Pretty Bride Quotes

Turn back, turn back,thou pretty bride, Within this house thou must not abide. For here do evil things betide.

Every bride is beautiful. It’s like newborn babies or puppies. They can’t help it.

But American history is not meant to be pretty. It is plain. It is simple. It is strong and truthful. Full of blood.

OK, now let’s have some fun. Let’s talk about sex. Let’s talk about women. Freud said he didn’t know what women wanted. I know what women want. They want a whole lot of people to talk to. What do they want to talk about? They want to talk about everything. What do men want? They want a lot of pals, and they wish people wouldn’t get so mad at them. Why are so many people getting divorced today? It’s because most of us don’t have extended families anymore. It used to be that when a man and a woman got married, the bride got a lot more people to talk to about everything. The groom got a lot more pals to tell dumb jokes to. A few Americans, but very few, still have extended families. The Navahos. The Kennedys. But most of us, if we get married nowadays, are just one more person for the other person. The groom gets one more pal, but it’s a woman. The woman gets one more person to talk to about everything, but it’s a man. When a couple has an argument, they may think it’s about money or power or sex, or how to raise the kids, or whatever. What they’re really saying to each other, though, without realizing it, is this: “You are not enough people!” I met a man in Nigeria one time, an Ibo who has six hundred relatives he knew quite well. His wife had just had a baby, the best possible news in any extended family. They were going to take it to meet all its relatives, Ibos of all ages and sizes and shapes. It would even meet other babies, cousins not much older than it was. Everybody who was big enough and steady enough was going to get to hold it, cuddle it, gurgle to it, and say how pretty it was, or handsome. Wouldn't you have loved to be that baby?

Oh boy. Too drunk to hold on to a whiskey and Coke and the word "pretty." That's not a combination with a positive outcome. Not good at all. That's the secret password that usually leaves me trying to find a ride home in the morning.

Miresy is so so soooo pretty. I loooove her ears.” He presses his lips together before resuming his reading.

The vampire had to be pretty hard up to come after someone who looked the way she did-like Frankenstein’s bride.

We’re going to get a couple pretty, fluffy inches in the morning for a gorgeous December evening wedding. Go get ready for rehearsal.” “I’m afraid of rehearsal. My voice is going to squeak. I think I’m getting a zit right in the middle of my chin. I’m going to trip coming down the aisle. It’s okay if Carter trips. People expect it. But –” … “Carter isn’t nervous. “Mac narrowed her eyes in a scowl. “I could hate him for that.” “Mackensie.” Parker turned from the computer. “I was in the kitchen this morning when Mrs. G made him sit down and eat some breakfast. He put maple syrup in his coffee.” “He did?” She threw up her arms in a cheer. “He is nervous. I feel better.

You ended up hurting as well. That's pretty obvious.” She leaned over and ruffled his hair. “Sucks when the spider falls for the fly.

[Prince Humperdinck] was seventy-five minutes away from his first female murder, and he wondered if he could get his fingers to her throat before even the start of a scream. He had been practicing on giant sausages all the afternoon and had the movements down pretty pat, but then, giant sausages weren’t necks and all the wishing in the world wouldn’t make them so.

Buttercup could picture Westley rounding the final corner. There were four guards outside waiting. At ten seconds per guard, she began figuring, but then stopped, because numbers had always been her enemy. She looked down at her hands. Oh, I hope he still thinks I’m pretty, she thought; those nightmares took a lot out of me.

We fit. The biological compatibility Lowe told me about, the one between mates . . . I don’t presume to know what that would be like. All I know is that we feel pretty fucking— “Perfect,

Is your future faery bride too ugly for you?” Rhys leaned back against the head rest and studied the seat back in front of him. “That’s not it.” “Too old or too young?” “No.” I rolled my eyes, but smiled. This was why he was upset. He hadn’t landed the perfect bride-to-be. “Her pretty faery wings aren’t the right shade of sparkly lavender and pink?” His eyes flashed with anger. “Actually, she doesn’t have faery wings.” “She doesn’t?” “No. As a matter of fact, the dragon oracle tells me the girl I’m supposed to marry, the one destined to someday become the queen of the faery realm, isn’t a faery at all.” Okay, that was surprising. Not a faery? “She isn’t?” I said. “Then who is she?” His expression was severe as he turned to look me right in the eye. “You,” he said

Can I play with you?” She eyes my laptop eagerly. “No.” Her pretty mouth curves into a pout. “Why?” “Because.” What are we even going to do? Long division?

...I'm pretty sure you could actually grate cheese of his abs. ...I had a sudden image of him using his abs to grate my face.

It's a pretty big deal, not being dead, and I wanted to stay that way.

The only thing that separated the so-called real world from high school was a locker combination

It’s all just screams and whispers, just prettied-up and dyed. Your fuck-façade all faded, a tarnished future bride . . .

I will follow you anywhere, my pretty raven.” Magnar stood. “All you have to do is ask.

There were many stories of girls—brave girls, foolish girls, reckless girls, pretty girls—who went into the woods searching for fortune or adventure, only to encounter a monster. Whether man or beast, the monster served as an allegory for all the things that could befall a girl who strayed from the path. If she were valorous and her heart was pure, the stories said, she could rise above being brought low by hubris. But the stories never talked about the other girls—the ones who never came out of the woods and found themselves an unwilling bride to the venal darkness within those trees. The girls whose virtue was not quite enough to resist the seasoned allure of the wicked villain and who, as a result, found that men, like beasts, could devour the unwary, and that it could feel so good to be consumed.

Son, you looks like a character witness for a nightmare. You ugly enough to have your face capped.” “We can’t all be pretty,” he grumbled. “Well, you ain’t no gemstone, son. You got a face for swim trunk ads.” “I’m seventy-one, Sister Paul. I’m a spring chicken compared to you. I don’t see no mens doing backflips at the door over you. At least I ain’t got enough wrinkles in my face to hold ten days of rain.

Dear Mommy I’m doing really good, I get all A’s in school And I don’t cry at bedtime anymore, Though my new mom said I could. I remember how much you hate tears, You slapped them out of me To make me strong, I think it worked. I learned to use a microscope And my hair grew two inches. It’s pretty, just like yours. I’m not allowed to clean the house, Only my own room, Isn’t that a funny rule? You say kids are so much trouble Getting born, they better pay it back. I’m not supposed to take care Of the other kids, only me, I sort of like it. I still get the hole in my stomach When I do something wrong, I have a saying on my mirror “Kids make mistakes, It’s OK,” I read it every day, Sometimes I even believe it. I wonder if you ever think of me Or if you’re glad the troublemaker’s gone, I never want to see you again. I love you, Mommy.

No. Do not place the little human in your nest. Because, once things were placed there, he had a tendency to become violently possessive about them. Things in his nest, especially pretty little things, were his.

Her smile when he told her had been unusually bright as it beamed from her delicate, pretty face. She is so lovely to behold, he thought at the time. He ached for this female in so many different ways that it stirred both his heart and his body.

Little Dorrit’s old friend held the inkstand as she signed her name, and the clerk paused in taking off the good clergyman’s surplice, and all the witnesses looked on with special interest. ‘For, you see,’ said Little Dorrit’s old friend, ‘this young lady is one of our curiosities, and has come now to the third volume of our Registers. Her birth is in what I call the first volume; she lay asleep, on this very floor, with her pretty head on what I call the second volume; and she’s now a-writing her little name as a bride in what I call the third volume.

Don’t be sorry, Darlin’”, he said in his best cowboy drawl, “for I’m certainly not. It’s not every day a man like me gets to assist such a pretty lady. Any time you need help in or out of a wagon, you just give me a holler” he said in a teasing tone, “I’ll be right there, hoping you’ll fall in my arms again.

Many a morning the hapless Feldman would find his garbled interpretations of Jewish law amended by the pretty housewife whose sharp Talmudic corrections from behind the curtain fluttered into the air like butterflies as she piped out, “Karl, what are you talking about? There are four different versions of how Cain died!

With headlines like "Marry Now or Never," the specter of marriage loomed. It was a constant fear, a threat, a reminder. But Sylvia wasn't baited by those pretty tales of line and hook: the bride-white cake, the prime rib and steak, marriage- that bleak fable- with Husband cast as warden, the future dead clear and blighted.

My skin looks pretty reptilian these days, too. All scaly and dangly where it used to be round with muscles. The change was so slow I didn’t even know it was happening ‘til one day I looked down and half my arm was hanging down like a towel on a clothesline. Surprised me so much I thought I had a disease, ’till I realized I was just old.

Will you marry me and be the odd alien bride to this scandalous, debauched lord?” Her smile is brilliant. “Of course I will.

Well, Miss, if the choice is between sharin' a room with my kid brother or a pretty filly the likes of you, I think you'd know my choice.

Being kind was more important than looking pretty.

Well, then. I think that makes you pretty well married.” Fletcher stuffed the paper back in his pocket. “See you both at your funeral.

Even her worst enemy was forced to admit that Fräulein Ann wielded a very pretty spade.

Both Pope John Paul II and Bill Clinton told how much they loved the movie, proving that 'The Princess Bride' appeals to saints and sinners alike.

My heart had only barely recovered from my earlier worries about her. And now, it was being pummelled by her prettiness. I was going to die a very early death at this rate.

Yes, my little starshine, I want to knot that pretty body of yours,” he rumbled in his gruff voice, causing her to shiver.

You look pretty with my cock in your mouth. I don’t want you to take it away.

He hadn’t realised he was giving up on his hatred – until a pretty Elf tried to smother it in her kindness.

Pretty words are nice, but sometimes you're better off picking the sea monster.

We like ‘em mean, we like ‘em keen, and we like confusing the fuck out of the grump. It’s even better when we can flit around them like a pretty fairy, dazzling them with our charm.

All he knew was that he was growing annoyingly infatuated with her beauty. Pretty things like her shouldn’t exist, much less sleep so trustingly, peacefully, and sweetly against his chest.

Where he listened some more until I’d pretty well run it down. Then he walked me back and—” “You invite him back in and have sex,” Emma prompted. “Get your own sexy breakfast story. I felt mildly embarrassed, and really grateful, so I give him a little peck. A ‘thanks, pal’ kind of peck. The next thing I know I’m in the middle of a brain-frying, blood-pumping, jungle-drum-beating kiss.

