His eyes touched every part of her. Even parts that may never have been touched before. They flashed with lightning, singing along her nerves with electric currents of heat. A sultry, answering thunder whipped through her, calling forth a storm so unexpected, she almost felt betrayed by her own body.

It occurred to Gavin that the first thought a groom had upon spying his bride shouldn’t be to wonder whether or not she wore knickers.

Samantha imagined that in another life, she and Alison could have, indeed, been friends. Had she not been about to rob the train.

The lass was no damsel. He’d prepared himself for a hard sell, one that might require a few extra knee-weakening smiles, perhaps so much as a seduction, but he’d never in a million years expected the disaster that landed his arms. The disaster named Alison Ross.

Doona fash, Sam.” Calybrid, spying her scowl, hurried to balm the wound. “Ye’re plenty fair.” “Aye,” Locryn agreed. “With eyes the color of the Alt Dubh Gorm.” “Sure, that too.” “Just… no one will write odes to yer breasts is all.” “On account of ye not having any,” Locryn supplied, rather unnecessarily, in Samantha’s opinion.

There was something more than a little satisfying about ripping the heart out of someone the moment before they expected to do the same to you.

Ye might no know this about me…” “But I prefer my women… a wee bit dirty. I’ve imagined more than once what yer foul mouth could do to me.

Ye’re wet,” he groaned. “I’m underwater.” “I ken that, bonny. But this dampness has nothing to do with that.

Still pleasant as a cornered hedgehog, and as well mannered as a badger, I see.