Pippa And Jasper Quotes

“Upon what grounds do you refuse?"
"Upon the grounds that you owe me."
"Do you plan to run me before a judge and jury?" he asked wryly.
"I don't need to," she retorted, playing her last, most powerful card. "I only have to run you before my brother-in-law."
There was a beat as the words sank in, and his eyes widened, just barely, just enough for her to notice before he closed the distance between them, and said, "A fine idea. Let's tell Bourne everything. You think he would force me to honor our agreement?"
She refused to be cowed. "No. I think he would murder you for agreeing to it in the first place. Even more so when he discovers that it was negotiated by a lady of the evening."
Emotion flared in his serious grey gaze, irritation and... admiration? Whatever it was, it was gone almost instantly, extinguished like a lantern in one of his strange, dark passageways. "Well played, Lady Philippa." The words were soft as they slid over her skin.
"I rather thought so." Where had her voice gone?”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“You are an astronomer as well as a mathematician?"
He turned to face her, finally, half his face cast into shadowy light from the manor beyond. "You are a horticulturalist as well as an anatomist?"
She smiled. "We are surprising, aren't we?"
His lips twitched. "We are.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“What were you looking at?"
She pointed to a bright star. "Polaris."
He shook his head, and pointed to another part of the sky. "That's Polaris. You were looking at Vega."
She chuckled. "Ah. No wonder I was finding it unimpressive."
He leaned back and stretched his long legs out. "It's the fifth brightest star in the sky."
She laughed. "You forget I am one of five sisters. In my world, fifth brightest is last." She looked up. "With apologies to the star in question, of course."
"And are you often last?"
She shrugged. "Sometimes. It is not a pleasant ranking."
"I assure you, Pippa. You are rarely last.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“I'm talking about your lovely long arms and your perfectly shaped legs... I find I am quite jealous of those stockings for knowing the feel of you, the warmth of you." She shifted, unable to keep still beneath the onslaught of his words. "I'm talking about that corset that hugs you where you are lovely and soft... is it uncomfortable?"
She hesitated. "Not usually."
"And now?" She heard the knowledge in the question.
She nodded once. "It's rather- constricting."
He tutted once, and she opened her eyes, instantly meeting his, hot and focused on her. "Poor Pippa. Tell me, with your knowledge of the human body, why do you think that is?"
She swallowed, tried for a deep breath. Failed. "It's because my heart is threatening to beat out of my chest."
The smile again. "Have you overexerted yourself?"
She shook her head. "No."
"What, then?"
She was not a fool. He was pushing her. Attempting to see how far she would go. She told the truth. "I think it is you."
He closed his eyes then, hands fisting again, and pressed his head back against the side of the desk, exposing the long column of his neck and his tightly clenched jaw. Her mouth went dry at the movement, at the way the tendons there bunched and rippled, and she was quite desperate to touch him.
When he returned his gaze to hers, there was something wild in those pewter depths... something she was at once consumed and terrified by. "You shouldn't be so quick with the truth," he said.
"Why?"
"It gives me too much control."
"I trust you."
"You shouldn't." He leaned forward, bracing his arm against his raised knee. "You are not safe with me."
She had never once felt unsafe with him. "I don't think that's correct."
He laughed, low and dark, and the sound rippled through her, a wave of pleasure and temptation. "You have no idea what I could do to you, Philippa Marbury. The ways I could touch you. The wonders I could show you. I could ruin you without thought, sink with you into the depths of sin and not once regret it. I could lead you right into temptation and never ever look back."
The words stole her breath. She wanted it. Every bit of it.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“He moved closer, crowding her back into the darkness. He didn't touch her, but strangely, it didn't matter. He was close enough to feel, tall and lean and ever so warm. "But you're going to wager now, Pippa, aren't you?"
He was muddling her brain and making it very difficult to think clearly. She took a deep breath, the scent of sandalwood wrapping around her, distracting her.
She shouldn't say yes.
But somehow, oddly, she found she couldn't say no.
She reached for the dice, where they lay small and white in his broad palm. Touched them, touched him- the brush of skin against fingertips sending sensation coursing through her. She paused at the feeling, trying to dissect it. To identify it. To savor it. But then he was gone, his hand falling away, leaving her with nothing but the ivory cubes, still warm from his touch.