Stop fussing,” Legna admonished her, tapping her finger against Isabella’s absently energetic hand. “I’m getting married in a few minutes, Legna, I think I’ve a right to fuss.” Isabella felt her heart turn over as she spoke aloud, listening to herself talk about her impending marriage. “Well, brides are supposed to be blushing, as I understand it. At the moment you are no less than five shades of gray.” Legna continued with her interrupted weaving of more ribbons in Isabella’s hair. “And as much as it matches the silver of your dress, I think you would look better with a little natural color.” Legna reached to smooth down a portion of the shimmering silver fabric that draped off of the bride’s shoulders in a Grecian fashion. “You know,” she pressed, “there are only two nights in a year when Demons perform a joining ceremony. Samhain and Beltane. If you pass out tonight, you will have to wait until next spring.” “Thanks for the bulletin. You’re too kind,” Isabella retorted dryly. “Actually, purely out of kindness, I will tell you that your future husband is just shy of tossing his cookies himself, so you can take comfort in knowing he is just as nervous as you are.” “Legna!” Bella laughed. “You’re a wretch!” She turned to look at the female Demon, briefly admiring how pretty she looked in her soft white chiffon gown. “And how would you know? You’re standing too close to me to be able to sense his emotions.” “Because when I went to fetch the ribbons, he was seated next to Noah with his head between his knees.” Legna giggled. “I have never seen anything rattle Jacob before. I cannot help but find it amusing.

Blonde movie stars in the 1950s seem to have been pretty much divided between breathy bombshells (Marilyn Monroe, Jayne Mansfield) and slim, elegant swans (Grace Kelly, Eva Marie Saint). Producers didn’t really know what to do with Judy Holliday, a brilliant, versatile actress who simply didn’t fit into any easy category. Though she left behind a handful of delightful films, one can’t help feeling a sense of waste that her gifts were not better handled by Hollywood (or, for that matter, by Broadway). Perhaps, like Lucille Ball, Judy Holliday would have blossomed with a really good sitcom; but, unlike Lucy, she never got one.

I’m a little let down,” Laurel said. “I expect a sexy breakfast story to have sex, not just your very pretty boobs.” “I’m not done. Part two begins when I’m back home working, and carelessly answer the phone. My mother.

But even as a kid you learn pretty quick that church doesn’t start and stop with the hours of service posted on the church sign. No, church dragged on like the last hour of the school day as we waited in the hot car with Dad for Mom to finish socializing in the fellowship hall. Church lingered long into the gold-tinted Sunday afternoons when Amanda and I gamboled around the house, stripped down to our white slips like little brides. Church showed up at the front door with a chicken casserole when the whole family was down with the flu and called after midnight to ask for prayer and to cry. It gossiped in the pickup line at school and babysat us on Friday nights. It teased me and tugged at my pigtails and taught me how to sing. Church threw Dad a big surprise party for his fortieth birthday and let me in on the secret ahead of time. Church came to me far more than I went to it, and I’m glad.

If he hadn’t licked almost every inch of her legs, hips, backside, and torso, he may have preferred she’d worn one of the longer, heavier dresses. Now, instead, he just marvelled at the pretty mermaid swimming in his own private lake.

Another pause, and my ears strain to hear Agakor's answer. "She's…breathtaking. I am well pleased." Breathtaking? I want to melt onto the floor into a puddle. I'm…breathtaking to someone. For the first time in my life, I feel pretty and wanted.

When he looks at me, Meri, he makes me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world, as if he could gaze at me for a lifetime and never grow tired of my face. As if he sees not just who I am, but who I can become. And when I look at him, not only do I see a handsome suitor who makes my heart flutter, I see a solid, dependable man who can be counted on no matter how difficult the road may become. A man who wants more than a pretty ornament to dangle on his arm. A man who wants a partner.

I only managed to last a week on a dating website. You see, because of 'The Princess Bride' I have high standards when it comes to love and I just didn't believe that any beautiful farm boys would be on match.com. How would he have wifi up in his mountainous hovel?

Then he placed his hands in his pockets and stood in the middle of the street alone, giving the silent roaring rage inside him time to ease down and out, and after several long minutes he once again became who he was, a solitary middle-aged man in the August of life looking for a few more Aprils, an aging bachelor in a floppy suit standing on a tired, worn Brooklyn street in the shadow of a giant housing project built by a Jewish reformer named Robert Moses who forgot he was a reformer, building projects like this all over, which destroyed neighborhoods, chasing out the working Italians, Irish, and Jews, gutting all the pretty things from them, displacing them with Negroes and Spanish and other desperate souls clambering to climb into the attic of New York life, hoping that the bedroom and kitchen below would open up so they could drop in, and at minimum join the club that to them included this man, an overweight bachelor in an ill-fitting suit, watching a shiny car roaring away, the car driven by a handsome young man who was pretty and drove away as if he were barreling into a bright future, while the dowdy heavyset man watched him jealously, believing the man so pretty and handsome had places to go and women to meet and things to do, and the older heavyset man standing behind eating his fumes on a sorry, dreary, crowded old Brooklyn street of storefronts and tired brownstones had nothing left but the fumes of the pretty sports car in his face.

Boys got to do whatever they wanted, and girls got to sit around looking pretty. I wasn’t very pretty, but my parents still seemed to have lofty plans for me: white gloves, a proper school, and becoming a Lovely Bride someday. Maman had already told me that if I was lucky, I’d be engaged by the time I was twenty, just like her.

I can feel every bit of his naked skin, from his hard, hairy thighs to the hair covering his muscular abdomen. He's nothing like I daydreamed a husband would be. When I was a young girl, I imagined a sweet-faced knight with pale hair and pretty eyes, who would delicately hold my hand and read me poems. The reality is so much better.

You really shouldn’t have come,” Lord Blackthorne said, his hand slipping across my face to cup my jaw, fingers brushing my cheek. I shrieked, shrinking back and kicking at my captor with stocking-covered feet. “Such a pretty child, in such an ugly place. Tell me, do you think your dear husband would mind if I stole a kiss from the bride?” Kicking him in the shin, I spun, making him release me. I climbed off whatever I’d landed on, aiming my palms out and wishing that I could see what the heck was happening. Flames from dozens of candles blinked at me as they lit with the power of my mind. Lord Blackthorne touched my shoulder, his other hand curving around the bodice of my gown, toying with the beading along the neckline.

Hungry?” he asks. “The wager?” I remind him. “I’m getting there—it’s related to my question.” He lifts his chin to the meat locker. “They have good steaks here.” And just like that, I’m interested in whatever he’s suggesting. “They do. What’re you thinking?” “They have a porterhouse for two, three, or four.” I haven’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours, and the idea of a big juicy steak has me salivating. “Yeah?” “So, I say we split the one for three, and whoever eats more wins.” “I’m going to guess their porterhouse for three could feed us both for a week.” “I’m betting you’re right.” His adorable grin should be accompanied by the sound of a silvery ding. “And your dinner is on me.” For not the first time, it occurs to me to ask him how he makes ends meet, but I can’t—not here, and maybe not when we’re alone, either. “You don’t have to do that.” “I think I can handle treating my wife to dinner on our wedding night.” Our wedding night. My heart thuds heavily. “That’s a lot of meat. No pun intended.” He grins enthusiastically. “I’d sure like to see how you handle it.” “You’re betting Holland can’t finish a steak?” Lulu chimes in from behind me. “Oh, you sweet summer child.” *** As we get up, I groan, clutching my stomach. “Is this what pregnancy feels like? Not interested.” “I could carry you,” Calvin offers sweetly, helping me with my coat. Lulu pushes between us, giddy from wine as she throws her arms around our shoulders. “You’re supposed to carry the bride across the threshold to be romantic, not because she’s broken from eating her weight in beef.” I stifle a belch. “The way to impress a man is to show him how much meat you can handle, don’t you know this, Lu?” Calvin laughs. “It was a close battle.” “Not that close,” Mark says, beside him. We went so far as to have the waiter split the cooked steak into two equal portions, much to the amused fascination of our tablemates. I ate roughly three-quarters of mine. Calvin was two ounces short. “Calvin Bakker has a pretty solid ring to it,” I say. He laugh-groans. “What did I get myself into?” “A marriage to a farm girl,” I say. “It’s best you learn on day one that I take my eating very seriously.

Husband,” she protested. “I can ride. I am not hurt.” “Yer gown is torn and bloodied and ye’ve added yet another bruise to yer pretty face. Do no’ tell me yer no’ hurt,” he said grimly, shifting her about before him until she was pressed snugly up against his groin. Satisfied with her position, he then gestured for the others to follow, and turned his horse toward the castle.

…and so, ladies and gentlemen, I give you, the bride to be.” I applauded because everyone else did, on automatic, and looked up to behold the linear mortal who Vincent had decided to occupy himself with this time. Would she be a Frances, chosen to make an unseen Hugh jealous while playing tennis on the lawn? Or Leticia, perhaps, pretty but vacant; perhaps a Mei, adding that air of respectability as he went about his nefarious deeds, or a Lizzy, a companion in dark hours, a figure who was nine parts being there to only one part chemistry. She stepped to the front of the room, a woman with a hint of grey streaking the edge of her hair, dressed in a mermaid dress the colour of clotted cream, and she was Jenny. My Jenny. Memory, moving too fast to process.

Why are you crying, Lenora?” he groaned.  “Should I stop?” “You like me?” she asked in a small voice. What the hell?  “Of course, I fucking like you.” He stared down at her thunderstruck.  But really, how could she know?  He was pretty taken aback by his declaration himself.  “I like you,” he said firmly.  “But.” She hesitated.  “You don’t like anyone.” “Bullshit,” he said flatly.  “I like you.  A lot.

dates are going to pass. As we read in Ecclesiastes 3 above there's a SEASON under the sun for everything. I'm pretty sure that Saul missed out on a lot of things because of his disobedience to the Lord and I don't want that to be your story. Each season in your life is truly prepping you for the next so you have to let God prep you. Let Him burn out of you the things that aren't like Him! We must learn to trust Him through this journey.

On top of all that, both Transformer and the single from it are enormous hits. Lou Reed is not only a legend: he's a star. In one of the interviews he did last summer, Lou said: 'I can create a vibe without saying anything, just by being in the room.' ¶ He was right. You sit yourself down, and sure enough you become aware pretty fast that there's this vaguely unpleasant fat man sitting over there with a table full of people including his blonde bride.

Inevitably, his vision verged toward the fantastic; he published a scattering of stories - most included in this volume - which appeared to conform to that genre at least to the degree that the fuller part of his vision could be seen as "mysteries." For Woolrich it all was fantastic; the clock in the tower, hand in the glove, out of control vehicle, errant gunshot which destroyed; whether destructive coincidence was masked in the "naturalistic" or the "incredible" was all pretty much the same to him. RENDEZVOUS IN BLACK, THE BRIDE WORE BLACK, NIGHTMARE are all great swollen dreams, turgid constructions of the night, obsession and grotesque outcome; to turn from these to the "fantastic" was not to turn at all. The work, as is usually the case with a major writer was perfectly formed, perfectly consistent, the vision leached into every area and pulled the book together. "Jane Brown's Body" is a suspense story. THE BRIDE WORE BLACK is science fiction. PHANTOM LADY is a gothic. RENDEZVOUS IN BLACK was a bildungsroman. It does not matter.

