“There were worse things than death, as she'd discovered. Sometimes living took far more courage. Facing another day. Enduring. Those things took strength. Far more than dying.”
“You'll never have to beg me for anything, my love. If you ask me for the moon, I'll fetch it for you.”
“He found himself playing the love-sick fool vying for a crumb of attention or approval from Genevieve. Anything to make her smile. Make her happy. He'd give her the damn moon if that was what it took.”
“Kissing her was something he'd never grow tired of. It was like drinking warm sunshine or licking the sugary sweetness of honey from a spoon.
Smooth, silky-soft, and delicate and ultra feminine. She inspired possessiveness such that he all but screamed that she was his.
And the hell of it was she didn't even know it.”
“I love you, Bowen Montgomery. I love you so very much, and that will never change, even when we're old and gray. I thank God for you every single day, and that you came and lifted me from the depths of despair. You showed me how it can be with a man who loves me, and you've shined light on the darkest shadows of my memories.”
“Twas such a useless thing. And so unnecessary. Many had suffered for the actions of a few. Wasn't that always the way of things? The collective suffered for the actions of an inept, ineffectual leader.”
“He kissed her temple, nuzzling her skin, and murmured again that she was the most beautiful lass in the world. They weren't just words he offered. Platitudes he didn't mean. He cared not about the scar that marred her face. In his eyes, she was the most beautiful lass he'd ever known and nothing would change that. Not a scar. Not circumstances. She was his, and he didn't give one damn what others thought.”
“Genevieve burst into laughter and hugged him fiercely, because otherwise she would cry. Not because she was unhappy but because joy crowded every inch of her heart and soul. She was about to burst with it.”
“words of a man were meaningless. But actions spoke volumes, and it was always through deeds that the true measure of a man could be ascertained.”
“I would love her and care for her all of my days,” Bowen said quietly. “There is no other man who would ever love her more.”
“By saying it aloud, he thought perhaps it might seem silly to him. That perhaps he'd been swept up in the moment with Genevieve and that maybe he wasn't quite to the point of love yet.
But he was dead wrong. The words felt right on his lips. Saying them aloud only confirmed what his heart already knew. He was well and truly in love with the lass, and there was naught but contentment within him at the whole idea.”
“And now Genevieve had taken over. He'd move the sun if that's what it took to ensure her safety and happiness. Nothing was more important than her security. His focus was and had to be solely on her, for she had no other to champion her cause. If he didn't see to her happiness, who would?”
“He told me of his desire for us to reside at McInnis Keep for half the year."
She glanced anxiously up at him. "Do you mind?"
He stopped and turned to face her, gathering he hands in his. "Genevieve, I would agree to six months in hell if it meant being with you."
Her cheeks warmed and she smiled, joy spreading like wildfire through her soul.
"Well, I hope you don't think six months at McInnis Keep is akin to hell," she teased.
"If I'm with you, anywhere is heaven.”
“Inch by inch, they chipped away until soon there would be nothing left to salvage.”
“I love you, Layla Flaherty,” I tell her because I can feel how badly she needs to hear it. “But you already know that, don’t you?”
I watch as her pupils dilate and she licks her lips. “I do.”
“So what are you going to do about it?” I lean back, despite my body’s protest to throw her down and tear her clothes to shreds.
“I’m going to love you right back.”
“Stiff shoulders humped over the writing-table, and the ache of a heart slow to move. A tortoise heart.”
“True intelligence operates silently. Stillness is where creativity and solutions to problems are found.”
“Such afternoons the buses are crowded into line like elephants in a circusparade. Morningside Heights to Washington Square, Penn Station to Grant's Tomb. Parlorsnakes and flappers joggle hugging downtown uptown, hug joggling gray square after gray square, until they see the new moon giggling over Weehawken and feel the gusty wind of a dead Sunday blowing dust in their faces, dust of a typsy twilight.”
“Even though I thought I wouldn't - could never - I do enjoy looking at him. It is like seeing one's self, like seeing one's self with a certain sense of remove.”
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