Knight Of Cups Quotes

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How can you still count yourself a knight, when you have forsaken every vow you ever swore?" Jaime reached for the flagon to refill his cup. "So many vows...they make you swear and swear. Defend the king. Obey the king. Keep his secrets. Do his bidding. Your life for his. But obey your father. Love your sister. Protect the innocent. Defend the weak. Respect the gods. Obey the laws. It's too much. No matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or the other.
George R.R. Martin (A Clash of Kings (A Song of Ice and Fire, #2))
You asked me in Paris how many women I'd loved. I said one. I should have said two." He cupped her cheek, his thumb rubbing over her bottom lip. "As a child I loved my mother, and as a man I love you.
Kitty French (Knight & Stay (Knight, #2))
You saved me again," she told him with a starstruck gaze. He cupped her cheek and gave her a tender smile in the dark. "Because you are my princess and I am your knight.
Gaelen Foley (Princess (Ascension Trilogy #2))
I was hoping to discuss my grade on last week’s assignment.” “Which was?” The cup size I wish I had… “D.
Nelou Keramati (Resonance (The Fray Theory, #1))
You asked me in Paris how many women I'd loved. I said one. I should have said two." He cupped her cheek, his thumb rubbing over her bottom lip. "As a child I loved my mother, and as a man I love you.
Kitty French (Knight & Play (Knight, #1))
Never refuse a cup of wine or a horn of ale,” Ser Arlan had once told him, “it may be a year before you see another.
George R.R. Martin (A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms (The Tales of Dunk and Egg, #1-3))
I read the tea leaves as if they were words left over from a conversation between two cups.
Kenny Knight (The Honicknowle Book of the Dead)
Jack stopped at the entrance, cupping my face. "Stick to me like a shadow, you." How many times had he told me that? "I regenerate. I need to go first!" Dafuq. "You're goan to stay behind me and step where I step. Same for you, coo-yon. This ain't up for discussion!
Kresley Cole (Endless Knight (The Arcana Chronicles, #2))
I like dogs better than knights. A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he’ll look you straight in the face.” He cupped her under the jaw, raising her chin, his fingers pinching her painfully. “And that’s more than little birds can do, isn’t it? I never got my song.
George R.R. Martin (A Clash of Kings (A Song of Ice and Fire, #2))
He cups my face in his hands and stares down into my eyes. “Two things…” I take a deep breath and look up at him. “…I’m sorry for everything and… And I’ll always love you. Don’t ever forget that.
Zoe McKnight (A Delicate Truth)
I’m sorry I ruined the wedding. I’m sorry I push you away when you get too close. I’m sorry I keep fucking things up. I wish I could say I’ll stop, but the truth is I’ll probably fuck up a million more times…but one thing I’ll never do is stop loving you. Ever.” He punches the spot above his heart. “You weren’t supposed to get in here, but you did.” He cups my face. “And now you’re stuck.
Ashley Jade (Ruthless Knight (Royal Hearts Academy, #2))
Never refuse a cup of wine or a horn of ale. It may be a year before you see another.
George R.R. Martin (A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms (The Tales of Dunk and Egg, #1-3))
Why hadn’t the Woman in Black called for Raphael? Mathilde’s idea that she’d stopped looking for him seemed out of keeping with most ghost stories; ghosts didn’t change their behavior, did they? Whatever the reason, Caitlyn was glad of it. Raphael was hers, and she didn’t want to share him. She hated the idea of a long-lost lover roaming the halls of the castle, looking for him. It meant there was someone else in his life. She was, she realized, jealous. That’s stupid! How can I be jealous of a ghost, over a guy who might not even exist? And yet, there was no other word for what she felt. Since the moment she’d seen Raphael riding in the valley, her heart had claimed him as her Knight of Cups
Lisa Cach (Wake Unto Me)
Papers there were in the chest, and parchments, and stiff untanned skins, written in English and Latin and the old Cumric tongue: Morgan was born, Morgan was married, Morgan became a knight, Morgan was hanged. Here lay the history of the house, shameful and glorious.
John Steinbeck (Cup of Gold)
To say it was a dark and stormy night would be a gross understatement. It was colder than witch's kiss, wetter than a spring swamp, and blacker than a tax collector's heart. A sane man would have been curled up in front of a fire with a cup of mulled wine and a good boo-, ah, a willing wench.
Hilari Bell (The Last Knight (Knight and Rogue, #1))
Child, your lesson for today is to drink wine.” “What ? But teacher, doesn’t the Sun Knight have a low tolerance for drink ?” “The Sun Knight always forgives others, but have you ever really forgiven someone ?” “Nope.” “The Sun Knight always wears a smile, but how many times have you really smiled from the bottom of your heart ?” “Only a few times...” “The Sun Knight is a benevolent spokesperson, but are you really benevolent ?” “...” “Child, if you have a low tolerance for drink, then how are you going to make sure that after drinking, you’ll still be able to maintain the image of the Sun Knight as someone who turns red on the first cup, has a headache with the second cup, and topples over unconscious after the third ? So you see, the idea that the Sun Knight has low tolerance for drink is actually founded on the premise that the Sun Knight cannot be defeated by drink.” This argument might sound really reasonable, but when I think about it carefully, it seems to be full of contradictions as well ! “Drink up, child. You have to drink wine every night for the next month, until you can drink wine like it’s just water.” “...” The year I turned twelve, I became someone who could drink wine as easily as water, an undefeatable drinker, all for the sake of the Sun Knight’s image as a lightweight drinker.
Yu Wo (騎士基本理論 (吾命騎士, #1))
Maroc Metz nods like a loyal knight. He doesn’t complain that the tea in his own cup has turned into ice because of his Master Ruem’s Will of Slayer. He doesn’t ask what this dead bird means. He only guesses. The Mesmerizer taught him enough about alchemy, especially, dark alchemy, to know what it might be.
Misba (The Oldest Dance (Wisdom Revolution, #2))
He crossed the distance between them, fighting the urge to touch her, to cup her face, to take her onto the mat right here. To kiss her senseless.