Little Dorrit's old friend held the inkstand as she signed her name, and the clerk paused in taking off the good clergyman's surplice, and all the witnesses looked on with special interest. 'For, you see,' said Little Dorrit's old friend, 'this young lady is one of our curiosities, and has come now to the third volume of our Registers. Her birth is in what I call the first volume; she lay asleep, on this very floor, with her pretty head on what I call the second volume; and she's now a-writing her little name as a bride in what I call the third volume.' They

You don’t get it. He cut all the way through my cheek to the inside of my mouth.” “But you’re alive. And I love you.” “Say that when the bandages come off,” she said in her dull, doped-up voice. “I make the Bride of Frankenstein look like Liz Taylor.” I took her hand. “I read something once—” “I don’t think I’m quite ready for a literary discussion, Jake.” She tried to turn away again, but I held onto her hand. “It was a Japanese proverb. ‘If there is love, smallpox scars are as pretty as dimples.’ I’ll love your face no matter what it looks like. Because it’s yours.

Pretty soon, you find yourself spending more time on your front lawn than you do inside the house. And because your house tells the story of rainy winters and hot summers, including wear on the garage door and some faded paint, you’re working hard to maintain the outside. But over time, you lose sight of the fact that your house was made to inhabit, not just evaluate; you were meant to live inside your home, not on the front lawn. You also forget that your home is yours—which means it doesn’t have to look like the neighbors’. Your home is a place that allows you to express your own style, to entertain, and to store the resources you need to get through the demands of life. When it comes to our bodies, most of us are living on the front lawn. We are looking at our bodies from the outside only, and we have not yet learned how to move back in. In other words, we are so fixated on our appearance that we lose the ability to sense what is happening inside. Even if all our attention is on the outside, the house still exists—for us. We are all born living on the “inside”—it really is the only option. But as we start to realize we have a public body—that other people comment on, celebrate, use, grab, or critique—it gets harder to resist leaving the home that has always been ours.

Pretty speech,” he said. “It’s the only one I’ve got.” “I know what’s really going on here. You’re scared to step into my world. Afraid you can’t hack it. Much better to hide here and be a big fish in a very small pond.” “If that’s the way you see it, fine.” I raised my chin. “I have nothing to prove to you, Rogan.” “But now I have something to prove to you,” he said. “I promise you, I will win, and by the time I’m done, you won’t walk, you’ll run to jump into my bed.” “Don’t hold your breath,” I told him. All of his civilized veneer was gone now. The dragon faced me, teeth bared, claws out, breathing fire. “You won’t just sleep with me. You’ll be obsessed with me. You’ll beg me to touch you, and when that moment comes, we will revisit what happened here today.” “Never in a million years.” I pointed at the doorway. “Exit is that—” He grabbed me. His mouth closed on mine. His big body caged me in. His chest mashed my breasts. His arms pulled me to him, one across my back, the other cupping my butt. His magic washed over me in an exhilarating rush. My body surrendered. My muscles turned warm and pliant. My nipples tightened, my breasts ready to be squeezed, ready for his fingers and his mouth. An eager ache flared between my legs. My tongue licked his. God, I wanted him. I wanted him so badly. He let me go, turned on his toes, and went out, laughing under his breath. Aaargh! “That’s right! Keep . . . walking!” I threw the wrench down. “Now that was a kiss,” Grandma Frida said from the doorway behind me. I jumped. “How long have you been there?” “Long enough. That man means business.” All my words tried to come out at once. “I don’t . . . what . . . asshole! . . . screw himself for all I care!” “Aww, young love, so passionate,” Grandma said. “I’m going to buy you a subscription to Brides magazine. You should start shopping for dresses.” I waved my arms and walked away from her before I said something I would regret.

Are you sure you don’t want to get married in costume?” April shook a sugar packet into her coffee before stirring in the cream. “You’d look so cool as a pirate’s bride.” Emily shook her head, not looking up from her tablet. “Simon vetoed that pretty much immediately.” “Too bad.” April sighed dramatically. “Because that would have made Stacey and me your . . .” Her voice quavered, and when I looked over at her, she was having a hard time keeping a straight face. “. . . your bridesmateys.” She barely got the word out before she sputtered into a laugh, and my own giggle burst out before I could check it. Emily snorted a laugh of her own but shook her head. “You’re the worst

Sal and Henry return with a gust of warm garden air and I settle down to create miniature roses from sugarpaste using tiny ivory spatulas and crimpers. I will have no antique tester bed crowning my cake, only a posy of flowers: symbols of beauty and growth, each year new-blossoming. I let Henry paint the broken pieces with spinach juice, while I tint my flowers with cochineal and yellow gum. As a pretty device I paint a ladybird on a rose, and think it finer than Sèvres porcelain. At ten o'clock tomorrow, I will marry John Francis at St. Mark's Church, across the square. As Sal and I rehearse our plans for the day, pleasurable anticipation bubbles inside me like fizzing wine. We will return from church for this bride cake in the parlor, then take a simple wedding breakfast of hot buttered rolls, ham, cold chicken, and fruit, on the silver in the dining room. Nan has sent me a Yorkshire Game Pie, so crusted with wedding figures of wheatsheafs and blossoms it truly looks too good to eat. We have invited few guests, for I want no great show, and instead will have bread and beef sent to feed the poor. And at two o'clock, we will leave with Henry for a much anticipated holiday by the sea, at Sandhills, on the southern coast. John Francis has promised Henry he might try sea-bathing, while I have bought stocks of cerulean blue and burnt umber to attempt to catch the sea and sky in watercolor.

Mrs. Flanigan made this for you and dropped it off earlier. So pretty, wouldn't you agree?"... "White roses - the bride's flower," Mrs. Norton said with a lilt in her voice. "For unity, purity, and a love stronger than death." She touched the edge of a blossom. "And, in addition, you have chrysanthemums for fidelity, optimism, joy, and long life, with the color white standing for truth and loyal love." As if caught in a spell, Grace stared at the flowers, a lump forming in her throat, the words echoing in her mind... Joy, truth, fidelity, a love stronger than death. Mrs. Flanigan chuckled. "Mrs. Norton, you make the bouquet sound so poetic. I'm afraid I can't take credit for such a romantic arrangement. I chose the only white flowers still blooming in my garden.

her power now that she had lost the hair. So when the bride had finished drinking, and would have got upon Falada again, the maid said, "I shall ride upon Falada, and you may have my horse instead;" so she was forced to give up her horse, and soon afterwards to take off her royal clothes, and put on her maid's shabby ones. At last, as they drew near the end of the journey, this treacherous servant threatened to kill her mistress if she ever told anyone what had happened. But Falada saw it all, and marked it well. Then the waiting-maid got upon Falada, and the real bride was set upon the other horse, and they went on in this way till at last they came to the royal court. There was great joy at their coming, and the prince hurried to meet them, and lifted the maid from her horse, thinking she was the one who was to be his wife; and she was led upstairs to the royal chamber, but the true princess was told to stay in the court below. However, the old king happened to be looking out of the window, and saw her in the yard below; and as she looked very pretty, and too delicate for a waiting-maid, he went into the royal chamber to ask the bride whom it was she had brought with her, that was thus left standing in the court below. "I brought her with me for the sake of her company on the road," said she. "Pray give the girl some work to do, that she may not be idle." The old king could not for some time think of any work for her, but at last he said, "I have a lad who takes care of my geese; she may go and help him." Now the name of this lad, that the real bride was to help in watching the king's geese, was Curdken. Soon after, the false bride said to the prince, "Dear husband, pray do me one piece of kindness." "That I will," said the prince. "Then tell one of your slaughterers to cut off the head of the horse I rode upon, for it was very unruly, and plagued me sadly on the road." But the truth was, she was very much afraid lest Falada should speak, and tell all she had done to the princess. She carried her point, and the faithful Falada was killed; but when the true princess heard of it she wept, and begged the man to nail up Falada's head against a large dark gate in the city through which she had to pass every morning and evening, that there she might still see him sometimes. Then the slaughterer said he would do as she wished, so he cut off the head and nailed it fast under the dark gate. Early the next morning, as the princess and Curdken went out through the gate, she said sorrowfully— "Falada, Falada, there thou art hanging!" and the head answered— "Bride, bride, there thou are ganging! Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it, Sadly, sadly her heart would rue it." Then they went out of the city, driving the geese. And when they came to the meadow, the princess sat down upon a bank there and let down her waving locks of hair, which were all of pure gold; and when Curdken saw it glitter in the sun, he ran up, and would have pulled some of the locks out; but she cried— "Blow, breezes, blow! Let Curdken's hat go! Blow breezes, blow! Let him after it go! "O'er hills, dales, and rocks, Away be it whirl'd, Till the golden locks Are all comb'd and curl'd!" Then there came a wind, so strong that it blew off Curdken's hat, and away it flew over the hills, and he after it; till, by the time he came back, she had done combing and curling her hair, and put it up again safely. Then he was very angry and sulky, and would not speak to her at all; but they watched the geese until it grew dark in the evening, and then drove them homewards. The next morning, as they were going through the dark gate, the poor girl looked up at Falada's head, and cried— "Falada, Falada, there thou art hanging!" and it answered— "Bride, bride, there thou are ganging! Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it, Sadly, sadly her heart would rue it." Then she drove on the geese and sat down again in the meadow, and began to comb

