Lady Darcie

“why couldn't someone , somewhere , want her for her ?”
― Sarah MacLean, Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake

“I’m heading out.”
Her gaze searched his and, a little breathless, she asked, “Leaving?”
“Yeah.” He stepped closer. Any second how Trace would intrude. “Thing is, Alani, I can’t be around you without wanting you. Bad. Really bad.”
“Oh.”
“If that’s crude, well, then screw it, I’m crude. I know we’d have a great time in bed, but since you aren’t ready for that yet, well . . . I promised Trace I wouldn’t pressure you.”
Her neck went stiff. “Dear God. You discussed this with my brother?”
“No!” He cut a hand through the air and his voice lowered. “When . . . if . . . I get you out of your panties, believe me, it’ll be a private thing between us. No way in hell would I discuss that with anyone else.”
Her face went as red as Priss’s had.
“Trace and I talked about you maybe decorating my house, that’s all.”
“Oh.” Face still hot, she said, “I—”
“Yeah, forget it. That’s off. Like I said, I’d just hanker for you, and you aren’t exactly reciprocating. So that’s that.”
She blinked fast.
“But if you ever change your mind, all you have to do is let me know.” He reached out and touched her cheek. Her skin was soft and warm and he wanted to feel her all over.
All over him. Naked. Hungry. Wet . . .
Damn, he had it bad. “I can promise you, if you do come to me, you won’t regret it.”
She swallowed, licked her lips and damned if her eyes didn’t heat. She wanted him, too. He had to believe that. But Trace was starting up the hill, and the others were looking on, and the last thing he wanted was to make Alani uncomfortable.
“Tell everyone I said goodbye. You make up any excuse you want.” And with that, he left Alani standing there, watching after him as he walked away.
God willing, she’d contact him soon.
He wasn’t sure he could stand it if she didn’t.”
― Lori Foster, Trace of Fever

“My name is Hazel. Augustus Waters was the great star-crossed love of my life. Ours was an epic love story, and I won't be able to get more than a sentence into it without disappearing into a puddle of tears. Gus knew. Gus knows. I will not tell you our love story, because-like all real love stories-it will die with us, as it should. I'd hoped that he'd be eulogizing me, because there's no one I'd rather have..." I started crying. "Okay, how not to cry. How am I-okay. Okay."

I took a few deep breaths and went back to the page. "I can't talk about our love story, so I will talk about math. I am not a mathematician, but I know this: There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1. There's .1 and .12 and .112 and infinite collection of others. Of course, there is a Bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. A writer we used to like taught us that. There are days, many of them, when I resent the size of my unbounded set. I want more numbers than I'm likely to get, and God, I want more numbers for Augustus Waters than he got. But, Gus, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn't trade it for the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I'm grateful.”
― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

“Because Rowdy Yates was that and then some. He was also drop-dead gorgeous in a devilish, careless, edgy way. Where Reese tempered his sex appeal, Rowdy threw it out there without reserve, bludgeoning innocent bystanders with his raw magnetism.”
― Lori Foster, Bare It All