Katie Reus (Bishop's Knight (Endgame Trilogy #1))
Greatness? I have tasted that cup within the last twelve months; do I not know that it is sweet in the mouth, but bitter in the belly?
Charles Kingsley (Westward Ho!, or, the voyages and adventures of Sir Amyas Leigh, Knight, of Burrough, in the county of Devon, in the reign of her most glorious majesty Queen Elizabeth)
He twisted the bottle, and she watched his mouth, mesmerised both by the visual and sensory impact. His tongue relentless over her clitoris. The base of the green glass bottle cupped in his hand…
Kitty French (Knight & Stay (Knight, #2))
When we look at existence as something solely to be conquered (the way Arthur's knights went after the Grail) we bring only chaos. Cups - water - symbolize receptivity. Love, and ultimately life, cannot be seized, but only accepted.
Rachel Pollak
Love stories abound in all cultures: Romeo and Juliet, Orpheus and Eurydice, Tristan and Isolde, and in the Middle East, we find the stories of Yusuf and Zuleika, and Majnûn and Laylá. The story of Majnûn and Layla- was (and still is) widely known throughout the Islamic world. However, in the hands of Persian Sûfî poets, the story became transformed into a symbol of the love of a human being for Allâh. In Sûfîsm, questing for Allâh is similar to the European Grail quest in which the Knight quests for a Chalice (the cup being a symbol of the female sexual organ). Laylá, in Arabic, comes from the word layl meaning 'night'. The association of the Divine Feminine with Darkness and the Night is ubiquitous.
Laurence Galian (Jesus, Muhammad and the Goddess)
Look at this cup,” he said, pointing to the other small blue ceramic cup still sitting on the white tablecloth. “It is not overanxious to be filled. It sits patient, unmoving, and empty.” Carefully, he poured a small amount of tea into that cup. “You must be like this,” he stated with a mischievous grin, gesturing to the steam gently rising from the second blue cup. “Answers to your questions will come, but if you are not still and empty, you will never be able to retain anything.
Ethan Hawke (Rules for a Knight)
I was up before the others, before the birds, before the sun. I drank a cup of coffee, wolfed down a piece of toast, put on my shorts and sweatshirt, and laced up my green running shoes. Then slipped quietly out the back door. I stretched my legs, my hamstrings, my lower back, and groaned as I took the
Phil Knight (Shoe Dog: A Memoir by the Creator of NIKE)
We've spoken of the Knights of the Holy Grail, Percival. Do you know what I was? The Knight of the Unholy Grail. In times like these when everyone is wonderful, what is needed is a quest for evil. You should be interested! Such a quest serves God's cause! How? Because the Good proves nothing. When everyone is wonderful, nobody bothers with God. If you had ten thousand Albert Schweitzers giving their lives for their fellow men, do you think anyone would have a second thought about God? Or suppose the Lowell Professor of Religion at Harvard should actually find the Holy Grail, dig it up in an Israeli wadi, properly authenticate it, carbon date it, and present it to the Metropolitan Museum. Millions of visitors! I would be as curious as the next person and would stand in line for hours to see it. But what different would it make in the end? People would be interested for a while, yes. This is an age of interest. But suppose you could show me one "sin," one pure act of malevolence. A different cup of tea! That would bring matters to a screeching halt. But we have plenty of evil around you say. What about Hitler, the gas ovens and so forth? What about them? As everyone knows and says, Hitler was a madman. And it seems nobody else was responsible. Everyone was following orders. It is even possible that there was no such order, that it was all a bureaucratic mistake. Show me a single "sin." One hundred and twenty thousand dead at Hiroshima? Where was the evil of that? Was Harry Truman evil? As for the pilot and bombardier, they were by all accounts wonderful fellows, good fathers and family men. "Evil" is surely the clue to this age, the only quest appropriate to the age. For everything and everyone's either wonderful or sick and nothing is evil. God may be absent, but what if one should find the devil? Do you think I wouldn't be pleased to meet the devil? Ha, ha, I'd shake his hand like a long-lost friend. The mark of the age is that terrible things happen but there is no "evil" involved. People are either crazy, miserable, or wonderful, so where does the "evil" come in? There I was forty-five years old and I didn't know whether there was "evil" in the world.
Walker Percy (Lancelot)
Your Lordship, I know that this title is new to you, but one of the more enforced rules of the peerage is that one doesn’t perform sexual congress, or near it, at the dining table,” Margaret said sweetly over her shoulder. “You are seated next to Agnes, but I will dump a cup of ale over your head if you continue to behave like a canine in heat. That goes for you too, sweet Agnes.
Alyssa Cole (Agnes Moor's Wild Knight)
slow.             And she sang, like the moan of an autumn wind              Over the stubble left behind:               Alas, how easily things go wrong!                A sigh too much, or a kiss too long,               And there follows a mist and a weeping rain,                  And life is never the same again.                 Alas, how hardly things go right!                  'Tis hard to watch on a summer night,                  For the sigh will come and the kiss will stay,                  And the summer night is a winter day.             "Oh, lovely ghosts my heart is woes              To see thee weeping and wailing so.             Oh, lovely ghost," said the fearless knight,              "Can the sword of a warrior set it right?             Or prayer of bedesman, praying mild,              As a cup of water a feverish child,             Sooth thee at last, in dreamless mood              To sleep the sleep a dead lady should?
George MacDonald (Phantastes)
Judd returned during the last hour of my Friday shift. Without seeing him coming as I wiped a table, I knew something was up because two large burly men flinched. Turning, I found Judd moving fast towards me. Before I could speak, his hands cupped my face and his lips were on mine. Murmuring at the deepening kiss, I tossed aside the wash towel and wrapped my arms around his waist. He felt like perfection. Judd pulled away and stated to speak then his gaze focused on the two men watching us and smiling. His dark stare killed their enthusiasm and they returned to eating. “Back less than a minute and you’re already losing me tips,” I teased, causing Judd to smile grudging. “You taste like peppermint.” “I slept for shit and chewing gum keeps me alert.” Caressing his lips, I couldn’t stop grinning. “You’re so fucking beautiful and you’re mine. How did that happen?” Judd finally gave me a great smile. “I laid eyed on you and was done for.