Just as she was.
Of course, the thought was ridiculous. One did not warm from a fleeting contact. It was the stuff of novels. Something her sisters would sigh over.
He moved, stepping back and extending one arm toward the hazard field. "Are you ready?" His voice was low and soft, somehow private despite the cavernous room.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“If you even dream of reneging on our wager, I will send God, Bourne, and your father to keep you in check. In that order."
"I should not be surprised that you believe you have some control over the Almighty," she retorted.
He looked like he might like to murder someone.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“Did you not lose a wager with me that prohibited precisely this kind of interaction?" The words were harsh and unkind. Not that he cared. He turned to Sally. "Leave now, Sally."
Pippa raised her chin in what he was coming to think of as her most frustrating stance. "I promised no questioning other men. There was nothing in the wager relating to women."
He opened his mouth to reply. Closed it.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“I am concerned that the ladies are ill-treated."
"The ladies who frequent the Fallen Angel are not ill-treated."
Her brows knit together. "How do you know?"
"Because they are under my protection."
She froze. "They are?"
He was suddenly warm. "They are. We do all we can to ensure that they are well treated and well paid while under our roof. If they are manhandled, they call for one of the security detail. They file a complaint with me. And if I discover a member is mistreating ladies beneath this roof, his membership is revoked."
She paused for a long moment, considering the words, and finally said, "I have a passion for horticulture."
He wasn't certain how plants had anything to do with prostitutes, but he knew better than to interrupt.
She continued, the words quick and forthright, as though they entirely made sense. "I've made a rather remarkable discovery recently," she said, and his attention lingered on the breathlessness of the words. On the way her mouth curved in a small, private smile. She was proud of herself, and he found- even before she admitted her finding- that he was proud of her. Odd, that. "It is possible to take a piece of one rosebush and affix it to another. And when the process is completed properly... say, a white piece on a red bush... an entirely new rose grows..." She paused, and the rest of the words rushed out, as though she were almost afraid of them. "A pink one."
Cross did not know much about horticulture, but he knew enough about scientific study to know that the finding would be groundbreaking. "How did you-"
She raised a hand to stop the question. "I'll happily show you. It's very exciting. But that's not the point."
He waited for her to arrive at the point in question.
She did. "The career... it is not their choice. They're not red or white anymore. They're pink. And you're why."
Somehow, it made sense that she compared the ladies of the Angel to this experiment in roses. Somehow, this woman's strange, wonderful brain worked in a way that he completely understood.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“What tempts you, Pippa?"
"I-" She hesitated. "I care a great deal for meringue."
He laughed, the sound bigger and bolder than she expected.
"It's true."
"No doubt you do. But you may have meringue anytime you like." He stood back and indicated that she should enter the carriage.
She ignored the silent command, eager to make her point. "Not so. If the cook has not made it, I cannot eat it."
A smile played on his lips. "Ever-practical Pippa. If you want it, you can find it. That's my point. Surely, somewhere in London, someone will take pity upon you and satisfy your craving for meringue."
Her brow furrowed. "Therefore, I am not tempted by it?"
"No. You desire it. But that's not the same thing. Desire is easy. It's as simple as you wish to have meringue, and meringue is procured." He waved a hand toward the interior of the carriage but did not offer to help her up. "In."
She ascended another step before turning back. The additional height brought them eye to eye. "I don't understand. What is temptation, then?"
"Temptation..." He hesitated, and she found herself leaning forward, eager for this curious, unsettling lesson. "Temptation turns you. It makes you into something you never dreamed, it presses you to give up everything you ever loved, it calls you to sell your soul for one, fleeting moment."
The words were low and dark and full of truth, and they hovered in the silence for a long moment, an undeniable invitation. He was close, protecting her from toppling off the block, the heat of him wrapping around her despite the cold. "It makes you ache," he whispered, and she watched the curve of his lips in the darkness. "You'll make any promise, swear any oath. For one... perfect... unsoiled taste."
Oh, my.
Pippa exhaled, long and reedy, nerves screaming, thoughts muddled. She closed her eyes, swallowed, forced herself back, away from him and the way he... tempted her.
