1,064 Quotes About Historical-romance
- Author Sabrina Jeffries
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Does that sort of blatantly lascivious glance generally sway women to jump into your bed?" she asked tartly."Often enough to make it worth the attempt.' He grinned. "Besides, it need only work occasionally. "a man must sleep sometime.
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- Author Cristina Bruni
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John alzò di riflesso gli occhi a quelle parole, una luce fiera e innamorata li animava. Non si sentiva più smarrito: per la prima volta in tanto tempo, aveva compreso d’aver incontrato il comandante del suo cuore.
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- Author Grace Burrowes
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So she learned at the age of almost twenty-six how to kiss a lover. Such kisses involved tongues, lips, taste, feel, and soft, needy noises that had her pressing up into his body and wanting to consume him with her hands and her mouth.
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- Author Grace Burrowes
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I live to bring you pleasure.” To Gilly, his words rang like a vow.
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- Author Grace Burrowes
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Mercia wasn’t a little-in-love sort of man. He was mad, dark passion, sweeping emotion, and complete loss of reason, with his gaunt male beauty, his wealth and power, and his haunted past.
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- Author Elisabeth Forest alias Rose Woods - Légy az enyém
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Vihar támadt mélyen a bensőjében, felforgatva a gondolatait, a benyomásait, az érzéseit, a teste minden egyes apró porcikáját. És ez a vihar azzal fenyegette, hogy egyszer csak megsemmisíti őt.
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- Author Elisabeth Forest alias Rose Woods - Légy az enyém
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Mintha megnyílt volna alatta a föld. Ő pedig zuhanni kezdett a végtelen, rémisztő sötétségbe, de egy cseppet sem félt, mert az, akiben a világon a legjobban bízott, ott volt vele, vigyázott rá, szorosan fogta. Hallotta erős, gyors szívverését, érezte karja erejét, teste forróságát. Szája magabiztosan, melegen, gyengéden, mégis határozottan simult az övére, nyelve óvatosan kért bebocsájtást, neki pedig nem volt, nem lehetett más választása, megadta magát. Ő is ezt akarta.
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- Author Paula Quinn
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He rose up like a languid god after devouring a bountiful feast.
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- Author Evelyn Pryce
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So the Bawdy Bluestocking was the proprietress of her own shop, selling lurid novels to ladies in the front and more esoteric fare in the back, from the looks of the shelves around him. He spied Pope and Crabbe, Shakespeare, of course, and names he did not recognize at all. He wondered how she chose her stock and where it came from. She must spend her days in endless research. The thought was unaccountably lovely to him.
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