Bijou Hunter (Damaged and the Knight (Damaged, #2))
The traumatic aspect of drinking ayahuasca is that in order to heal yourself, you must first confront the wound; by forcing you to deal with your own inner garbage, ayahuasca shows you things about yourself that you might not want to see. I wish that a whole country could drink ayahuasca—not merely every individual citizen of a country, but the country itself, the spirit of the country. I wish that a flag could drink ayahuasca, that we could just fold the Stars and Stripes into the shape of a cup, pour in the tea, and transport Uncle Sam into another dimension. He’d have to fight his way out of some nightmares, but he’d be cleansed. What would he find? William S. Burroughs wrote that when you drink ayahuasca, “The blood and substance of many races, Negro, Polynesian, Mountain Mongol, Desert Nomad, Polyglot Near East, Indian—new races as yet unconceived and unborn, combinations not yet realized—pass through your body.” When Burroughs drank, he actually saw himself transformed into both a black man and a black woman. What if some freedom-hating narcoterrorists snuck into the Fox News studios and put ayahuasca in Sean Hannity’s coffee, just before he went live? What would be the day’s fair and balanced news for America? If America drank ayahuasca and then withdrew into the filthy pit of its own heart, confronting all its fears and hate and finally purging itself of that negative energy, maybe America would come out Muslim: sucked through a black hole by the Black Mind, young Latter-Day Saint crackers with smooth cheeks, short-sleeved white shirts, and name tags confront nightmarish visions of getting swallowed whole by giant grotesque “Jolly Nigger” coin banks and then find themselves vomited back up as Nubian Islamic Hebrews in turbans and robes selling incense on the subways. The “God Hates Fags” pastor, eyes wild with a new passion for Allah, boards a helicopter to drop thousands of Qur’ans upon the small towns below. I want to see ayahuasca’s vine goddess clean out America’s poison. But what would happen if a religion could drink the vine? What if I poured ayahuasca into my Qur’an?
Michael Muhammad Knight (Tripping with Allah: Islam, Drugs, and Writing)
With a sudden strike of inspiration, she blurted, “Why don’t you write a novel? I know you have enough life experiences to fill a whole room with books, and with you as the main character.” She placed the coffee cup back into Havok’s hands before reaching down to grab the bottom of her shirt, pulling it over her head, and balling it up in her hands. Standing naked, she brought the shirt to her nose and closed her eyes. “I can be one of your characters,” she purred, her eyes still closed. “A sexually frustrated homemaker whom you rescue from a boring marriage and ravage anytime you wish.” “I couldn’t tell you the difference between a split infinitive and a sentence fragment. Besides, the protagonists in most novels are supposed to be some sort of good-looking and chivalrous knights in shining armor who, at no time, sleeps with another man’s wife, always knows how to work a toilet seat, cooks the perfect eggs, and never burns the toast.” Havok shrugged his shoulders. “I have a habit of burning toast.” With the shirt still against her nose, June opened her eyes. “Somehow, I think that you make it a habit of burning your toast.
Wayne Abrahamson (Black Silver)
XII.—LOCHINVAR. Oh! young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best; And save his good broadsword, he weapons had none, He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone; So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone; He swam the Esk river, where ford there was none; But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late; For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all; Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword - For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word - "Oh! come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?" "I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied; Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." The bride kissed the goblet: the knight took it up, He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar - "Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar. So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume: And the bride's-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung. "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran: There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
Walter Scott (Marmion)
Doan be scared, bébé,” he rasped with a brief kiss to my lips. “I’m goan to take care of you.” Staring down into my eyes, he began prodding deeper. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” And deeper. “My God, woman!” When he was all the way in, a strangled groan burst from his chest. Pain. I just stifled a wince, far from enamored with this. Voice gone hoarse, he said, “You’re mine now, Evangeline. No one else’s.” He must be right—because Death’s presence had disappeared completely. Jack held himself still, murmuring, “Doan hurt, doan hurt.” “It’s getting better.” “Ready for more?” I nodded. Then regretted it. Pain. Between gritted teeth, he said, “Evie, I got to touch you, got to kiss you. Or you woan like this.” A bead of sweat dropped from his forehead onto my neck, tickling its way down to my collarbone. “O-okay.” Still inside me, he raised himself up on his knees, his damp chest flexing. His hands covered me, cupped, kneaded, his thumbs rubbing. When I started arching my back for more, his body moved. And it was . . . Rapture. “Jack! Yes!” In a strained tone, he said, “God almighty—I am home, Evangeline.” Another thrust had me soaring. “Finally found the place . . . I’m supposed to be.” He leaned down, delivering scorching kisses up my neck and down to my br**sts, bringing me closer and closer to a just-out-of-reach peak. Each time he rocked over me, I sensed a barely harnessed aggression in him. Between panting breaths, I said, “Don’t hold back! You don’t have to with me.” I lightly grazed my nails over his back, spurring him until he was taking me with all his might—growling with need as I moaned. Pleasure built and built . . . broke free . . . wicked bliss seized me, seized him. As I cried out uncontrollably, he yelled, “À moi, Evangeline!” Mine. “Yes, Jack, yes. . . .” Then after-shudders. A final moan. A last groan. As his weight sank heavily over me, I ran my hands up and down his back, wanting him to know how much I loved that. How much I loved him. He raised himself up on his forearms, cheeks flushed, lids heavy with satisfaction. “I knew it would be like this.” His voice was even more hoarse. “I knew from the first moment I saw you.” Stroking my hair, he started kissing my face, pressing his lips to my jaw, my forehead, the tip of my nose. “I am home, Evie Greene,” he repeated between kisses. I never wanted him to stop. He’d been an amazing lover, but his afterplay? He was adoring. “The first priest I find, I’m goan to marry you. I’m all in, peekôn.” His kisses grew more and more heated. Against my lips, he rasped, “How come I can’t ever get enough of you?