Why was he so calm and cool and utterly in control?
Why was he not riddled with similar... feelings?
He was a very frustrating man.
She sighed. "That must be a tremendous meringue."
A beat followed the silly, stupid words... words she wished she could take back. How ridiculous. And then he chuckled, teeth flashing in the darkness. "Indeed," he said, the words thicker and more gravelly than before.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“It's just that... since we met, I have been rather... well, fascinated by..."
You.
Say it, he willed, not entirely certain what he would do if she did, but willing to put himself to the test.
She took another breath. "By your bones."
Would she ever say anything expected? "My bones?"
She nodded. "Yes. Well, the muscles and tendons, too. Your forearms. Your thighs. And earlier- while I watched you drink whiskey- by your hands."
Cross had been propositioned many times in his life. He'd made a career of refusing women's requests. But he had never been complimented on his bones.
It was the strangest, sexiest confession he'd ever heard.
And he had no idea how to respond.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“She moved, opening to him, her thighs widening, the cool air of the room rushing through the slit in her pantalettes. Her cheeks burned and she moved her hands to block his view.
He was watching them, and he made a low sound of approval. "That's where my hands would be as well. Can you feel why? Can you feel the heat? The temptation?"
Her eyes were closed now. She couldn't look at him. But she nodded.
"Of course you can... I can almost feel it myself." The words were hypnotic, all temptation, soft and lyric and wonderful. "And tell me, my little anatomist, have you explored that particular location, before?"
Her cheeks burned.
"Don't start lying now, Pippa. We've come so far."
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, I've explored it before." The confession was barely sound, but he heard it. When he groaned, she opened her eyes to find him pressed back against the desk once more. "Did I say the wrong thing?"
He shook his head, his hand rising to his mouth once more, stroking across firm lips. "Only in that you made me burn with jealousy."
Her brows furrowed. "Of whom?"
"Of you, lovely." His grey gaze flickered to the place she hid from him. "Of your perfect hands. Tell me what you found."
She couldn't. While she might know the clinical words for all the things she had touched and discovered, she could not speak them to him. She shook her head. "I cannot."
"Did you find pleasure?"
She closed her eyes, pressed her lips together.
"Did you?" he whispered, the sound loud as a gunshot in this dark, wicked room.
She shook her head. Once, so small it was barely a movement.
He exhaled, the sound long and lush in the room, as though he'd been holding his breath... and he moved. "What a tragedy."
Her eyes snapped open at the sound of him- of trouser against carpet as he crawled toward her, eyes narrow and filled with wicked, wonderful promise.
He was coming for her. Predator stalking prey.
And she could not wait to be caught.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“When she opened her eyes, she returned her attention to the candle, still and unmoving even as it burned unbearably bright. And then it did move, dancing and flickering in an unexpected draft.
A draft followed by a great woof and a thud as Trotula left the bed, tail wagging madly, and threw herself at the doors that led out to the narrow balcony just off Pippa's bedchamber. Doors once closed, now open, now framing the man Pippa loved, frozen just inside the room, tall and serious and beautifully disheveled.
As she watched, he took a deep breath and ran both hands through thick red hair, pushing it off his face, his high cheekbones and long straight nose stark and angled in the candlelight.
He was unbearably handsome. She'd never in her life longed for anything the way she longed for him. He'd promised to teach her about temptation and desire and he'd done powerfully well; her heart raced at the sight of him, at the sound of his heavy breath. And yet... she did not know what came next.
"You are beautiful," he said.
What came next was anything he wished.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“Closing the door, she turned back to him, taking in the long, muscled length of him on the bed, staring at her.
Waiting for her.
Perfection.
He was perfect, and she was bare before him, bathed in candlelight. She was instantly embarrassed- somehow more embarrassed than she had been that night in his office, when she'd touched herself under his careful guidance. At least then she'd been wearing a corset. Stockings.
Tonight, she wore nothing. She was all flaws, each one highlighted by his perfection. He watched her for a long moment before extending one muscled arm, palm up, an irresistible invitation.
She went to him without hesitation, and he rolled to his back, pulling her over his lovely, lean chest, staring up at her intently.
