Annisa Icha

“You can be brave and still be feminine. You can lead and still love flowers. Most importantly, you can be queen and still be a bride.”
― Kiera Cass, The Heir

“I know. And when I wake up I’m here. It’s okay; I’m okay, because I’m here. I don’t want you to worry about me. I’ll just feel guilty.”
“I’ll try to worry only a little so you’ll only feel a little guilty.”
“I guess that’ll have to do.” She shifted so they were nose-to-nose and heart-to-heart. “Don’t change your routine because of this. That’ll get me wired and worried. Besides, if you don’t keep up with your predawn quest for world financial domination, how are you going to keep me in coffee? If you slack off, I’ll have to find another Irish gazillion-aire with coffee bean connections.”
― J.D. Robb, Celebrity in Death

“Darling Eve!”
The Irish was a bit more ripe in the voice, and no, the eyes not as stunningly blue. But Julian Cross hit the gorgeous mark, and moved well.
In fact he moved straight to Eve, yanked her into a quick, hard kiss, with a hint of tongue.
“Hey!”
“I couldn’t help it.” The not-quite-blue-enough eyes twinkled at her. “I feel like we’re close.”
“Think that again and they’ll have to write a fat lip into your next scene.” She caught Roarke, eyes narrowed, across the room. “And possibly a broken jaw.”
― J.D. Robb, Celebrity in Death

“You need more sleep.”
“Skillet, pan.”
“What?”
“You know, the skillet says the pan’s the same deal.”
He thought a moment. “I believe that’s the pot calling the kettle black.”
“Whatever, kitchen stuff can’t talk anyway.”
― J.D. Robb, Indulgence in Death