Kresley Cole (Endless Knight (The Arcana Chronicles, #2))
WHEN YOU CROW UP IN KANSAS WEARING VERY LARGE SHORTS, thinking not very much of yourself, thinking mainly of your knees, looking mainly at your knees, your face a frisbee that cant fly, your teeth buck, your eyebrows rectangles, your forehead more than half of your face, your shirts shapeless, your shape shapeless, your Kansas shapeless, your lust absent, your legs bowed, your arches flat, your chest flat, your ears your only curves, your ears never pierced, your denim never dazzled, your sneakers white, your socks white, your teeth turquoise with rubber bands, your cheese orange, your milk whole, your bread wonder, your luxury a tuna casserole, your pale a neon pale, your fantasy to race a Mario Kart over the desert and into the final oasis, your earthly oasis a salted pretzel, your solitude total, your urges not even visible to you on the clearest days at the farthest horizons, your blank magnificent, your inertia wild and authentic, your nothing your preference, and then into it somebody walks, a Joan, this sudden hero can really take control. You’re susceptible first to idolatry, then to study, to apprenticeship, and finally to a kind of patient love that makes fun of itself and believes in itself without limit. Imagine being a pudding cup of a person and encountering a confident, elegant, powerful scholar who knows what to do with her shoulders. Imagine encountering you.
Rebecca Dinerstein Knight (Hex)
The passion of steeped leaves and stewed broth is a philter that triumphs in our veins. It is our heritage, it is our religion, it is the glory of our being. It is our honour to show the rest of the uncivilized world how a refined and educated society operates. Nothing can be done without tea. For a thing to be done right and to be done well, a hand must be furnished with a cup filled to the brim with the finest vintage of dried and simmered vegetation. There is no other way, I tell you. For a Marridon-born man not to like tea is immoral. It makes him low, shows him to be wholly vulgar and unable to appreciate and welter in all the rapture that such scandal-broth can supply. A sniveling guttersnipe might not like tea, but a knight, a member of the highest order, a banner of Marridonian heraldry, cannot dislike it. It is folly to think so, absolute humbuggery. You are one of the high boughs of Marridon’s ancient tree, sir knight. You are practically born with leaves to steep, to stew, to swelter, to sip. It is almost treasonous not to like tea. I am considered a recluse amongst Marridon’s high society, and even I understand why I must like tea. It is the drink of the thinking man, to be deliberated over and deliciated, to be relished and reveled in, that all its secrets of higher cogitation might be extricated and beloved. One must immerse himself in the distillation if he is to properly understand it. To drink tea ponderously is all the learned Marridonian should ever aspire to.
Michelle Franklin
You’re mine,” he said when he drew back, gazing down at her with a hunger that should have made her run. “No one else’s.” He gripped her hips and set her on the edge of his desk. Before she could figure out what he was doing, he brushed her dress up, spread her thighs, and ripped her thong. “Gavin, what—?” His tongue slipped into her vagina, and her mind went blank with shock. He dragged her to the edge of the desk and ate her as if his life depended on it. One hand pinned her thigh open while the other cupped her ass, drawing her tight to his intimate kiss. She couldn’t think as pleasure ricocheted through her. His talented mouth suckled her clit. Before she could counteract the pleasure or get a hold on it, her climax, violent and unstoppable, blasted through her. She wrapped her legs around his head, body bowing as he slammed his fingers into her, eliciting mind-numbing pleasure so great, her mind shut down and her body took over. When it became too much, she yanked on his hair, trying to get his mouth away from her. He moaned but didn’t budge. She could hear him swallow as he lapped up her juices. “G-Gavin, please stop,” she said hoarsely, shuddering. Without moving his head, he pushed her, so she sprawled on her back in a boneless heap on the slick surface of his desk. He used his fingers this time, curling and stroking. The heat began to build again. She tried to kick him, but his hands pinned her wide, and she had no defense as he teased oversensitive nerves. “I-I can’t,” she panted even as another climax punched through her. She erupted, body jerking as he pulled the strings like the master he was. When rational thought returned, she found him standing over her, fingers still buried between her legs. His eyes were ablaze with lust. “I didn’t ask the first time. You say I raped you. Will you let me have you?” It would feel damn good, but... “No.
Mia Knight (Crime Lord's Captive (Crime Lord, #1))
He took her near hand in his and raised it to his lips as he had once before. This time, he kissed it lightly, looking at her as he did, his expression unusually solemn. “Aye, sure, we’ll go in,” he said. “Just as soon as you look me in the eyes and tell me you’re doing this willingly and not just because you said you would.” She looked him right in the eye then and said, “You first.” Ian laughed as much at the look of determination on Lina’s face as at the challenge she had flung at him. When she continued to watch him, he sobered. He was still holding her hand, so he gave it a warm squeeze and said, “I’m more willing with every minute that passes, lass. I believe that we will suit each other well.” “This may be the most reckless thing you have done, sir.” “It may be, aye. But you are doing it with me, so I’ll wager that you won’t carp and correct me at every turn as some wives try to do.” “I would not do that in any event,” she said, peering into his face in that way she had that made him feel as if she would see right through him to his core. “I wonder if my opinions matter to you, though. I’m unlikely to change my feelings about many things that you do. Nor will I agree with you in all that you say.” “Then, likely we’ll fratch from time to time,” he said. “Would it help if I were to promise that I’ll always listen?” “It might,” she said doubtfully. “It would help more if you did always listen.” He choked on another bubble of laughter. Forcing himself to speak seriously, he said, “Have you hitherto found me an unwilling listener?” She shook her head, looking at his chest again. “No, sir, not recently.” Cupping her chin with his free hand, he tilted it up and kissed her gently on the lips. “Then, we must leave it there, I think. Your father is calling to us.” Her lips had parted. She stared at him blindly. “Lina?” “We must go in, aye,” she said. Whirling, she stepped through the archway, only to stop in her tracks when the hall erupted in applause and cheering. Rather pleased to know that his kiss had ruffled her more than any teasing had, he followed her.