Sailboat Table (table by Quint Hankle) The Voyage of the Narwhal, by Andrea Barrett Complete Stories, by Clarice Lispector Boy Kings of Texas, by Domingo Martinez The Marrow Thieves, by Cherie Dimaline A Brief History of Seven Killings, by Marlon James There There, by Tommy Orange Citizen: An American Lyric, by Claudia Rankine Underland, by Robert Macfarlane The Undocumented Americans, by Karla Cornejo Villavicencio Deacon King Kong, by James McBride The Dutch House, by Ann Patchett Will and Testament, by Vigdis Hjorth Every Man Dies Alone, by Hans Fallada The Door, by Magda Svabo The Plot Against America, by Philip Roth Fates and Furies, by Lauren Groff The Overstory, by Richard Power Night Train, by Lise Erdrich Her Body and Other Parties, by Carmen Maria Machado The Penguin Book of the Modern American Short Story, edited by John Freeman Between the World and Me, by Ta-Nehisi Coates Birds of America, by Lorrie Moore Mongrels, by Stephen Graham Jones The Office of Historical Corrections, by Danielle Evans Tenth of December, by George Saunders Murder on the Red River, by Marcie R. Rendon Leave the World Behind, by Rumaan Alam Ceremony, by Leslie Marmon Silko On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, by Ocean Vuong The Unwomanly Face of War, by Svetlana Alexievich Standard Deviation, by Katherine Heiny All My Puny Sorrows, by Miriam Toews The Death of the Heart, by Elizabeth Bowen Mean Spirit, by Linda Hogan NW, by Zadie Smith Being Mortal, by Atul Gawande Americanah, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie Firekeeper’s Daughter, by Angeline Boulley Erasure, by Percival Everett Sharks in the Time of Saviors, by Kawai Strong Washburn Heaven, by Mieko Kawakami Books for Banned Love Sea of Poppies, by Amitav Ghosh The English Patient, by Michael Ondaatje Euphoria, by Lily King The Red and the Black, by Stendahl Luster, by Raven Leilani Asymmetry, by Lisa Halliday All the Pretty Horses, by Cormac McCarthy Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides The Vixen, by Francine Prose Legends of the Fall, by Jim Harrison The Winter Soldier, by Daniel Mason

I'm offering to sacrifice myself into marriage! Of course,I was surprised by the idea,but to save my sisters and keep them in their homes,I have decided to agree.I will marry you," she finished, placing a possessive hand on Tyr's forearm. Tyr's already wide grin grew even bigger. "I appreciate the offer, and while you are indeed a pretty little girl, marriage and I are never to be." "But the king...I thought you had to..." Lily sputtered. "Now,my friend here, Lord Anscombe, I believe he is eager to have a bride," Tyr said, pointing to Ranulf, who wasn't sure if he was amused, insulted, or bored. "Here is your groom. Lord Anscombe of Bassellmere." Lily whipped around.Her eyes were the color of gray mist and had turned saucer size. Her surprise was genuine, but her next move shocked even Ranulf. Straightening,she took a sizable gulp and announced, "As I was saying, my lord. I am ready and willing to marry you." Ranulf stole a glance at Edythe, who was ignoring the unfolding situation. Her focus was on Tyr and had been since he had made his nonmarital declaration.

A man who is the head of his wife is preaching all day about Christ and the Church—his obedience or disobedience will determine whether his preaching is full of lies or not, but the very nature of his relation to his wife means that he is preaching, like it or not. Picture Christ murmuring against His wife to the Father, “The woman Thou gavest . . .” Imagine Christ blaming the Church, pointing an accusing finger. Try to picture Christ wishing that He were with someone else. Every situation we might come up with piles absurdity on absurdity. When a man learns this and begins to treat his wife in a manner consistent with that insight, he soon sees the difference between sentimental attachments and covenantal identity. Christ loved His bride with an efficacious love; He loved the Church in a way which transformed her. In the same way a husband is to assume responsibility for his wife’s increasing loveliness. One man marries a pretty woman and hopes, fingers crossed, that she will manage to stay that way. But a federal husband marries a beautiful woman and vows before God and witnesses that he will nourish and cherish her in such a way that she flourishes in that beauty. Christ bestowed loveliness on His Church through His love. A Christian man is called to do the same. Covenant loving bestows loveliness. Federal commitment imparts beauty.

His gaze was locked on the young woman approaching beside Lady Withram. Short, no more than five feet, with a pretty face, shiny, long, wavy midnight hair and more curves than his shield. He noted all that in an instant, his eyes traveling with appreciation over each asset before settling on her eyes. They were a color he’d never seen before in eyes, a combination of pale blue and green, almost teal with a darker rim circling the unusual irises. They were absolutely beautiful . . . and presently brimming with anxiety and fear. Before he’d even realized he was going to do it, Ross found himself moving around the table to approach the girl. Taking her hand in his, he placed it on his arm and peered solemnly down into her unusual eyes before announcing, “Well worth the wait.” He was pleased to see some of her fear dissipate. Just a little, but it was something. She blushed too, ducking her head as if unused to and embarrassed by such a compliment . . . and her fingers were trembling where they rested on his arm. She did not strike him as a light-skirt, nor was she sour faced or ugly, but she had the finest eyes he’d ever seen, and he wanted to see more of them, so Ross turned and escorted her to the table. He didn’t miss the audible sighs of relief from her parents at their backs. Nor did he miss Gilly’s muttered, “Bloody hell. He’s done fer now.” Judging

Ye told me ye had no’ seen the man in the clearing yesterday.” “I did not,” Annabel assured him, swiveling to look at him with a bit of excitement as she was recalled to the day’s events. “But I saw his plaid and the man today was wearing the same color plaid. He was big too. And, he was the same man as the one who startled me in England on our journey here, so I am beginning to think it was the same man all three times.” “Ye’re sure it was the same man as in England?” he asked, not happy at the thought. “Aye. I only caught a glimpse that first time, but he is hard to mistake,” she assured him. “He is very large and has a pretty face.” That brought a scowl to Ross’s lips. He didn’t at all like her finding someone else attractive, which was silly, he supposed. It wasn’t like she was going to run off with her attacker. According to Giorsal, she’d stabbed him. Besides, he himself wouldn’t have been flattered to be called pretty. “Ye mean handsome, do ye no’?” he suggested. “Nay. You are handsome, husband. He is pretty,” she said in a tone of voice that suggested that should clear the matter up. It didn’t. “Is there a difference?” Ross asked cautiously. “Aye,” Annabel said as if that should be obvious. “Handsome is rugged and manly and . . . well . . . handsome,” she finished helplessly, and then added, “Pretty is big eyes, sculpted jaw and hair that flops across the eyes.” She paused briefly before continuing with some consideration, “He would make a lovely girl were he not so muscular across the shoulders and chest.” “Ah,” Ross said, unable to repress a grin. Whether she realized it or not, his wife was saying she thought he was a sexy beast, while the pretty boy was . . . pretty, but not in a way she found especially attractive. He liked that. His

First came the flower girls, pretty little lasses in summery frocks, skipping down the aisle, tossing handfuls of petals and, in one case, the basket when it was empty. Next came the bridesmaids, Luna, strutting in her gown and heels, a challenging dare in her eyes that begged someone to make a remark about the girly getup she was forced to wear. Next came Reba and Zena, giggling and prancing, loving the attention. This time, Leo wasn’t thrown by Teena’s appearance, nor was he fooled. How could he have mistaken her for his Vex? While similar outwardly, Meena’s twin lacked the same confident grin, and the way she moved, with a delicate grace, did not resemble his bold woman at all. How unlike they seemed. Until Teena tripped, flailed her arms, and took out part of a row before she could recover! Yup, they were sisters all right. With a heavy sigh, and pink cheeks, Teena managed to walk the rest of the red carpet, high heels in hand— one of which seemed short a heel. With all the wedding party more or less safely arrived, there was only one person of import left. However, she didn’t walk alone. Despite his qualms, which Leo heard over the keg they’d shared the previous night, Peter appeared ready to give his daughter away. Ready, though, didn’t mean he looked happy about it. The seams of the suit his soon-to-be father-in-law wore strained, the rented tux not the best fit, but Leo doubted that was why he looked less than pleased. Leo figured there were two reasons for Peter’s grumpy countenance. The first was the fact that he had to give his little girl away. The second probably had to do with the snickers and the repetition of a certain rumor, “I hear he lost an arm-wrestling bet and had to wear a tie.” For those curious, Leo had won that wager, and thus did his new father-in-law wear the, “gods-damned-noose” around his neck. However, who cared about that sore loser when upon his arm rested a vision of beauty. Meena’s long hair tumbled in golden waves over her shoulders, the ends curled into fat ringlets that tickled her cleavage. At her temples, ivory combs swept the sides up and away, revealing the creamy line of her neck. The strapless gown made her appear as a goddess. The bust, tight and low cut, displayed her fantastic breasts so well that Leo found himself growling. He didn’t like the appreciative eyes in the crowd. Yet, at the same time, he felt a certain pride. His bride was beautiful, and it was only right she be admired. From her impressive breasts, the gown cinched in before flaring out. The filmy white fabric of the skirt billowed as she walked. He noted she wore flats. Reba’s suggestion so she wouldn’t get a heel stuck. Her gown didn’t quite touch the ground. Zena’s idea to ensure she wouldn’t trip on the hem. They’d taken all kinds of precautions to ensure her the smoothest chance of success. She might lack the feline grace of other ladies. She might have stumbled a time or two and been kept upright only by the smooth actions of her father, but dammit, in his eyes, she was the daintiest, most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. And she is mine.

Kim Dokja x Hansooyoung PART 1 [I shall kill you, Yoo Joonghyuk.] ~ Kim Dokja pg 4110 46. ⸢(Looks like you still don't know how it works. The heroine loses her consciousness, her hand falling away. And the male hero awakens! You see, in all the movies I've seen so far…) pg 4112 47. These idiots, I even died so that you two could talk to each other, but this…' She figured that she really needed to give these two men a harsh earful when she arrived there. But, when she pushed past the bushes and stepped forward, the ensuing spectacle freaked her out in a rather grand manner. Kwa-aaang!! Bang!!! Yoo Joonghyuk was mercilessly slamming his sword down on Kim Dokja, currently sprawled out on the ground. "Hey!! You crazy son of a bitch!!" pg 4125 48. There were plenty of things she wanted to ask, but she chose not to. Instead, she poked Kim Dokja's cheek and spoke up. "Still, this guy looks like he got completely fooled, doesn't he." "Looks that way." "How did it go?" "He went crazy and attacked me." Han Sooyoung smirked and lightly pinched Kim Dokja's cheek as if she was proud of him. pg 4127 49. the events of her dying at Yoo Joonghyuk's sword, me fighting against him, and then, passing out from his attack, and finally, sharing a conversation with Yoo Sangah inside the Library… Han Sooyoung approached the bed before I noticed it and pinched my cheek. "In any case, Kim Dokja. You can be really adorable sometimes." pg 4144 50. The moment Han Sooyoung's fist bumped into mine, she was completely enveloped in bright light. As I watched her figure disappear, I became aware once more that she had become my companion for real. pg 4165 51. ⸢And…⸥ My heart began powerfully pounding away. ⸢The woman that I used to love.⸥ pg 4189 52. Her emotionless eyes; the beauty spot just below one of them; and her lips that always mocked me for fun, now arching up in a smooth line. "Proceed with the execution pg 4191 53. "But, should you be doing something like that? She's originally your bride, isn't she?" "Correction. She was supposed to be one. The throne was usurped on the first day of the wedding, however." Oh, I see. So, it's that sort of development? I felt just a bit relieved now. Han Sooyoung and Yoo Joonghyuk as a couple? hadn't allowed any dating at the workplace yet, so hell no. pg 4202 54. ⸢By the time you're reading this book, I…⸥ I steeled my heart and read the next line of the text. ⸢…I'd still be living a pretty good life, I guess. Hahah, were you scared?⸥ This idiot… pg 4212 55. The following words were eerily similar to a certain body of text that I was familiar with. ⸢The you reading this story will definitely make it out of here alive.⸥ Han Sooyoung's afterwords came to an end there. For the longest time, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the full-stop at the end of the sentencepg4216 56. "Looks like the company's internal rules need to be changed somewhat…" pg 4234 57. She spoke in a fed-up tone of voice. And then, issued an order to me. "Marry me, Ricardo Von Kaizenix." pg 4244 58. "I didn't want to extend her 50 years by even one minute if I could help it." I was being serious here. The moment I arrived in this world and realized that Han Sooyoung had to spend 50 years here, I just couldn't escape from this one overwhelming emotion. Someone was sacrificed again because of me. Han Sooyoung who had to endure the time frame of 50 years – could she still maintain a normal, functioning mind? Was she able to maintain the ego of the Han Sooyoung that I know of?pg4254 59. Her palm smacked me in the back of the head again. God damn it, this punk… "The third method, 'Romance'." "And its contents are?" "Marry Yuri di Aristel." "And just what did you choose?" "The third method?" "And are we currently married?" "Nope." "And why the hell not?!" pg 4256

