84 Quotes by Lisa Carlisle

He lowered his head until his lips hovered centimeters above hers. This was the moment he craved. This heated moment – each of them lingering, waiting, wanting. He loved the excitement of the build-up almost as much as the conquest itself. As he’d told her many times, the greater the anticipation, the sweeter the reward.

Better undead than dead.

Oh, is that all you’re looking forward to - a break from your studies?” He peered down at her with a knowing smirk.

Nothing would keep him from loving her. She was everything he wanted. She was his.

During the show, she studied him on stage. The way he strummed the guitar, the movement of muscles in his arms and torso, the sway of the tartan fabric with his movements. Her cheeks heated when she thought about running her fingers over his torso and under his kilt. Oh, the things he could do to her with that body.

She tore her eyes from his abs and gave in to the temptation to look further down. Over his kilt her eyes wandered and stopped, speculating on the promising bulge beneath the blue tartan. "Hope you like what you see...

Stop him, stop this, she commanded herself. Reason floated away; she wanted him. If he walked away now, she might disintegrate into a pile of frustration as fragile as the leaves crumbling under foot. His lips touched hers, shooting electric shock waves rippling to her toes. Then he claimed her with a torrid kiss. Passion welled up from her core, overpowering all thought except her desires.

She pushed his massive chest, which was as effective as if she pushed granite. "What are you made of, bloody stone?" He chuckled, eyes full of mirth. "Sometimes.

I should tell you something about what happens after I play.""What's that?"He pulled her back into his arms. "I get excited...