Amanda Scott (The Knight's Temptress (Lairds of the Loch, #2))
EASY FRUIT PIE   Preheat oven to 375 degrees F., rack in the middle position. Note from Delores: I got this recipe from Jenny Hester, a new nurse at Doc Knight’s hospital. Jenny just told me that her great-grandmother used to make it whenever the family came over for Sunday dinner. Hannah said it’s easy so I might actually try to make it some night for Doc. ¼ cup salted butter (½ stick, 2 ounces, pound) 1 cup whole milk 1 cup white (granulated) sugar 1 cup all-purpose flour (pack it down in the cup when you measure it) 1 and ½ teaspoons baking powder ½ teaspoon salt 1 can fruit pie filling (approximately 21 ounces by weight—3 to 3 and ½ cups, the kind that makes an 8-inch pie) Hannah’s 1st Note: This isn’t really a pie, and it isn’t really a cake even though you make it in a cake pan. It’s almost like a cobbler, but not quite. I have the recipe filed under “Dessert”. You can use any canned fruit pie filling you like. I might not bake it for company with blueberry pie filling. It tasted great, but didn’t look all that appetizing. If you love blueberry and want to try it, it might work to cover the top with sweetened whipped cream or Cool Whip before you serve it. I’ve tried this recipe with raspberry and peach . . . so far. I have the feeling that lemon pie filling would be yummy, but I haven’t gotten around to trying it yet. Maybe I’ll try it some night when Mike comes over after work. Even if it doesn’t turn out that well, he’ll eat it. Place the butter in a 9-inch by 13-inch cake pan and put it in the oven to melt. Meanwhile . . . Mix the milk, sugar, flour, baking powder and salt together in a medium-size bowl. This batter will be a little lumpy and that’s okay. Just like brownie batter, don’t over-mix it. Using oven mitts or potholders, remove the pan with the melted butter from the oven. Pour in the batter and tip the pan around to cover the whole bottom. Then set it on a cold stove burner. Spoon the pie filling over the stop of the batter, but DO NOT MIX IN. Just spoon it on as evenly as you can. (The batter will puff up around it in the oven and look gorgeous!) Bake the dessert at 375 degrees F., for 45 minutes to 1 hour, or until it turns golden brown and bubbly on top. To serve, cool slightly, dish into bowls, and top with sweetened whipped cream or vanilla ice cream. It really is yummy. Hannah’s 2nd Note: The dessert is best when it’s baked, cooled slightly, and served right away. Alternatively you can bake it earlier, cut pieces to put in microwave-safe bowls, and reheat it in the microwave before you put on the ice cream or sweetened whipped cream. Yield: Easy Fruit Pie will serve 6 if you don’t invite Mike and Norman for dinner. Note from Jenny: I’ve made this by adding ¼ cup cocoa powder and 1 teaspoon of vanilla to the batter. If I do this, I spoon a can of cherry pie filling over the top.
Joanne Fluke (Red Velvet Cupcake Murder (Hannah Swensen, #16))
Kaden reached out with one hand and caressed my cheek. Next with both of his hands cupping my face, he moved in closer until I could feel his hot breath upon my face and his lips slowly seeping between mine. The pressure he was putting on my mouth forced my lips to spread open and allow him access. One of his hands dropped from my face and took me by the waist forcing our bodies to be as close as possible. I felt a vibration as if there was electricity crackling between us and it was such a shock to your core that your body needed to find the owner of where the electricity was coming from.
Jennifer Whitfield (Chosen)
I was having a cup of tea with Mohammed and saying that there are as many belief systems as there are people; to not acknowledge that means chaos, really. Of course, I had to bring Gladys Knight into it. She’s a bit of a goddess.
Tori Amos
You will need to use one cup of warm water and mix it with two teaspoons of baking soda. Stir it thoroughly until you have created a paste. Wet your face and gently massage the mixture into your face. After you have finished washing your face, you should rinse it and pat it dry.
B.J. Knights (The Wonders Of Baking Soda)
One half cup of cool water and one half teaspoon of baking soda is the recommended dosage for stomach upsets. 
B.J. Knights (The Wonders Of Baking Soda)
Cupping her chin, he said, "Sexiest female I've ever seen." One side of her mouth turned up with a smile while her eyes twinkled. "Even gray and leathery?" "Ever so bonny.
Lisa Carlisle (Knights of Stone: Bryce (Highland Gargoyles, #3))
You’re not going to change. I believe in you,” I say, looking deep into his eyes. “How can you be so sure?” “Because of the light I see shining here.” I press my palm against his chest. “It’s stronger than any darkness.” He reaches for my face, cupping my cheek. “You’re too good for this world, my love. But for you, I’ll try to stay the same. I promise.” “I have no doubt you will.” I smile to mask my fear.
Michelle Hercules (Broken Knights (Gifted Academy, #4))
More than once, over my first cup of coffee in the morning, or while trying to fall asleep at night, I’d tell myself: Maybe I’m a fool? Maybe this whole damn shoe thing is a fool’s errand? Maybe, I thought. Maybe.