So Leda's daughters, two lethal brides, will twice and thrice wed. One will launch Greece in a thousand ships, her beauty the ruin of her land, and the men sent to rescue her will come back ashes and bones. The other, the queen hell-bent on revenge, will rise in the house of Mycenae, loyal to those who revere her, savage to those who oppose her.

My gift was useful to him for now, but I’d be fooling myself if I thought I was powerful enough, pretty enough… anything enough for someone like him.

Tell me how you were thinking of me when you were kissing him.” I bare my teeth as a white-hot flare of anger engulfs me. “I wasn’t. I hate you—I don’t think of you at all.” “You’re so fucking pretty when you lie," he murmurs.

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Will you marry me and be the odd alien bride to this scandalous, debauched lord?” Her smile is brilliant. “Of course I will.

Amelia was everything a high society bride should be, perfect on the outside and hollow on the inside. Pretty enough to be on my arm for events and to give me children, but cold enough not to care when I inevitably went elsewhere for entertainment. A man could not be expected to live his life without a woman who was passion and fire. That was how they became soft in the head and married twenty-something waitresses without prenups.

What’s that look for?” His brilliant blue eyes held a hint of mischief. “Oh, you know. Just picturing you reading to a tiny red-headed boy.” “We have a wedding coming up.” My eyes popped open at his laughter. “Sweetheart, we’re already married.” “That may be true, but a pregnant princess bride isn’t a good look with the whole world watching. You can wait six months.” “Pretty please?” Pushing gently against his chest, I shook my head. “It’s a good thing I took charge of our birth control situation.” “Fine,” he huffed. “Six months.” “Come on, don’t you want to enjoy being us first?” “Baby, I spent years not realizing the woman I was meant to spend the rest of my life with was right there all along. I’ve wasted enough time.” “Liam. You got the girl. Now, we have all the time in the world. We don’t need to rush into the next step. Live in the moment for once.

My dad had stopped taking interest in me as soon as he figured out I wouldn’t be following in his footsteps in pretty much any way. Not in his love for baseball, not in his vocation as an architect, and certainly not in his frequent skirt-chasing. I guess my ability to see women as people and not disposable sort of killed any last chance we had. Pity.

I thought it was odd no one mentioned Lucy, other than a few folks saying horrible things like Alex dodged a bullet and it was too bad they didn't get any cake." My eyes went wide. "I know. She didn't make the best impression in the year she lived here. I mean, surely there are those that must've liked her. You know me, I don't like to talk bad about anyone, and I think it's dreadful what happened to the girl. On her wedding day, no less. But she could've done well to take a lesson in manners and etiquette. To be so pretty, some ugly things came out of her mouth. And you know what mama used to say." "'Ugly words shouldn't come out of pretty mouths. No matter how much paint you put on the barn, the ugly taints the whole structure,'" we said in unison.

Elizabethan portrait miniature. Usually oval in shape, these tiny paintings were designed to be worn on hats, doublets, or chains often as feudal badges of loyalty. Soldiers sent back miniature ambassadors of themselves to their wives or mistresses so as not to be forgotten (or God forbid cuckolded). Travelers presented them as gifts to hosts, and beauties shipped fetching miniatures of themselves to foreign lands in hopes of becoming royal brides. Elizabeth I once dispatched Hilliard to paint the Duke of Anjou—a man she would nickname her “frog”—to surmise whether he was pretty enough to marry. (Um, no.)

Also, he might want you to take responsibility by becoming his wife. Look at how pretty you are-you'd make a decent foster bride

Behind the glass, dozens of butterflies were pinned to a board, cocoons beside them, stunted. Although their patterns were pretty and the metallic colours glorious, they were sad little specimens, dead and still.

Tell me how much you want me with those pretty lips.

The chaotic joy of a desi wedding, the bride and groom’s families with them every step of the way, the noise and colors, the jewels dripping off the bride and pretty much every woman in attendance, now that was a celebration.

I’m pretty sure I knew you were going to change everything for me when you saved my life from the shadow souls on the subway,

I lean back in my chair and grin to myself as I think about Raven’s sleepy smile as I left her in bed this morning. She looked so beautiful and satiated. I’ll never get enough of that smile. I’m pretty sure it’s seared in my mind for the rest of our lives. I’m making it my personal mission to replicate it every single day from now on, starting right now.

Pretty sure what he’s describing to me is the plot to Star Wars with some minor tweaks.

Beth had never been one of those girls who'd imagined her wedding. Acted it out with some barbies. Bought Bride magazine as soon as she hit her twenties. She was pretty sure that if she had been, though, none of the hypotheticals would have resembled this in the slightest: surrounded by vampires, possibly pregnant, with a fallen angel in an Elvis costume mangling the ceremony from the Book of Common Prayer. And yet as she stared up at her soon-to-be husband, she couldn't have pictured anything she would have liked more. Then again, when you were facing the right person? None of the things they talked about on television, no Vera Wang dress, no champagne waterfall, no DJ or place setting or party favor mattered. ~Beth Ch.51

Okay, more disclosure. I'm not a fugitive at the moment, but I might become one. I don't know if I'm going back for a trial. I can't go to prison and leave the twins alone. We'll leave before it comes to that. I don't want to get you in trouble." Hilda waved off the words. "I'm an old woman. They ain't gonna take me out of here in shackles. I've seen most of the local officers run around in diapers." Luanne was pretty sure that didn't mean immunity. She'd seen Chase naked, and that hadn't stopped him from arresting her. She didn't tell that to Aunt Hilda.

Go talk to Ben.” “Can I fuck my bride-to-be first please?” “No. Ben first. Then me.” “I have to fuck Ben first? Good thing he’s pretty.

They broke me out of prison. They pretty much had me at Hello.

And then he leaned back, staring down at his bride, and said, “You’re so beautiful.” I’m pretty sure every woman in attendance swooned. I sure as hell did. They

You’re really here.” “I really am.” It was the nervousness, the hint of vulnerability that had entered her eyes that finally snapped him out of his temporary daze. “Why?” he asked. “I mean, beyond the algebra homework of course.” “It’s pretty hard algebra. I might need a refresher course.” “Kerry--” “I’m here for you,” she said.

Swift Antelope caught Hunter’s arm before he could go inside his mother’s lodge. “Hunter, about the little yellow-hair.” “Yes, what about her?” Swift Antelope glanced uneasily at Bright Star, then plunged ahead. “I would like to make arrangements with you--to take her as my wife. Not right away, of course. When she grows old enough.” The young warrior straightened his shoulders. “I will pay a fine bride price, fifty horses and ten blankets.” Hunter smothered a grin. After a year of raiding, Swift Antelope had only ten horses. How much horse stealing did he plan to do? “Swift Antelope, I don’t think she even likes you.” “Your yellow-hair doesn’t like you too well, either.” He had a point. Hunter stroked his chin, acutely aware of a sparrow singing nearby, of cottonwood leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. Such a peaceful sound. He had enough problems without Swift Antelope adding to them. “Can we discuss this another time?” “No! I mean…well, I’ve heard some other warriors talking. I’m not the only one who wants her. If I wait, you may accept the suit of another. She is very fine, is she not?” Hunter wondered if they were talking about the same skinny girl. Then he focused on Swift Antelope, who was only a few years Amy’s senior. He supposed a younger man might find Amy’s coltish prettiness appealing. “I can see your concern. But you forget one thing, Swift Antelope. You have proven yourself my loyal friend. I will not accept the suit of another. Does that ease your mind?” Swift Antelope still gripped Hunter’s arm. “May I visit with her?” “I don’t know about that. She’s been through a terrible time. Having a young man around might upset her.” “Old Man told me what happened to her. But someone must help her walk back to the sunshine, eh?” Again, Hunter had to concede the point. A difficult path lay ahead of Amy, and her way would be made easier if she had a good friend, a young man who could teach her to trust again. “You will take great care with her?” Swift Antelope grinned. “I will protect her with my life. Your mother says she will be strong enough to go on a walk tomorrow. May I take her?” Hunter placed a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder. “She won’t want to go. You do realize that?” Swift Antelope nodded. “I can handle her until she gets used to me.” “She’s a fighter.” “And I am twice her size.” Hunter almost wished he could go on this walk. It might prove interesting. Little did Swift Antelope know how useless strength could be when tussling with a frightened female. “Come to my lodge late tomorrow afternoon.” Swift Antelope beamed. “I think we should change her name. Aye-mee? It sounds like a sheep baaing. Golden One. That is a good name for her.

Well, all I’m saying is, if you were to, you know, take off again on your next adventure, we’d make sure he had this place covered. You know that, don’t you?” Fiona lifted her hand, palm facing front. “And I’m not saying it has to be Australia, but, you know, you have been parked here for a pretty long time now. I’m surprised you’re not twitchy with the need to get back out there. I know just listening to that accent of Mr. Hot From Down Under would make me a little twitchy. Seriously, Kerry, how did you work next to him for a year and not jump him?” “Wow, I didn’t know you were in such a big hurry to see me out of here,” Kerry replied, ignoring the part about jumping Cooper. It wasn’t like she hadn’t asked herself the same question a dozen times. Or a hundred dozen. “I didn’t say that; I’m just making sure you know we’d support your decision to run off with him, if, you know, that’s what you decide to do.” “Since when is this decision up to me? Seems like you all have it all figured out already.” Then Kerry’s eyes narrowed. “Or do you just want the inside scoop so you can win the pool on when I’ll head out again?” “Pool?” Fiona said overly brightly. “My, my, whatever do you--” “Oh, don’t even bother pretending. I know Barbara’s had one running since I came back for Logan’s wedding.

