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“Well, if he was already damned, he might as well follow his wicked impulses all the way to hell. At least he’d get to taste her again. Liam sprang toward her, grasping her wrists and pulling her back down to him. He sank his fingers into her luxurious hair, loosening the intricate coiffure there, and pinned her head between his two strong palms as he took her wicked mouth with his own. It was in the joining of their lips that Liam found what he’d come to the chapel seeking. He kissed Mena with a reverence he’d never felt in the entirety of his life. Driven by a hunger that welled from the darkest, most heretical depths of his soul, he knew he’d finally found something worthy of his worship.”
― The Highlander
― The Highlander
“Is it love?” Mary asked gently. “It’s … complicated.” “Love is always complicated, darling.” She laughed.”
― The Highlander
― The Highlander
“Then ye must go to her, claim her, right away.” She stood, as though ready to shoo him from her house. “Ye make it sound so easy.” He stood as well, feeling large and encumbered in her dainty room. “Nothing worthwhile is easy,” she quipped. “Ye helped to dismantle the East India Company. Ye’ve stormed castles and replaced entire regimes. Should she resist ye, lay siege to her defenses and scale her walls, Lieutenant Colonel, it’s not as if ye doona ken how to do that.”
― The Highlander
― The Highlander
“I can’t,” she cried, feeling her knees melt. His lips left her with a wet, wicked sound. “Ye will,” he breathed against her most intimate flesh. “I’m going to fall,” she warned weakly, her hips undulating toward his mouth with mortifying wantonness. “Fall apart in my arms, lass,” he soothed, his hands caressing around to fill his palms with the flesh of her backside, making a cradle of her hips. “I’ll not let ye go.”
― The Highlander
― The Highlander
“Instantly, he released her. “It’s just after dawn,” he clipped. “Now put some clothes on.” Millie narrowed mulish eyes at his bare chest, her jaw thrusting forward in a gesture that was becoming somewhat familiar. “You put some clothes on,” she snapped. “And wake me at a more decent hour.” Scowling, she grasped at the covers and heaped them on top of herself, before rolling away from him and sinking back into the bed. Christopher stared at the bundle she made with a sense of pure, frustrated astonishment. “It was my impression that the later the hour, the less decent it becomes.” “Your impression is wrong,” her sharp voice informed him, somewhat muffled by the coverlet. “And if you wake me before nine in the morning again, I’ll pâté your liver and have it with my breakfast. Now get out.” It was a rare person, indeed, who dared to question him, let alone threaten him. Frozen in place, Christopher found himself at a loss for what to do next. How did one make a recalcitrant woman do what she was told? He’d have to ask Dorian.”
― The Hunter
― The Hunter
Joann’s 2025 Year in Books
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