She covered her breasts in a wave of nerves and trepidation. "When you look at me like that... it's too much."
He did not look away. "How do I look at you?"
"I don't know what it is... but I feel as though you can see into me. As though, if you could, you would consume me."
"It's want, love. Desire like nothing I've never experienced. I'm fairly shaking with it. Come here." The demand was impossible to resist, carrying with it the promise of pleasure beyond her dreams. She went.
When she was close enough to touch, he lifted one hand, stroking his fingers along hers where they hid her breasts from view. "I tremble with need for you, Pippa. Please, love, let me see you."
The request was raw and wretched, and she couldn't deny him, slowly moving her hands to settle them on his chest, fingers splayed wide across the crisp auburn hair that dusted his skin. She was distracted by that hair, the play of it over muscle- the way it narrowed to a lovely dark line across his flat stomach.
He lay still as she touched him, his muscles firm and perfect. "You're so beautiful," she whispered, fingers stroking down his arms to his wrists.
His gaze narrowed on her. "I am happy you approve, my lady."
She smiled. "Oh I do, my lord. You are a remarkable specimen." White teeth flashed again as she gained her courage, retracing her touch, over his forearms, marveling in the feel of him, reciting from memory, "flexor digitorium superficialis, flexor capri radialis..." along his upper arms, "biceps brachii, tricipitis brachii..." over his shoulders, loving the way his muscles tensed and flexed beneath her touch, "deltoideus..." and down his chest, "subscapularis... pectoralis major..."
She stilled, brushing her fingers over the curve of that muscle, the landscape of him... the valleys of his body. He sucked in a breath as her fingers ran over the flat discs of his nipples, arching up to her touch, and she stilled, reveling in her power. He enjoyed her touch. He wanted it. She repeated the stroke, this time with her thumbs.
He hissed his pleasure, one wide hand falling to the inside of her knee, sending a river of heat through her. "Don't stop now, love. This is the most effective seduction I've ever experienced.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Cross, but in this conversation, you are superfluous."
He gave her his most frightening stare. "I assure you, I am anything but that."
"Am I right in understanding that you have neither the time nor the inclination to speak to me at this particular moment?"
She had backed him into a corner. "Yes."
She smiled. "There it is, then. As I find myself with both, I believe I shall begin my research now. Without you." She turned her back on him.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“Cross," she whispered. "Please-"
And in that plea, he lost himself. "Yes, love," he said, inhaling her heady, glorious scent. "I'll give you everything you want. Everything you need."
He stroked into her softness again, and he wondered at the way she wept for him, not knowing what he would give her... what he could do to her... and wanting it nonetheless. "Do you feel it? The truth of it? How much you want me?"
"I want..." she started, then stopped.
He turned his head, nipping at the soft skin of her inner thigh, reveling in the softness there- that untouched, uncharted, silken spread. "Say it." He would give it to her. Anything in his power. Anything beyond it.
She looked down at him, blue eyes fairly glowing with desire. "I want you to want me."
He closed his eyes at that; trust Pippa to be forthright even here, even now, even as she bared herself to his eyes and mouth and hands. Trust her to strip this moment of all remaining shrouds, leaving it raw and bare and honest.
God help him, he told her the truth. He wasn't certain he could do anything but. "I do, love. I want you more than you could ever know. More than I could have ever dreamed. I want you enough for two men. For ten."
She laughed at that, the sound coming on a wicked movement of strong hips and soft stomach. "I don't require ten. Just you."
Even as he knew he would never be worthy enough for her, the words went straight to the hard, straining length of him, and he knew he would never be able to resist her- not when she asked with truth in her big blue eyes and passion on her soft, lyric voice.
He leaned in, and spoke to the heart of her. "And you shall have me.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“I can't help but think," she started, then stopped. Knowing she shouldn't say it. Knowing, somehow, that it would make everything harder. "I can't help but think... if only I'd..."
He knew it, too. "Don't."
But she couldn't stop it. She looked up at him. "If only I'd found you first."
The words were small and sad, and she hated them, even as they brought him to her- his hands to her face, cupping her cheeks and tilting her up to him. Even as they brought his lips to hers in a kiss that robbed her of strength and will and, eventually, thought.
