Eve And Asa 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

“Asa looked up, drawing a deep breath, and saw that his harpy wasn't amused by his laughter.
"I don't think why you find the thought of me helping with your books so funny," she said in a stiff little voice. "Or, for that matter, letting me paint you." Her mouth- the only soft part of her, as far as he could tell- trembled a bit.
Well, he hadn't meant to hurt her feelings.
"Don't worry about it, luv," he said, tearing off a bite of the bread with his teeth. "You'll find out soon enough when you see my books. As for the other-" he set down the piece of bread and shrugged off his coat- "do you want to start now?"
That got him a wide-eyed look, and he couldn't help but grin at her, mouth obnoxiously full, as he began unbuttoning his waistcoat. Had the lady bitten off more than she could chew?
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice high and a bit panicked. He opened his eyes in mock innocence as he yanked his shirt from his breeches. "Stop that at once."
"Why?" he asked curiously, his fingers still on his lifted shirt. Her gaze darted to his bared navel and then away again like that of a sweet canary frightened by an ugly alley cat. "You said you wanted me to 'model' for you.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Sweetest Scoundrel

“He looked back at Eve, holding out his hand. "Come on, then."
She looked between him and his hand, pressing her lips together, but not moving.
He frowned. "Eve."
She inhaled and took his hand, awkwardly inching toward him without a sound.
"Brave lass," Asa purred.
He caught her other hand, ignoring her flinch, and pulled her into his arms. What a small thing she was! She might be tall, but Eve's body was as light as a bird's. He could feel the delicate bones of her shoulder, the slender span of her waist, and he thanked God that she'd not been crushed by the planks falling on her.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Sweetest Scoundrel

“Then I suppose our discussion is done."
She turned to go, but he had a hard grip on her upper arm, pulling her back.
"Not yet it's not," he growled.
She fought down the old, nauseous fear. "Let go of me."
"Why?" He cocked his head, an ugly sneer on his beautiful lips. "Can't stand my touch?"
"Yes!" she tossed back, losing her patience, her self-control, and any upper hand she'd ever had in their argument.
Which was when he took her by the shoulders, pulled her roughly into his arms, and pressed his mouth to hers.
And Eve lost her sanity.


Eve Dinwoody's lips were soft and sweet, entirely belying her sharp and tart personality. For all of a half second Asa reveled in that yielding sweetness. He'd shut her up in the most basic, the most primitive way a man could a woman.
And then he realized something was very wrong.
He pulled back, his lip curled cynically. She was an aristocrat. She probably thought him bestial, base, dirty, and not worthy of her mouth.
No doubt she was disgusted by him.
But disgust wasn't what showed on her face.
It was fear.
White showed all around the blue irises of her eyes, and there were pale indents on the sides of her nostrils. Her expression reminded him of what she'd looked like when he'd found her with the dog, but this was worse- much worse. She wasn't making a sound.
"Eve."
Her brows creased and the most horrible sound came from her lips.
She whimpered.”
― 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

“Eve was a shy woman. A woman who had spent years hidden away from the world, traumatized by their shared past. True, she was also stubborn as a mule when she wanted to be, but he never should've put her in the position of facing off against Makepeace. He'd obviously proved too overwhelming for her. God only knew what the pleasure garden owner had done to Eve to make her agree to marry him.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“She used to be so frightened when they were young. Like a pale little ghost, slipping into the shadows, hiding from their vicious elders, trying not to be noticed.
He'd saved her once. Swept her away like a prince in a fairy tale, but that was long ago and far away and perhaps no longer mattered. How were such things counted among normal people?
For she'd thawed. He could see that now. She was no longer that frozen, scared little girl afraid to be noticed. Afraid to live. He supposed he should thank Makepeace for that. For taking his Eve, his sister, and blowing warm life into her.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin