Anand Thakur

“I’m not dangerous,” I breathed.

He brought his face toward mine. “You are to me.”

And somehow, against all reason, we were kissing.”
― Richelle Mead, The Indigo Spell

“We like the wrong sorts of girls, they wrote. They are usually the ones worth writing about.”
― Catherynne M. Valente, In the Cities of Coin and Spice

“Adrian Ivashkov wasn’t easy to surprise, but I surprised him then when I brought his mouth toward mine. I kissed him, and for a moment, he was too stunned to respond. That lasted for, oh, about a second. Then the intensity I’d come to know so well in him returned. He pushed me backward, lifting me so that I sat at the table. The tablecloth bunched up, knocking over some of the glasses. I heard what sounded like a china plate crash against the floor.

Whatever logic and reason I normally possessed had melted away. There was nothing but flesh and fire left, and I wasn’t going to lie to myself—at least not tonight.”
― Richelle Mead, The Indigo Spell

“So many details came into focus. The shape of his lips, the line of his neck. “I’m not dangerous,” I breathed.

He brought his face toward mine. “You are to me.”

And somehow, against all reason, we were kissing. I closed my eyes, and the world around me faded.”
― Richelle Mead, The Indigo Spell