Phil Knight (Shoe Dog)
Mr. Grattingly, while we might tarry in the conservatory in plain sight of the open door, the location you’ve chosen—ooph!” “The location I’ve chosen is perfect,” Grattingly said as he mashed his body against Louisa’s. He’d shoved her back against a tree, off the path, into the shadows. “Mr. Grattingly! How dare—” Wet lips landed on Louisa’s jaw, and the scent of wine-soured breath filled her head. “Of course, I dare. You all but begged me to drag you in here. With your tits nigh falling from your bodice, how do you expect a man to act?” He thrust his hand into the neckline of Louisa’s gown and closed his fingers around her breast. Louisa was too stunned for a moment to think, then something more powerful than fear came roaring forward. “You slimy, presuming, stinking, drunken, witless varlet!” She shoved against him hard, but he wasn’t budging, and those thick, wet lips were puckering up abominably. Louisa heard her brother Devlin’s voice in her head, instructing her to use her knee, when Grattingly abruptly shifted off her and landed on his bottom in the dirt. “Excuse me.” Sir Joseph stood not two feet away, casually unbuttoning his evening coat. His expression was as composed as his tone of voice, though even when he dropped his coat around Louisa’s shoulders, he kept his gaze on Grattingly. “I do hope I’m not interrupting.” “You’re not.” Louisa clutched his jacket to her shoulders, finding as much comfort in its cedary scent as she did in the body heat it carried. “Mr. Grattingly was just leaving.” “Who the hell are you,” Grattingly spat as he scrambled to his feet, “to come around and disturb a lady at her pleasures?” Somewhere down the path, a door swung closed. Louisa registered the sound distantly, the way she’d notice when rain had started outside though she was in the middle of a good book. Though this was not a good book. Instinctively Louisa knew she was, without warning or volition, in the middle of something not good at all. “I was not at my pleasures, you oaf.” She’d meant to fire the words off with a load of scathing indignation, but to Louisa’s horror, her voice shook. Her knees were turning unreliable on her, as well, so she sank onto the hard bench. “What’s going on here?” Lionel Honiton stood on the path, three or four other people gathered behind him. “Nothing,” Sir Joseph said. “The lady has developed a megrim and will be departing shortly.” “A megrim!” Grattingly was on his feet, though to Louisa it seemed as if he weaved a bit. “That bitch was about to get something a hell of a lot more—” Sir Joseph, like every other guest, was wearing evening gloves. They should not have made such a loud, distinct sound when thwacked across Grattingly’s jowls. Lionel stepped forth. “Let’s not be hasty. Grattingly, apologize. We can all see you’re a trifle foxed. Nobody takes offense at what’s said when a man’s in his cups, right?” “I’m not drunk, you ass. You—” “That’s not an apology.” Sir Joseph pulled on his gloves. “My seconds will be calling on yours. If some one of the assembled multitude would stop gawping long enough to fetch the lady’s sisters to her, I would appreciate it.” He said nothing more, just treated each member of the small crowd to a gimlet stare, until Lionel ushered them away. Nobody had a word for Grattingly, who stomped off in dirty breeches, muttering Louisa knew not what. Sir
Grace Burrowes (Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight (The Duke's Daughters, #3; Windham, #6))
Louisa watched her husband shave. He was careful, methodical, and efficient as he scraped dark whiskers from his face. He kept a mug—not a cup—of tea at his elbow throughout this masculine ritual, shaving around his mouth first so he might sip at his tea. “You missed a spot on your jaw, Husband.” Husband. Her very own husband. He turned, flecks of lather dotting his visage, and held his razor out to her. Not quite a challenge, but something more than an invitation. The moment called for a shaving sonnet. Louisa set her tea aside—tea Joseph had prepared for her—and climbed off the bed. She took the razor from him and eyed his jaw. “Were you trying to spare my sensibilities last night?” “You were indisposed.” They both fell silent while Louisa scraped the last of the whiskers from Joseph’s cheek. She appropriated the towel he’d draped over his shoulder and wiped his face clean. “I know I was indisposed, but you blew out all the candles before you undressed. I’ve seen naked men before.” She’d never slept with one wrapped around her, though. Such an arrangement was… cozy, and inclined one toward loquaciousness. “You’ve seen naked men?” There was something too casual in Joseph’s question. Louisa set the razor down and stepped back. “Growing up, there was always a brother or two to spy on, and I think they didn’t mind being spied on so very much, or they wouldn’t have been quite as loud when they went swimming. I attend every exhibition the Royal Society puts on, and the Moreland library is quite well stocked.” He kissed her, and by virtue of his mouth on hers, Louisa understood that her husband was smiling at her pronouncements. He gave her a deucedly businesslike kiss though, over in a moment. As Louisa lingered in her husband’s arms, sneaking a whiff of the lavender soap scent of his skin, she wondered if married kisses were different from the courting kind. “I have married a fearlessly naughty woman,” Joseph said, stroking a hand down her braid. “And to think I was concerned that I was imposing by asking you to share my bed last night.” “You needn’t be gallant. I talked your ears off.” And he’d listened. He hadn’t fallen asleep, hadn’t patted her arm and rolled over, hadn’t let her know in unsubtle ways that the day had been quite long enough, thank you very much.
Grace Burrowes (Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight (The Duke's Daughters, #3; Windham, #6))
This is a disaster.” “Don’t clench your teeth, dearest.” Jenny’s pencil paused in its movement across the page. “What is a disaster?” Louisa stomped into Jenny’s drawing room—it really was a drawing room, not a withdrawing room—and tossed herself onto the sofa beside her sister. “I’m to be married tomorrow. What is the worst, most indelicate, inconvenient thing that could befall a woman as her wedding night approaches?” Maggie, arrived to Town for the wedding, took a pair of reading glasses off her elegant nose. “Somebody put stewed prunes on the menu for the wedding breakfast?” Louisa couldn’t help but smile at her oldest sister’s question. Since childhood, stewed prunes had had a predictable effect on Louisa’s digestion. “Eve made sure that wasn’t the case.” “We’re to have chocolate,” Eve said, “lots and lots of chocolate. I put everybody’s favorites on the menu too, and Her Grace didn’t argue with any of them.” She was on a hassock near the windows, embroidering some piece of white silk. Maggie had the rocking chair near the fireplace, where a cheery blaze was throwing out enough heat to keep the small room cozy. “It’s your monthly, isn’t it?” Sophie leaned forward from the hearth rug and lifted the teapot. “The same thing happened to me after the baby was born. Sindal looked like he wanted to cry when I told him. I was finally healed up after the birth, and the dear man had such plans for the evening.” An admission like that from prim, proper Sophie could not go unremarked. “You told him?” Louisa accepted the cup of tea and studied her sister’s slight smile. “Have the last cake.” Maggie pushed the tray closer to Louisa. “If you don’t tell him, then it becomes a matter of your lady’s maid telling his gentleman’s gentleman that you’re indisposed, and then your husband comes nosing about, making sure you’re not truly ill, and you have to tell him anyway.” Louisa looked from Maggie to Sophie. Maggie was the tallest of the five sisters, and the oldest, with flame-red hair and a dignity that suited the Countess of Hazelton well. Sophie was a curvy brunette who nonetheless carried a certain reserve with her everywhere, as befit the Baroness Sindal. They were married, and they spoke to their husbands about… things. “Why can’t a husband just understand that indisposed is one thing and ill is another?” Louisa thought her question perfectly logical. Sophie
Grace Burrowes (Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight (The Duke's Daughters, #3; Windham, #6))
With regard to the sixteen Cards of figures, the correspondence between the four worlds and figures is: knave-world of action; knight-world of formation; queen-world of creation; king-world of emanation. Concerning the four “suits”- pentacles, swords, cups and wands- they correspond exactly to the structure of the sacred name YHVH and, consequently, to the four elements.
