, without touching her anywhere else, and Eve began to wonder if 'hair' could possibly be erotic.
She found herself holding her breath, listening to his deep, even exhalations as he worked, her hair loosening and beginning to slide.
It fell all at once, uncoiling heavily over her shoulders. She turned her head to look at him, suddenly shy.
He was staring at her hair.
"It's beautiful," he murmured, burying his fingers in the long tresses, gently working apart the strands, lifting and spreading them. "Like liquid gold." He suddenly lifted the mass to his face. "And perfumed. Like flowers."
"Lily of the valley." He made her feel exotic, still dressed in her sensible gray frock, only her hair loose about her shoulders.
"Lily of the valley," he murmured. "I'll remember that scent forever now, and whenever I smell it again I'll think of you, Eve Dinwoody. You'll be haunting my tomorrows evermore."
She gasped and turned, looking up at him. She'd thought that he'd be smiling teasingly at his words, but he looked quite serious and she stared at him in wonder. Had he always carried this part of himself inside? This wild poetic lover? If so, he'd hidden it well underneath the aggressive, foulmouthed theater manager. She had a secret fondness for the crass theater manager, but the poet...
She swallowed, suddenly nervous.
She might come to love a wild poet.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Sweetest Scoundrel

“Tell me, Mr. Harte, do you ever give up?"
"Never." His green eyes narrowed as his mouth firmed. He looked very much as he had when he'd struck Mr. Sherwood: savage, uncompromising, a force to be reckoned with.
She should be afraid of this man. Perhaps she was. Perhaps the hammering of her heart, the quickening of her breath were fear.
But if she were, she chose to disregard it. "Very well."
He sat back, a wide, lopsided grin spreading over his face, just as Ruth entered with another tray.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Sweetest Scoundrel

“I haven't room in my life for anything else."
"Or any'one' else?" She tilted her head, studying him. "That sounds... rather lonely."
One corner of his mouth kicked up, his green eyes suddenly amused. "Not as lonely as all that, I assure you. I have needs like any other man and I make sure to fulfill them."
She pursed her lips to hide the fact that her heart had sped up at the thought of his 'needs.' "I understand from Violetta that you are no longer... er... entertaining her."
"Ye-es," he drawled, his head laid back against the squabs. He was watching her from beneath lowered lids. The flickering lamplight reflected in his eyes. He'd sampled three or four pints of his brother's beer at the dinner, she'd noticed, and she wondered now if they were perhaps affecting him. "I suppose I'll have to find someone else to satisfy my desires."
She licked her lips nervously.
His gaze fixed on her mouth and his voice was deeper when he said, "Or I might have to satisfy myself.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Sweetest Scoundrel

“But I do admire your perseverance."
She rounded his table and gracefully sat at her desk, apparently unaware that he'd stopped dead, staring at her.
"You do?"
She was feeding the dove, which for some reason she'd brought with her this morning, but she looked up at his words, her face curious. "Yes, of course. A man who sets a course and proceeds to sail it, no matter the barriers or odds, is very admirable in my opinion."
"Ah." He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling unaccountably ill at ease. No one had told him what he was doing was good- that 'he' was good- since... well, since the death of Sir Stanley, his old mentor. "Thank you."
"You're welcome.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Sweetest Scoundrel

“When next Eve woke, the sun was shining through the windows. She blinked and realized a large male arm was thrown across her stomach, pinning her in place.
Oddly, she didn't panic.
Instead she gingerly removed the arm and slowly, carefully levered herself up to peer at her sleeping bedmate.
Asa Makepeace was on his back, his arms and legs spread wide and taking up most of the bed. A sunbeam struck his hair, making gold and red strands glint in the brown. Dark reddish brown hair stubbled his jaw. His lips were slightly parted and on each exhalation was the faintest suggestion of a snore.
Eve smiled at the sound and reached for the small sketchbook and pencil that always sat on the table beside her bed.
She settled back against the pillows and began drawing him: the slightly overlarge nose, the eyes unlined in sleep, the slack, beautiful mouth. How was it possible that this man she'd at first found merely irritating, overwhelmingly male- 'frightening'- should turn out to have so many sides to him? A lover of opera. A fighter of highwaymen. A shouter of arguments. A savior of stray dogs.
Stubborn, cynical, violent, and sometimes mean.
And yet a man who had tenderly shown her how to love.
No one had ever cared so much for her.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Sweetest Scoundrel