I see you’ve been paying attention to my pirate tricks.” “Indeed I have,” she said, looking down into his handsome face and twinkling blue eyes. She didn’t want to think about the next chapter, not now, not yet. But there it was, staring up at her, framed in tousled blond hair and five o’clock shadow. This could be your life, Kerry McCrae. Just say yes. “In other news,” she said, sliding off him to sit on the side of the bed, drawing the sheet around her, trying like hell to push those thoughts away for now, “we need to pull anchor before the sun gets any lower.” “Aw, because that would be…bad?” he said, tugging at the sheet. She couldn’t help it; she laughed, and the glow simply refused to fade. She tugged the sheet free from his grasp and stood, albeit on wobbly legs for a moment or two. Summoning her most haughty pirate queen manner, she made a show of draping the end of the sheet over her shoulder and shaking loose her bed-head curls, knowing she likely looked more like Medusa than anything remotely regal. “Your merry band of one here is going topside to get us underway.” She made the mistake of looking at him, sprawled in all his gorgeous, naked indolence across white sheets, beams of the lowering sun streaking across his golden skin, making it look even more burnished than it already was. Dear Lord, she wanted to have him all over again. Even hungrier now that she knew what awaited her when she did. Taking full advantage of her hesitation, he propped his arms behind his head and crossed his legs at the ankles, a grin equally as indolent as his pose sliding across his handsome face. “You were saying, my queen?” She scooped a pillow off the floor and threw it at him. “Incorrigible.” Chuckling, he caught the pillow with one hand and tucked it behind his head. “Well, I’m pretty sure that’s near the top of the list of preferred character traits in the pirate handbook.” She laughed, then dodged to the door when he made a sudden, nimble grab for the edges of the sheet.

And maybe you can tell me all about the hot Aussie you spent the afternoon with.” She shook her hand next to her chest. “I heard he’s pretty hubba-hubba.” You have no idea, Kerry thought, and in the face of Maddy’s charming, infectious smile, couldn’t squelch her own. “It was a passable way to spend an afternoon.” Maddy hooted a laugh. “I’ll bet.

Yes, I’m Delia Maddox,” she said, taking his hand in a quick, firm shake. “Grace’s sister-in-law and--” “--the ravishing goddess responsible for creating Delia’s delectable. The most amazing food in the Americas.” Her pretty eyes twinkled at his nickname for her food, but she folded her arms and said, “Only in the Americas? Hmm, I must be slipping.

Running halfway around the world apparently hadn’t been far enough to leave him and all of what had transpired between her and the entire Jax family behind. So why did she think she could escape it along the span of one low-tide beach? She stopped so abruptly that he banged into the back of her, then immediately grabbed both of her arms when she pitched forward and lost her balance on the slippery rocks. He pulled her back against him, and the shock of the feel of that hard body lined up so perfectly with hers, so much better than she’d ever imagined it would feel--and oh, she’d imagined it--was far greater than almost pitching face-first against the rocks. The instant she had her balance she said, “I’m good” and moved out of his grasp. She wasn’t sure what it said that she was disappointed he didn’t take advantage of the moment to press his cause…or anything else he might be interested in pressing against her. But he let her go, and even stepped back for good measure. “Sorry,” she said, turning to face him. “I just--this isn’t solving anything.” “What is it that needs solving? To your way of thinking,” he added. She gaped at him, then shook her head and laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. Your coming thousands of miles to declare yourself to me, a year after I left and, as far as you knew, never looked back?” “You’ve already solved that one, haven’t you?” he said. “Back there in the pub. I believe you shut me down pretty effectively and quite definitively.” “So why are you here?” She gestured to their immediate surroundings, perhaps a bit more wildly than was technically necessary. “Why aren’t you trotting back to the airport and back home again? I’m sure your family can’t be thrilled with you up and taking off like that. It’s the middle of dry season.” “It’s always the middle of something,” he said. “And if you want to know the truth, it was Big Jack who presented me with the plane ticket.

But surely, if Fergus had actually spoken to Cooper, he wouldn’t have kept mum on that little detail. Who are you kidding? The man thrived on meddling, especially where his beloved McCrae girls were concerned. That would also explain why he’d so conveniently disappeared once Cooper had taken the floor. And why he hadn’t come back out carrying the shotgun they kept handy in the back. “Uncle Gus” was all she said. He smiled briefly. “I thought that was a better bet than your chief-of-police brother. I’ve already guessed Fergus didn’t tell you about our little conversation.” She shook her head. “How long ago?” “A week. Not so long as all that.” Long enough, she thought, already mentally rehearsing the conversation she’d be having with her uncle the minute she got back to the pub. “We only had the one chat.” “One was apparently all that was needed. What else did he share with you?” She immediately held up her hand. “On second thought, don’t tell me. I’ll have that little chat with him directly.” “He wants you to be happy,” Cooper said. “And he thought encouraging a man I haven’t seen in over a year, a man who was my former employer and nothing more, to hop on a plane and bop on up this side of the equator to see me was what would make me happy?” Cooper’s smile deepened, and that twinkle sparked to life in his eyes again, making them so fiercely blue it caught at her breath. “He might have mentioned that you’d be less than welcoming of a surprise visit. He also said if I had a prayer of your still being here when I arrived, a surprise visit was pretty much my only shot. And how the frosty reception I was sure to receive was simply your automatic defense system, and how I should just ignore all that and ‘press my suit’ anyway, as I believed he called it.” Kerry closed her eyes, willed her short fuse to wink out before it had the chance to get dangerously lit up. Yep, too late. She turned abruptly and moved to go around Cooper, aiming herself back toward the lot where the truck was parked. Cooper’s hand shot out and took hold of her arm, releasing it the moment she stopped and turned to look at him, her balance intact. “His heart was in the right place, Starfish. He warned me. It was my choice to come here and risk it anyway. Don’t go unloading all the frustration you’re feeling about my unexpected arrival, not to mention the unfortunate public spectacle I made of this whole thing, on your poor uncle.

Cooper Jax had, basically, proposed to her. Then he’d walked all up and down a kelp-covered, low-tide seashore and listened to her enumerate the reasons why they couldn’t even contemplate such a union. Right before kissing her in a way that defied science and made her wonder if she might need a pregnancy test, before pretty much declaring he was going to spend the next four weeks making it as impossible for her to say no to his doing that again, and maybe more, as he could.

Kerry had headed up the back stairs of the pub, and even as exhausted as she was, she’d still found it impossible to wipe that image of Cooper from her mind. The sun setting over his back, highlighting the breadth of his shoulders, sending shadows under those cheekbones, made more chiseled by the ridiculously gorgeous, shit-eating grin that had been on his face when he made it clear he was in town to stay. “For another twenty-nine days anyway.” Kerry pulled her pillow over her face and groaned. Part of her was still in utter shock that he was actually there, in her town. Hell, in her orbit at all. Other parts of her--most of them hormonally activated--were still all aquiver from that kiss. She groaned again and ground clenched fists into the mattress on either side of her hips. Damn, but that kiss… How many times had she lain in bed, just like this, only in a bunkhouse at Cameroo Downs, and wondered what it would be like to be kissed by Cooper Jax? Okay, okay, a whole lot more than kissed. But damn…that kiss alone had been worlds better than the best sex she’d ever had. So much so, he’d probably ruined her for having sex with mere mortals. So I guess you’ll just have to have sex with him, then. “Not helpful,” she grunted at her little voice, jerking the pillow off her face and thumping it on the bed beside her. Besides, even if she was willing to have some kind of fling with Cooper, fulfill even a sliver of the many, oh, so very many fantasies she’d had about the man, he’d made it clear from pretty much the moment he’d set foot back into her world that he wasn’t looking for a fling. He’d strolled right in and made it clear he was looking for a--no. She squeezed her eyes shut and tightened her lips, willing her mind to go blank. It didn’t work. She couldn’t shut it out. Cooper Jax had, basically, proposed to her. Then he’d walked all up and down a kelp-covered, low-tide seashore and listened to her enumerate the reasons why they couldn’t even contemplate such a union. Right before kissing her in a way that defied science and made her wonder if she might need a pregnancy test, before pretty much declaring he was going to spend the next four weeks making it as impossible for her to say no to his doing that again, and maybe more, as he could.

She shielded her eyes from the sun, her truck keys dangling down the back of her free hand, as Cooper lowered the passenger window and leaned forward so he could see her. “G’day, Starfish. Need a lift?” She needed a lot of things. Hot coffee, sisters who weren’t nosy, a clear vision about what should be next on her life agenda. Being inside a small, sporty vehicle, trapped mere inches from Cooper Jax, even for the short ride down to Half Moon Harbor? That she definitely did not need. “I’m good, thanks. And can we retire the nickname? Please?” He’d begun calling her that after she’d regaled him with a steady string of childhood stories of life lived by the sea, and he’d commented that she seemed too big a fish for such a small pond. A starfish, as it were. She’d rolled her eyes at the very bad pun, but the nickname had stuck. Aussies were big on nicknames. And the honest truth of it was, she hadn’t minded hearing him call her that, even though it had been a joke, delivered as a ribbing, not an endearment. Now? Now she wasn’t sure how he meant it, or what it made her feel when he said it. Better to just bury it right, Ker? Like you do everything that makes you uncomfortable. She really needed to find a way to strangle her little voice. “I’ve got a meeting,” she went on, not giving him a chance to respond. He nodded to the basket in her arms. “Yes, I can see that. Demanding lot, laundry.” She glanced down, then back at him. “No, with my sisters. About Fiona’s wedding.” “Yes, I heard about it.” She didn’t ask how he could possible know that, or who he’d been talking to this time, because any person in town could have brought him up to speed on the goings-on about pretty much any person he wanted to know about. The downside to being home. One of the great things about being a wanderer was that folks only knew whatever parts of her story she opted to share with them. Cooper, she realized now, had already known more than pretty much anyone she’d met in her travels up to that point. God only knows what he’d learned in the twenty-four hours he’d been in the Cove. She didn’t want to examine how that made her feel either. “Three McCrae weddings in less than a year,” he commented, as if casually discussing the weather. Then he grinned. “Is it catching?

He’d captured bandits, stopped vandals and settled disputes with hostile natives. Who would have thought the one thing to terrify him was the thought of loving a pretty woman named Beth Wallin?