Robert Powell (Meditations on the Tarot: A Journey into Christian Hermeticism)
D shrugs. “Well, you see, I was walking along, minding my own business, when I saw a yacht called Roxy. Now, of course no one other than us could own a boat named after our girl, so I offered them lots of money to buy it.” He shrugs as Roxy laughs, cupping the mug of coffee Kenzo hands her. “You’re forgetting the part where he said no, so you beat the shit out of him with a frying pan and told him the boat was yours now and to call you Captain Crazy,” Garrett adds as he eats.
K.A. Knight (Den of Vipers)
KNIGHTS, KNAVES, POPES, AND PENTACLES: THE HISTORY OF THE HOLY GRAIL THROUGH TAROT “Not surprising,” Langdon said to Sophie. “Some of our keywords have the same names as individual cards.” He reached for the mouse to click on a hyperlink. “I’m not sure if your grandfather ever mentioned it when you played Tarot with him, Sophie, but this game is a ‘flash-card catechism’ into the story of the Lost Bride and her subjugation by the evil Church.” Sophie eyed him, looking incredulous. “I had no idea.” “That’s the point. By teaching through a metaphorical game, the followers of the Grail disguised their message from the watchful eye of the Church.” Langdon often wondered how many modern card players had any clue that their four suits—spades, hearts, clubs, diamonds—were Grail-related symbols that came directly from Tarot’s four suits of swords, cups, scepters, and pentacles. Spades were Swords—The blade. Male. Hearts were Cups—The chalice. Feminine. Clubs were Scepters—The Royal Line. The flowering staff. Diamonds were Pentacles—The goddess. The sacred feminine.
Dan Brown (The Da Vinci Code (Robert Langdon, #2))
I also wonder what would have happened if Steinbeck had forsaken Le Morte d’Arthur and invented a world of his own. Free to follow his own course, he might have crafted a major work of fantasy. It’s not as unlikely as it may seem. His first novel, Cup of Gold: A Life of Sir Henry Morgan, Buccaneer, with Occasional Reference to History, was one of high adventure, with more fiction than history.
John Steinbeck (The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights)
You’re going to regret this,” he tells me, his voice full of self-loathing.  Mimicking his move, I cup his face. “Never. You’re giving me more than you could ever know.
Tracy Lorraine (Dark Halloween Knight (Dark Knight Trilogy, #0.5; Knight's Ridge Empire, #9.5))
Maxi’s Tart (Lady Honey de Shera’s special tart recipe for Maximus who was, in fact, a finicky eater as a child. Guaranteed to make all future knights very happy with full tummies)   4 Tbsp. butter, melted  1/2 tsp. salt  pinch saffron  6 eggs  1/2 medium onion, coarsely chopped  1/2 lb. soft cheese, grated  1/2 cup currants   1 Tbsp. honey  1 tsp. parsley  1 tsp. sage  1 tsp. hyssop (this is an herb with a minty-ish taste) 1 tsp. powder douce (equal parts ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves) Grind saffron with salt, mix with butter, and set aside. Place onions into boiling beef broth and cook until just tender and drain. Beat eggs and combine with saffron-butter, onions, and remaining ingredients, pour into pastry shell, and bake at 350°F for one hour.
Kathryn Le Veque (The Thunder Warrior: The de Shera Brotherhood (Lords of Thunder: The de Shera Brotherhood, #2))
Strawberry Cheesecake Streusel Muffins Streusel Topping 3 tablespoons White Sugar 3 tablespoons Dark Brown Sugar ½ cup + 3 tablespoons Flour Pinch Coarse Kosher Salt 5 tablespoons butter, melted Cream Cheese Filling 4 ounces cream cheese ⅓ cup white sugar 2 teaspoons beaten egg 1 tsp vanilla extract Muffin Batter 2 cups all purpose flour ½ cup granulated sugar 2 tsp baking powder ½ tsp salt 1 egg ¼ cup canola oil 1 cup whole milk (original recipe used ¾ cup) 1 tsp vanilla extract 1½ cups strawberries, cut into small pieces Instructions cont… Preheat oven to 400. Line a muffin tin with cupcake liners and spray each liner with non-stick spray. Set aside. To make the streusel topping, mix together sugars, flour and salt. Drizzle warm butter over mixture and toss with fork to form pea size pieces. Set aside. To make cream cheese filling, beat cream cheese, sugar, egg and vanilla extract together with an electric mixer in a medium bowl until smooth. Set aside. To make the muffins. Whisk flour, sugar baking powder and salt in a medium bowl. In a separate bowl, whisk the egg, oil, milk and vanilla extract. Add the dry ingredients into the milk mixture. Stir until just incorporated. Do not over mix or you will get a tough muffin. Fold in the strawberries. Scoop a heaping tablespoon of the muffin batter into each cupcake liner. Add a heaping tablespoon of the cream cheese filling. Add another heaping tablespoon on batter onto of the cream cheese filling. I was able to fill the muffin tins full. Sprinkle the streusel topping on the tops. Bake for 25 minutes. Allow to cool in muffin tin for 10 minutes. Remove and chow down.
Sapphire Knight (Gangster (Chicago Crew))
Then I think-" she paused, and he could see her battle sudden tears of her own- "that I am ready to love the dragon again." He shook his head. "No... no more dragons, I promise." She cupped his face in between her hands. "Oh Drake, do you not see? You will always have a little of the dragon in you, and you should. It will aid you in your mission to change some of the atrocities of our world. And what lies between you and me... it no longer matters. For you see, dragon or no, I have become a knight." She smiled through her tears. "Your petit chevalier, in truth. I first protected the dragon, but God has tamed him. And I have always loved him. So breathe on, and make your fire. For I am not afraid." They cried together then, staring into each other's eyes. It was the end of one thing and the beginning of another. And Drake had no doubt. The love between them had been tested, purified by God's fire, even as the smith refines his silver. And now... it was ready to be poured forth, molded into their story.