His long fingers threaded through her hair, holding her still as he lifted his lips, met her gaze, and whispered her name before taking her mouth again in long, lavish strokes. Again and again, he did the same, whispering her name against her lips, her cheek, the heavy pulse at the side of her neck, punctuating the word with licks and nips and sucks that set her aflame.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“He had twenty-five thousand acres in Devonshire where no one ever needed to see them, where she and Trotula could roam. He would build her a house for her scientific research. He'd give her everything she needed. Everything she desired. And he'd roam with them, he and their passel of children as, in his experience, rustication tended to facilitate breeding.
He'd do everything he could to keep her happy.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“May I help you?"
She did not look up. "You've miscalculated column F."
What in hell?
"I have not."
She pushed her glasses up her nose and tucked a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear, entirely focused on the ledger. "You have. The proper calculation should be one hundred and twelve thousand, three hundred forty-six and seventeen pence."
Impossible.
He stood, moving to look over her shoulder. "That's what it says."
She shook her head, placing one long finger on the tabulation line. He noticed the tip of the finger was slightly crooked, leaning a touch to the right. "You've written one hundred twelve thousand, three hundred, forty-five and seventeen pence. You-" She looked up at him, eyes owl-like behind her spectacles as she took in his height and his bare chest. "You- you've lost a quid."
He bent over her, deliberately crowding her and enjoying the way her breath caught at his nearness. "That is a six."
She cleared her throat and looked again. "Oh." She leaned in and checked the number again. "I suppose you've lost your handwriting skills, instead," she said dryly, and he chuckled as she reached for a pencil and repaired the number.
He watched, riveted to the callus at the tip of her second finger, before he whispered low in her ear, "Are you an accounting fairy sent in the dead of night to check my figures?"
She leaned away from the whisper and and turned to look at him. "It's one o'clock in the afternoon," she said, matter-of-factly, and he had an intense desire to take her spectacles from her face and kiss her senseless, just to see what this odd young woman would say.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“Tell me, Lady Philippa." He raised a hand, one finger lingering at the indentation of her upper lip, a hairsbreadth from touching her. "In your study of anatomy, did you ever learn the name of the place between the nose and the lip?"
Her lips parted, and she resisted the urge to lean toward him, to force him to touch her. She answered on a whisper, "The philtrum."
He smiled. "Clever girl. It is Latin. Do you know its meaning?"
"No."
"It means love potion. The Romans believed it was the most erotic place on the body. They called it Cupid's bow, because of the way it shapes the upper lip." As he spoke, he ran his finger along the curve of her lip, a temptation more than a touch, barely there. His voice grew softer, deeper. "They believed it was the mark of the god of love."
She inhaled, low and shallow. "I did not know that."
He leaned down, closer, his hand falling away. "I'd be willing to wager that there are any number of things about the human body that you do not know, my little expert. All things that I would happily teach you.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“He showed her things she'd never known about things she'd always thought she understood. And she adored it... even as it terrified her.
Even as it made her question everything she thought true.
She resisted the thought, her gaze rising to one large wall of the club, where the Angel's namesake fell in beautiful glass panels from Heaven to Hell, from good to evil, from sainthood to sin. It was the most beautiful window Pippa had ever seen, the work of true artisans, all reds and golds and violets, at once hideous and holy.
It was the angel himself who fascinated her, the enormous, beautiful man crashing to Earth, without the gifts he'd had for so long. In the hands of a poorer artist, the detail of him would have been less intricate, the hands and feet and face would have been shaped with glass of a single color, but this artist had cared deeply for his subject, and the swirls of darks and lights in the panels were finely crafted to depict movement, shape, and even emotion.
She could not help but stare at the face of the fall- inverted as he fell to the floor of the hell- the arch of his brow, the complex shade of his jaw, the curve of his lip. She paused there, thinking on another pair of lips, another fall. Another angel.
Cross.
Emotion flared, one she did not immediately recognize.
She let out a long breath.
She wanted him- in a way she knew she should not. In a way she knew she should want another. A man destined to be her husband. To be the father of her children.
And yet, she wanted Cross.
This angel.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover