Lesa Hudson

“As for her cat, Galahad made an appearance, regally ignored everyone under four feet until he clued in that this variety of humans was more likely to drop food on the floor, or sneak him handouts. He ended in a gluttonous coma, tubby belly up under a table.”
― J.D. Robb, Origin in Death

“Christ, she missed him outrageously. Disgusted with herself, she ducked her head under the spray and let it pound on her brain.

When hands slipped around her waist, then slid up to cup her breasts, she barely jolted. But her heart leaped. She knew his touch, the feel of those long, slim fingers, the texture of those wide palms. She tipped her head back, inviting a mouth to the curve of her shoulder.

"Mmm. Summerset. You wild man."

Teeth nipped into flesh and made her chuckle. Thumbs brushed over her soapy nipples and made her moan.

"I'm not going to fire him." Roarke trailed a hand down the center of her body.

"It was worth a shot. You're back..." His fingers dipped expertly inside her, slick and slippery, so that she arched, moaned, and came simultaneously. "Early," she finished on an explosive breath. "God."

"I'd say I was just on time.”
― J.D. Robb, Ceremony in Death

“I don’t get it. Scratch, bite, squeal, slap. Why do women fight like that? They’ve got fists. It’s embarrassing to our entire gender.”
― J.D. Robb, Salvation in Death

“Let me help you." Roarke bent down, lifted Rockman by the lapels. He jerked the man up, steadied him. "Look at me, Rockman. Vision clear?"
Rockman blinked blood out of his eyes. "I can see you."
"Good." Roarke's arm shot up, quick as a bullet, and his fist connected with Rockman's already battered face.
"Oops," Feeney said mildly, when Rockman crumbled to the floor again.”
― J.D. Robb, Naked in Death