Jamie Carie (The Duchess and the Dragon)
Furthermore, she poured tea on a regular basis. Madeline didn't care to, while Eleanor found comfort in the scent, the warmth, the routine. But right now, with all of Mr. Knight's attention focused on her, the task became an ordeal. The pot seemed to weigh too much. The cup rattled in the saucer as she picked it up. She tilted the pot, aimed the spout toward the cup- And in that same, smiling, deceptively pleasant voice, Mr. Knight said, "I like having a duchess wait on me." Both of Eleanor's hands shook. The hot liquid splashed on her fingers. She dropped the cup. As she reached for it, it shattered against the table. A shard jabbed into her palm. She yanked her hand back and closed her fingers. In a rush, he came and knelt beside her. "Are you hurt? Did you burn yourself?" "No, no, I'm fine." She wasn't fine. She was embarrassed. She cultivated the graceful moves of a lady for a reason. She hated making a spectacle of herself- and now her nerves had betrayed her. "Please, Mr. Knight, stand up." For all the notice he took of her, she might not have spoken. Turning her hand to the light, he at once detected the slight cut beneath her little finger, oozing a sullen drop of scarlet blood. "You've cut yourself." "Only a little." She tried to tug her hand back. "I was clumsy. I broke your beautiful cup." "To hell with the cup." He pressed his finger lightly on the cut. She winced. "You're lucky. There's nothing in there." Lifting her hand to his mouth, he sucked the small wound. Shocked, she stared at him. His head bent over her hand, his chiseled features were intent, serious. His mouth was warm, wet, and the suction he used made her feel... odd. More animal than human, pain and intimacy mixing... never, ever had a man's mouth touched her on any part, in any way.
Christina Dodd (One Kiss From You (Switching Places, #2))
Trying to retain his enthusiasm, he led her toward the opening in the overgrown boxwood hedge where a pair of musk rose bushes formed a thorny turnstile, marking the exit from the garden to the fallow fields and woods beyond. They stopped to take deep, lung-filling inhalations of the musk roses' delicious, honeylike perfume. Exclaiming with unaffected joy at the roses' late-blooming beauty, Alice cupped one of the creamy white blossoms gracefully in her gloved hand. He picked one, pulled off the thorns, and offered it to her. She took it in silence, searching his face warily, then turned away and walked on. Lucien just stood there watching her, praying he wouldn't do anything wrong.
Gaelen Foley (Lord of Fire (Knight Miscellany, #2))
RECIPE FOR APPLESAUCE SPICE CAKE WITH MAPLE FROSTING OR CREAM CHEESE FROSTING CAKE 2½ cups all-purpose flour or cake flour 1 teaspoon salt ¼ teaspoon baking powder 1½ teaspoons baking soda ¾ teaspoon cinnamon ½ teaspoon allspice ½ teaspoon cloves 1¾ cups sugar (scant) 1½ cups unsweetened applesauce ½ cup water ½ cup unsalted butter 2 eggs ½ cup chopped walnuts (optional) ¾ cup raisins (optional) Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter and flour two 8" or two 9" round cake pans or one 9"x13" pan. Mix first 7 dry ingredients in medium bowl. Blend sugar, applesauce, butter, eggs and water in large
Carla Neggers (Christmas Ever After: A Knights Bridge Christmas/Sweet Silver Bells/Mistletoe, Baby)
bowl. Add dry ingredients and combine on low mixer speed just until blended. Turn mixer to high speed for about 3 minutes. Fold in optional walnuts and/or raisins by hand. Pour batter into pans and bake. Plan on about 30–35 minutes for 9-inch layers and a bit longer for 8-inch layers; 50 to 60 minutes for a rectangular pan. A toothpick or tip of a sharp knife inserted into the center of the cake should come out clean. When the cake is cool, frost with maple frosting or cream-cheese frosting. MAPLE FROSTING 4 tablespoons butter (preferably unsalted) ¼ to cup pure maple syrup 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract 2½ cups confectioner’s sugar 2 to 3 tablespoons milk (preferably whole) Blend together butter, syrup, vanilla and about a third of the sugar. Alternate milk and sugar. Use as much milk as needed for consistency. If necessary, refrigerate cake before serving to set frosting. CREAM CHEESE FROSTING 8 oz. cream cheese, softened (preferably full fat)
Carla Neggers (Christmas Ever After: A Knights Bridge Christmas/Sweet Silver Bells/Mistletoe, Baby)
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened 2½ to 3 cups confectioner’s sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla (or a bit more to taste) Blend together cream cheese and butter with enough confectioner’s sugar for good spreading consistency. Stir in vanilla. Refrigerate frosted cake before serving.
Carla Neggers (Christmas Ever After: A Knights Bridge Christmas/Sweet Silver Bells/Mistletoe, Baby)
Oh, you bad servant, would you remain here, tasting the joys of heaven while the Cup that I hold in My hand runs over with the tears of the poor? Know that this Cup is bitter and ever I drink it to the dregs and yet it is always full. But to whom, Lord, should I take Your letter? To the Pope, to the kings or emperors? To the bishops or the knights? Surely if I take them Your letter their hearts will be touched and they will end the sufferings of the poor. My letter is not for them, Peter, for truly the rich have eyes and do not see and ears and do not hear, Take My letter to those whom I love best, to the poor and humble: to those who make the corn grow and have not bread, who spin and weave the wool and are not clothed, who tend the vines and yet drink only water; to those who delve in the mines of silver and copper and never see a coin; to those who tan leather shoes and go barefoot, and those who heat the furnaces to make the iron with which the rich kill them. To all these, Peter, you shall carry My letter too tell them their time is at hand. Let them repent of their sins and come to Me. I appoint them to meet Me in Jerusalem. (pg 4)
Zoé Oldenbourg (The Heirs of the Kingdom)
Do – do you – ah – think we should be doing this?” Her mouth drew his attention. He moved one hand up to cup her cheek and then tipped her head back. She stared back at him, eyes half-closed and darkened with need. Placing his hand behind her neck, he whispered, “Aye.
Lisa Carlisle (Knights of Stone: Calum (Highland Gargoyles, #5))