Amy

“Who are you?" asked the guard standing in front of the stairs leading up to the upper floors, leading to Elinor. Above, all was still silent. No one had thought to warn the girls working upstairs.
"Chambermaid," Winn said ina ridiculously high voice. "I must warn the girls upstairs." Winn risked a glance at the man and saw he looked skeptical. Bloody hell. What was he to do now? Women always needed help, and men seemed to enjoy helping them, so he added, "Can you help me?"
"I..." The man hesitated, and Winn considered that perhaps it was only attractive women men enjoyed assisting. Foncé's man leaned closer, scrutinizing him, and Winn decided he'd better not take a chance.
"Oh, dear! Look at that!" he screeched, pointing behind the man. When the guard turned to look, Winn kicked him. The man fell against the stairs, and Winn fell on him, ramming his head into the wooden slats.
As the man's eyes drifted closed, Winn muttered, "That's for thinking I wasn't pretty enough.”
― Shana Galen, True Spies

“Have you given any thought to the formula you would like me to run?"
Alex nearly lost his grip on the decanter. "I beg your pardon?"
"At least a few of your patrons will need to achieve moderate success, and the occasional player will need to achieve considerable success at the vingt-et-un table if you hope to attract those individuals whose pocket books match their greed and belief that the next hand will change their fortune. I will require instruction as to how you wish me to deal in order to maximize both prophets and popularity." She withdrew a small square of paper from a hidden pocket somewhere in the folds of her skirts and held it out to him.
"I've run some scenarios, allowing for a margin of error that I will not be able to avoid. It's all basic accounting worked into a matrix of probabilities, but I thought you might want to review it."
Alex very carefully replaced the heavy crystal on the surface of his desk struggling to draw a breath. This was not good at all. Forget his alarming charge into the fray on a white horse, he was rather afraid he had just fallen in love.”
― Kelly Bowen, Between the Devil and the Duke

“You really love him, huh? Not just the sweet ‘oh, we met in high school and just couldn’t seem to find someone else’ sort of love, but the epic, desperate, ‘move mountains and cross oceans’ sort of love.”
I chuckled. “I think that would be an apt description. When you realize that someone would do anything for you, even if it means separating themselves from you, risking that you’ll never love them again, just to make sure you’re safe and well . . . There’s no coming back from that. You’ll do whatever it takes to be with them. You might want to kick their ass a few times along the way. But when you find that, you don’t let it go.”
Jamie shuddered.
“Too mushy?” I asked.
“I’ll survive.”
― Molly Harper, Nice Girls Don't Bite Their Neighbors

“In a very deliberate motion, he squared my shoulders in front of his and clasped my arms. “I know I could never ask you to leave River Oaks. It means a lot more to you than my family’s house means to me. Your aunt Jettie is there. It’s your home. I would like it to be my home, too. I want to make a life with you, and for most people, that means living in the same house.”
Gabriel kissed me, as gentle as an angel’s wing brushing across my lips. “You’re my bloodmate in every sense of the word, the person I choose to spend the rest of my immortal life with, if you can stand me that long.”
“That’s what that means?” My forehead wrinkled in concentration, and I tried to remember the first time I’d hear that word. “Wait, you told Missy the crazy Realtor that she’d suffer dire consequences if she hurt your ‘bloodmate.’ That was more than a year ago.”
“I knew even then. You’re it for me, Jane. You’re my eternity.”
“Well, why couldn’t you have told me?” I exclaimed.
Gabriel shrugged. “You—”
“I wasn’t ready to hear it yet,” I finished for him. “I’m sorry.” But as the enormity of what Gabriel had just said sunk in, a huge grin split my face.
I brought it under control, so I could narrow my eyes at him. “So, you’re saying you will tell me everything now. You won’t try to protect me or keep me in the dark. You’ll trust me to make a rational decision about bad news after I have my inevitable, initial panic attack?”
He nodded solemnly. “I will.”
“And when I have my spastic fits of insecurity, when I make inappropriate jokes and wonder aloud why you love me, you’ll understand that this has nothing to do with you but years and years of conditioning by my mother?”
He smirked. “I will.”
“Will you agree never to accept invitations issued by my family unless you check with me first?”
He nodded. “Absolutely.”
I giggled, throwing my arms around him and kissing him deeply. “I love you.”
― Molly Harper, Nice Girls Don't Live Forever