Did you ever think maybe you’d just stay, ride it out, see what happened? Was that an option for you?” He didn’t ask defensively, though it took a bit to keep the edge from his voice. He was all but grilling her so he couldn’t go and get upset if he didn’t like the answers he got. But he was human, and this wasn’t any easier on him than it was on her. “It might have been.” “If?” He heard her take a steadying breath and felt himself bracing for her response. “If I’d felt about you the way I felt about the rest of your family. Like you were a brother or something.” “But?” “Looking for a little ego stroke?” She swatted at him then, tried for a playful laugh, but the serious undertone remained. “But I had feelings for you. Well, lust and feelings. We had a friendship, then I had lust. And I really didn’t think, even if you were interested in me, that was something you’d pursue, given your position as employer and me being temporary. So…I don’t know…” “But when you came back here to Maine you didn’t head out again.” “I didn’t go back to Australia either,” she reminded him. When he didn’t say anything for some time, she said, “What are you thinking? I’ve been pretty frank so go ahead, be honest with me.” “Okay,” he said. “I guess I can’t help but think that you didn’t head back out on the road, you didn’t come back to Australia either--but you also didn’t write, keep in touch. And not because you were out in the jungle somewhere, unable to drop a postcard in the mail. You were right here, with all the modern technological conveniences at your fingertips. But you didn’t send a single e-mail. Not even to Sadie. And I can’t help but think that maybe that means we were all a lot more important to you than you wanted to admit or keeping in touch, at least with her, would have been no big deal. You also haven’t even mentioned us to anyone here, as far as I know, other than your uncle. Which, given how long you stayed and how much we’d come to mean to you, seems odd to me, too. So…maybe the only way you thought you could get over us was to put us firmly in your rearview mirror. Only then…you never started looking ahead again either.” She said nothing, and a quick glance showed she was staring out the side window of the car, her hands in her lap, fingers twisting and untwisting. “Or maybe we really were easily left in the past, and the change in you is more because you got home and your entire family was living here, all together, for the first time in your adult life,” he said, giving her an out. “And it makes you want to stay, even though you don’t know what, precisely, you want to do here yourself.” He paused, then said the rest of what he was thinking, what he was feeling. “And maybe you stay because it’s the closest thing you can have to what you had started building with us, and remain safe while having it.

It was later, after they’d dozed and he’d pulled her into the shower upon waking, that Cooper started on a plan. She laughed at his timing. “I do my best thinking in the shower,” he told her, then poured bath soap in his hand and started rubbing her back. “I’m pretty sure I’ll think even better if I have something more fun to be washing than my own self.” He slipped his hands around to the front, making her squeal, then maybe moan a bit.

Look at me now. I have done very well without love, at least love in that technical sense, without this fine passion, for twenty years, and I do not see why I should not do it for twenty years more. That is rather a pretty girl, and the man is not unlike a gentleman. They were the people that sat before us in church last Sunday. They are bride and bridegroom, I’m sure; for they had only one prayer-book between them, and it had an ivory back. What absurdly false pictures novels do give one of love, the drawings they make of it are so out of perspective! They represent it as the one main interest of life, instead of being, as it mostly is, a short unimportant little episode. I declare

Ash swept his gaze over the room. “Well, we have a vicar, guests, and a bride. It seems all we’re lacking is a groom.” “Are you volunteering yourself for the position, Captain?” Clarinda asked primly. “I heard a rumor that you’d recently become unemployed.” Moving closer to her, Ash lifted one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “This may be my only chance to catch you between fiancés. And besides, where am I going to find a corpulent sodomite as pretty as you?

Jane tried to keep the despondency to herself, though Mr. Nobley seemed to be keeping a pretty good eye on her, as usual. She took another bite of…poultry of some sort?...and decided she’d pull the headache excuse out of the bag and dismiss herself to bed as soon as the dinner torture was over. She hated to waste a single moment of her last days, but she felt pulled inside out and couldn’t figure out how to right herself. She returned Mr. Nobley’s gaze. His eyebrows raised, he leaned forward slightly, his mannerisms asking, “Are you all right?” She shrugged. He frowned. When the women stood to leave the gentlemen to their port and tobacco, Mr. Nobley rose as well and made his unapologetic way to Jane’s side. “Miss Erstwhile, too long have you been asked to walk alone. May I accompany you to the drawing room?” Her heart jigged. “It’s not proper,” she whispered, the fear of Wattlesbrook in her. She didn’t want to be sent home, not before the ball. “Proper be damned,” he said, low enough for just her ears. Jane could feel all eyes on them. She took Mr. Nobley’s arm and walked across that negligible distance, stately as a bride. He found her a seat on a far sofa and sat beside her, and except for the fact that she couldn’t kick off her shoes and tuck her feet up under her, all felt pleasantly snug. “How is the painting going?” he asked. Of course it had been him (the paints). And of course it hadn’t been him (Colonel Andrews’s unseen smoking companion). Jane sighed happily. “How do you do it? How do you make me feel so good? I don’t like that you can affect me so much, and I find you much more annoying than ever. But what I mean is, thank you for the paints.” He wouldn’t acknowledge the thanks and pressed her for details instead, so she told him how it felt to manipulate color again, real color, real paint, not pixels and RGBs, like the joy in her muscles stretching after a long plane ride.

I’ll be back before nightfall.” She crammed her handkerchief back up her sleeve and gathered the reins. “Julia?” She stopped, but didn’t look at him. “I’ll be waiting for you.” She swallowed and nodded, but shouted giddyap without answering. She was pretty certain he had that look in his eye again, and she didn’t want to see it.

Mac’s Mac N’ Cheese One box of elbow macaroni (cooked and drained) 1/2 cup of sour cream 1 cup of milk 1 can of Campbell's condensed cheese soup 1 ½ cups of (orange) cheddar cheese, 1 1/2 cups of white sharp cheddar cheese, grated 2 eggs 1 teaspoon of ground mustard 1 teaspoon of adobo or seasoned salt ½ tsp pepper ¼ cup parmesan cheese 3 tablespoons of butter Boil pasta for six minutes, then drain.  The crock pot should be set to high.  Add pasta to crock pot along with grated cheeses, cheddar soup, sour cream, butter, milk and eggs.  Mix all together then add all the seasonings.  If desired, add additional cheese or sour cream.  You can periodically check back to make sure it is not browning too much at the sides.  You can stir every now and again. 2 hours to 2.5 hours on high is pretty near perfection although slow cooker times vary.  You can always check on it and look at the sides.  If they are browning too much you can always turn the temp down to low.  The cheese is very flexible also.  You can use different types of cheese or add more or less depending on your taste.  I once caught Delilah adding more cheddar cheese to the crock pot. I honestly think this is the macaroni and cheese recipe I will stick to like glue.  It is amazing.  And it can be tweaked.  Bacon bits can be added to the mac n cheese.  Add some lobster for a nice seafood lobster mac n’ cheese.  Bread crumbs can be sprinkled over the top at the end.  Or if you want to add some veggies, broccoli can be placed on top as well.  Brandon and Rose added sliced hot dogs for AJ since hotdogs are his favorite.

NITA BROADWELL SAT IN THE CAR-POOL LINE READING CAPTIVE Bride of the Choctaw. The love scenes were graphic, and made her feel restless and slightly queasy. She had started out reading Harlequin Romances but had quickly progressed to the harder stuff, and now she read about masters and slave girls, Indian braves and captive white women. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t stop. She had seen women like herself on afternoon talk shows, sad women who were addicted to alcohol, or food, or the Home Shopping Network. She wasn’t sure what a woman addicted to soft porn romance novels would be called, but she was pretty sure there was a name for it. She was pretty sure Oprah or Dr. Phil would know what it was called.

This Chocolate Orgasm is the best chocolate ice cream I’ve ever had.” “Mikey helped with that one,” Dahlia heard herself say. Mari Belle laughed, a light, pretty sound. “I sense his influence in the Hazel’s Nuts.

You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner—in such society; and indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity and yet the noise; the nothingness and yet the self-importance of all these people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!"   She only echoed Darcy's earlier thoughts, but after his conversation with Miss Elizabeth, he could not agree with her. "Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.

The Kindred pretty much kept to themselves, staying in their ships above the surface of the planet and only coming down occasionally in twos and threes to claim their brides. Nobody knew how they picked them and personally, Liv didn’t want to know. It was easier to pretend that the Kindred didn’t exist, easier to forget that you personally might win the bed-an-alien lottery at any minute. But something like this—actually knowing a girl who’d been drafted—made pretending and forgetting impossible. “So

Friends of yours? Nice of them to make it to our claiming ceremony.” The deep voice behind her made Liv whirl around. He was directly behind her, looming over her and nodding at Sophie and Kat as though they were at a wedding or something. Well it is a wedding, isn’t it? Or the next best thing to it, chimed in the little voice. Liv was beginning to wish she had an ice pick so she could dig it out once and for all. Then she realized that was a crazy thought—and yet, she was in a crazy situation. How else was she supposed to react? “I’m her attorney, you asshole,” Kat lied with abandon before Liv could say anything. “And there’s not going to be any ceremony,” Sophia added, speaking up even though she was usually a total wallflower around strange men. She turned to Kat. “Is there, Kat?” “I’m afraid there is.” The big Kindred warrior had a neutral expression on his face but there was a warning rumble in his deep voice. “She’s my bride. I’m claiming her today.” “Excuse me? Claiming her? Like she was a lost piece of luggage at the airport or something?” Kat demanded. “She’s not lost anymore,” the big warrior said with certainty. “Now that I’ve found her she’s mine.” “Liv doesn’t belong to you or anybody else,” Sophia hissed, glaring up at him and keeping her arms protectively around Liv. “She’s my sister—you can’t step in and take her away, just like that!” “Actually, I’m afraid he can.” The new voice caused all of three of them to swivel their heads. Another Kindred warrior with blond, spiky hair and ice blue eyes was speaking. “You made a legally binding agreement when you enrolled in the draft,” he told Liv. “Not to mention just now when the officers picked you up and you signed the contract of claiming.” “I what?” Liv demanded. “What are you talking about? I didn’t sign anything. Did I?” The blond Kindred held out his hand and one of the Kindred officers put a thick sheaf of papers in it. “Does this look familiar?” he asked, holding it out to her. Liv felt her heart sink. “But I thought I was just signing to verify my uh, identity. See, they showed me this picture—” “Let me see that.” Kat snatched the papers away and began scanning through them rapidly. Liv and Sophia watched her hopefully but Liv could feel the hope in her chest turning to despair as Kat’s pretty face grew more and more blank. At last she looked up. “Well?” Liv felt like someone had deposited a fist sized ball of ice in the pit of her stomach. “Liv, honey—” Kat began and Sophia began to sob. “I can’t believe this,” she gasped, tears pouring down her face. “Can’t believe that they can just drag you out of your house without even giving you time to change clothes and force you to go with some strange man. This is horrible!” Liv felt numb. “No, Sophie, this is reality.

