Salla

“At the Accords Hall, Jace was waiting for them on the front step, looking like Jace in a suit. Jace in a suit was unbearable. He gave Clary a look up and down.

“That dress is . . .”

He had to clear his throat. Simon enjoyed his discomfiture. Not much ever threw Jace, but Clary had always been able to throw him like a Wiffle ball on a windy day. His eyes were practically cartoon hearts.”
― Cassandra Clare, The Fiery Trial

“When I came in and you were sleeping, I thought: There’s my soldier, exhausted from her wars.” He lifted her hand, kissed her fingers. “Now, I look, and I think: There’s my woman, soft and lovely.” Her lips curved as he undressed her. “Where do you get this stuff?” “It just comes to me. I’ve only to look at you, and the world comes to me. You’re my life.”
― J.D. Robb, Imitation in Death

“So,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m too much for you. You should have said something. We might be married, Mercy, but no still means no.”

I widened my eyes at him. “I just haven’t wanted to hurt your feelings.”

“When I give you that little nudge, hmm?” His voice took on a considering air. “Come to think of it, I’m feeling a little nudge coming on right now.”

“Now?” I whispered in horrified tones. I looked up toward Jesse’s room. “Think of the children.”

He tilted his head as if to listen, then shook it. “They won’t hear anything from there.” He started slowly down the stairs.

“Think of Darryl, Zack, Lucia, and Joel,” I said earnestly. “They’ll be scarred for life.”

“You know what they say about werewolves,” he told me gravely, stepping down to the ground.

I broke and ran—and he was right on my tail. Figuratively speaking, of course. I don’t have a tail unless I’m in my coyote shape.”
― Patricia Briggs, Fire Touched

“What?” he asked, finishing the second of his nine-ounce steaks, medium rare. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

[...]

I sighed theatrically, resting my chin on my cupped hands and bracing my elbows on the table. “You are too gorgeous, you know?”

I said it just loud enough that the people who’d been watching us surreptitiously could hear me.

Unholy laughter lit his eyes—telling me he’d been noticing the looks we’d been getting. But his face was completely serious, as he purred, “So. Am I worth what you paid for me, baby?”

I loved it when he played along with me.
I sighed again, a sound that I drew up from my toes, a contented, happy sound. I’d get him back for that “baby.” Just see if I didn’t.

“Oh, yes,” I told our audience. “I’ll tell Jesse that she was right. Go for the sexy beast, she told me. If you’re going to shell out the money, don’t settle.”

He threw back his head and laughed until he had to wipe tears of hilarity off his face. “Jeez, Mercy,” he said. “The things you say.” Then he leaned across the table and kissed me.

A while later he pulled back, grinned at me, and sat back in his chair.

I had to catch my breath before I spoke. “Best five bucks I ever spent,” I told him fervently.”
― Patricia Briggs, River Marked