Kimberly

“We ride hard each day,” Draven barked. “We don’t dawdle or take breaks. We don’t stop to sightsee.”
“I’d never dream of asking you to sightsee,” Vesper said with an impressively straight face. “A man like you? Never.”
“Fine,” Drave said darkly. “Since you won’t leave when asked and as my only other option is to kill you, which I know she won’t like…”
“Your sister?”
“My companion,” Draven growled. “Since my companion would evidently prefer I didn’t kill you.”
“That would be very nice,” I said, as calmly as I could, my heart beating fast. “Especially when he’s so talented with breakfast.”
Were they really going to come to blows? I imagined exaggerating the story when I retold it to Galahad and saying two half-naked griddle-cake-scented, dazzlingly handsome men had been fighting over me.”
― Briar Boleyn, Queen of Roses

“His lips were sweet. Like rich honeyed-wine. Like the tang of wild berries. Like nothing I'd ever tasted before.
His mouth was gentle but persistent, coaxing my lips apart as his tongue swept inside me, tasting, exploring.
I moaned against his lips. My body was on fire. I gripped his shoulders as we kissed and felt his hands move to my hips, encircling my waist and pulling me closer against him until there was no space between us left.
The heat of his body against mine was a tantalizing lure. The kiss promised endless possibilities that made me dizzy to envision. I wanted to fall to the forest floor and pull him down with me.”
― Briar Boleyn, Queen of Roses

“She’s purring,” I exclaimed in delight.
“Stop taming the battlecat,” Draven said, looking slightly annoyed. “She’s a killing machine. Not a house pet.”
“Says the man who snuggled beside her all night,” I retorted.”
― Briar Boleyn, Queen of Roses

“The flames flickered, casting dancing shadows along the wall, as the lute player jumped lightly down to the floor.
He was an otherworldly vision. His hair a wild tangle of amber curls, his eyes a rich, liquid gold that sparkled like a fine ale. He was dressed for battle, clad in a coat of mail, silver links glistening overtop a thick, forest-green tunic. A quiver of red-tipped arrows hung at his back and he held a bow loosely in one hand. Rows of small knives were strapped across his chest. His sleeves had been rolled up to reveal strong forearms and sun-kissed skin. Snug trousers made of a sturdy green fabric emphasized the length of his lean legs, and were tucked into tall, black leather boots that came up to his knees.
As he crossed the room towards us he moved with a lithe, feline grace I had only seen before in one other man.”
― Briar Boleyn, Queen of Roses