130 Quotes About Time-travel-romance

She did not want to have to choose between the legend which had finally made her feel as if her life had meaning and this beautiful, caring man whose soul seemed to echo with the same beats as her own heart.

He settled beside her on the small bench, and awareness of him pushed against her skin as if he extended past the confines of his body and made her want.

He lay stretched full length along his glorified cot, and while his bandage masked his shoulder, plenty of bare skin remained for her gaze to lap up. Bare, musclely skin. Skin that was somehow otherworldly in the soft glow of the flickering candlelight. Skin that made her want to touch, feel, and…and…lick. Until her gaze snagged on the scar-tattoo combo, and ice again crystallized in her gut.

Her mouth… her mouth tasted like the purest water from a newly made spring after the last snow melt. And feeling her slowly surround him with her heat? Like sliding into acceptance, into a warm, welcoming sort of understanding. Like sliding into home.

And then… Oh my. She realized why his silhouette had been off. The man was buck naked. Pressed against her. He’d swam naked from the galley. Picturing that, with maybe his ankle-knife clutched between his teeth, had her unable to emit another sound for quite a while.

It still shocked her. In the quiet moments when she took in her surroundings. She was in friggin’ seventeenth century Scotland. Here on a wish from the magical calling card case her sister received from a friend. She’d seen an actual historical battle. There were men in kilts everywhere.

He was the MacCowan warrior of her favorite family legend.

She straightened and crossed her arms. “I can’t sleep with you,” she blurted.… “As you please.”“As you please?” She stepped back, the rough wood of the bench bumping her upper calf. She’d braced herself for a battle and now felt oddly deflated. “You aren’t going to try to talk me into it?”“I need not talk women into lying with me.

You will be the death of me, woman.