You have to go,” Kat said, nodding firmly. “But as I said, there is some good news.” She ticked the points off on her fingers. “One, it’s only for thirty days and as long as you don’t bond with him you’re free to go after it’s over.” “Wait a minute,” Sophia interrupted her. “He said he had to have sex to bond with her. So that means…” “No bonding sex or you lose your get-out-of-jail-free card,” Kat finished for her. “Bonding sex?” Liv and Sophia said at the same time. Kat frowned. “It’s…as far as I can understand, it’s one step past traditional intercourse. I wish I could tell you more, Liv, but I think it varies with the different branches of Kindred and the girl my firm represented was being called by a Tranq. It’s, uh, pretty obvious yours is a Rager—a Beast Kindred.” “The best thing to do is just to avoid sex altogether,” Sophia said in a trembling voice. “Tell him to keep it in his pants, Liv.” Liv shivered. “I think I can manage that. I’ll go up to their ship with him but after that…” After that she planned to avoid him as much as possible.

You have to go,” Kat said, nodding firmly. “But as I said, there is some good news.” She ticked the points off on her fingers. “One, it’s only for thirty days and as long as you don’t bond with him you’re free to go after it’s over.” “Wait a minute,” Sophia interrupted her. “He said he had to have sex to bond with her. So that means…” “No bonding sex or you lose your get-out-of-jail-free card,” Kat finished for her. “Bonding sex?” Liv and Sophia said at the same time. Kat frowned. “It’s…as far as I can understand, it’s one step past traditional intercourse. I wish I could tell you more, Liv, but I think it varies with the different branches of Kindred and the girl my firm represented was being called by a Tranq. It’s, uh, pretty obvious yours is a Rager—a Beast Kindred.” “The best thing to do is just to avoid sex altogether,” Sophia said in a trembling voice. “Tell him to keep it in his pants, Liv.” Liv shivered. “I think I can manage that. I’ll go up to their ship with him but after that…” After that she planned to avoid him as much as possible. He was a huge alien male that had been invading her dreams for months and now he wanted to have some kind of kinky tantric bonding sex with her. She was damn well going to be sure she stayed on the opposite side of the Kindred ship from him at all times. “You

I don’t know, Liv—he’s pretty damn hot. And the way he’s looking at you…” Kat was obviously losing a little of her professionalism. “It’s like he wants to eat you up,” Sophia finished for her and shuddered. “Look, hot or not, I have no intention of giving it up,” Liv protested. “I mean, I don’t even know him and he’s talking like he owns me. Plus, did you see his pants? Either he’s smuggling a python in there or he’s got equipment that would put a porn star to shame. I have no interest in doing the horizontal mambo with a guy that’s big enough to split me in two.” “I don’t know…” Kat was getting a dreamy, horny look in her eyes that made Liv want to slap her. “Maybe if he was really gentle and slow…” “Hello? I’m the one he’s looking to impale,” Liv reminded her. “And does he look like the kind of guy who’ll be ‘gentle and slow?

Well?” Baird gestured again, obviously waiting for her to precede him but still Liv hung back. “Uh…I think I forgot something on the ship,” she said, backing away. “Do you mind if I go get it?” “You didn’t bring anything to forget.” There was a definite hint of impatience in the deep, growling voice. “Are you coming in or not?” “I choose not.” Liv shook her head. “I just…I don’t think so. No thanks.” Baird looked at her with obvious disbelief. “You have to come in—this is where I live. Where else would you stay?” “Um—well, do you guys have guest rooms or anything like that? I mean, it’s a big ship so you must have someplace else, right?” Liv was feeling more and more nervous and it wasn’t just the fact that he was big and dangerous and scary looking. She had a feeling that if she went into his suite, that she might not come out again as the same person. That somehow being near him twenty-four/seven for the next month would change her, make her lose control. “Olivia, you can’t stay in the guest quarters. You’re my bride and this is our claiming period.” The big warrior was practically growling with impatience. “What’s the problem?” “How can you ask me that?” she flared at him, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. “You stand there staring at me like I’m an antelope and you’re a really hungry lion and you’ve told me about twelve times how you can’t wait to get me in bed, or up against the wall, or anywhere at all for that matter. And now you want to know why I’m scared to go into a dark room and be alone with you? What do you think I am—crazy?” He blew out a breath and ran a hand through his thick black hair. “I can’t believe this. Haven’t I told you I would never hurt you?” Liv frowned up at him. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure about your definition of ‘hurt.’ I mean, forced sex isn’t always painful but just because it doesn’t hurt doesn’t mean it isn’t rape.” “Is that what you think of me? That I want to take you by force?” He swooped down on her suddenly, eyes blazing a molten gold. Liv backed up but before she knew it she was pinned against one cold metal wall with his thick, muscular arms on either side of her and his face inches from hers. “Well what am I supposed to think?” she demanded, hoping her voice didn’t tremble too much. “You can think whatever you want, Olivia, but you should know one thing.” He leaned even closer, his hot breath stirring her hair as he murmured in her ear. “When I take you—because I will take you—make no mistake about that,” he said, cutting off her protest. “When I do, I promise you’ll want it every bit as bad as I do. You’ll beg for it, Linlenta. Beg to have my shaft inside you, filling you up as I bond you to me forever.” “You arrogant bastard.” Liv narrowed her eyes at him. “You must have a pretty high opinion of yourself if you think I’ll welcome you with open arms and beg for more.” “It’s not an opinion, it’s a fact.

urge to protect is incredibly strong in us, Lock sent. When danger threatens a female we have claimed as our own, it induces a state of altered consciousness. Have you ever heard the term “berserker rage?” asked Deep. My God! Kat couldn’t stop staring at Sylvan. Shirtless as he was with his broad shoulders hunched and ready to attack, he looked like a mountain of muscle—a mountain of very lethal muscle. What is he going to do? she couldn’t help asking. Whatever he has to in order to keep Sophia safe. Deep’s mental voice was grim. It’s like we told you, Kat—he’ll die protecting her if necessary. But he’s not going down without a fight. No, I guess not, Kat murmured. Uh, do all of you—all Kindred—get that way when someone you’re protecting is threatened? Actually, it’s rare to see such an extreme response unless it’s our mate who is in danger, Lock said. But yes, the protective rage is part of the Kindred biological makeup. It can turn any warrior into a killing machine—inciting us to violence like nothing else. Kat couldn’t stop the feeling of unease that settled over her at his words. So all of you have this…this other person inside you? Like the incredible Hulk or something? The incredible who? Deep asked. This guy—he got shot up with too much gamma radiation so he turns huge and green and angry whenever someone pisses him off and…Kat shook her head. Never mind. It’s a pop culture thing. You wouldn’t understand. Actually, I’d say that pretty much sums us up. Lock sounded thoughtful. Aside from the turning green part, anyway, Deep said dryly. Threaten our chosen female and prepare to die. It’s a lesson many have learned the hard way. I bet. Kat shivered. You should be glad to see Sylvan’s response, Lock said gently. Obviously he cares for your friend—cares deeply—if the rage has come over him. He will protect her or die trying. And a Kindred warrior is not easy to kill, Deep added. Especially one in the grip of the rage. Kat

What to do with daughters has always been something of a problem, unless they are so pretty or so passive or so wealthy that they are snatched up as brides as soon as the come of marriageable age. — THE COLLECTORS: DR. CLARIBEL AND MISS ETTA CONE

I wanted to let you to know that I agree to the match and I will marry you.” He couldn’t suppress a chuckle at her regal demeanor. “Well, I should certainly hope so as our engagement is a foregone conclusion. The contracts have already been drawn up.” Ian reached to touch her silken hair, unable to resist her. Her eyes narrowed as she rose from her seat. “I would have you know, Your Grace, that it was not a ‘foregone conclusion.’ In fact, I was not going to marry you at all! I have been doing everything I can to avoid becoming leg-shackled to you and I was going to run away!” His jaw clenched. Ian had hoped to dispel her feelings that he was a monster and apparently had failed far worse than he had ever anticipated. “And just where were you planning to run to?” he asked icily, unwilling to acknowledge the pain in his heart. Angelica did not flinch at his tone. Her skirts rustled as she paced the room. “I would have used the money I made from my stories to rent a flat somewhere in the city and support myself with short stories until I finished a novel. I heard that the lady who wrote Pride and Prejudice made one hundred forty pounds.” “That would not be enough to buy your pretty gowns,” he mocked, his temper rising at her sheer ignorance and ingratitude. “Gowns can go to the devil!” she retorted, cheeks growing pink in indignation. She looked down at her pale-blue satin opera gown as if offended by the shimmering elegance adorning her exquisite form. “Besides, they are not sensible garb for an author, I should say.” The way Angelica glibly spoke of living in squalor and subjecting herself to the sordid dangers of London rather than being his duchess made him clench his fists. Did she really think he was a fate worse than death? Or was she truly that naive? “What play are we going to see?” she asked in a blatant attempt to change the subject. Ian did not intend to let her off that easily. Inspiration struck him. Oh, he would take her to a “play” for certain. A play that she would never forget. “Something pitiful and tragic,” he said with an evil smile. It was high time his bride received a taste of reality. “I think you will be quite affected.” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion at his tone but she nodded in assent, ever displaying her indomitable courage. “I will get my cape.” “Put on a sensible pair of boots as well.” Ian’s heart twisted with bitterness. He would show her a fate worse than death. ***

Gods.” Baird wiped at his eyes and smiled at her. “I want to thank you, Olivia.” She grinned. “What for? Feeding you cow squeezings?” “No.” He was suddenly serious. “I was in a pretty bad place before I met you—before we met outside our dreams, I mean. It was dark and cold and the pain…” He shook his head. “I don’t even want to talk about the pain. Let’s just say it was bad. Really bad. So bad that sometimes I wondered if I was going to have anything left once I finally met you and claimed you. Anything to offer you but agony and hurt and horror. But you…” He reached across the table and took her hand gently in his. “You haven’t even been in my life an entire day and already you’ve given me back the laughter I thought I’d lost forever. I’m grateful to you for that. More grateful than I can say.” Liv looked down at the big hand holding hers. “I don’t hate you, you know. I just…this isn’t what I want for the rest of my life.” She looked up at him. “I wish you could understand that and just pick someone else.” “You still don’t get it, do you, Olivia?” He stroked her palm with the broad pad of his thumb, making Liv’s pulse jump erratically. “There’s no one else in the universe for me. No one but you. I know you don’t see that now, but you will.” Liv frowned and tried to pull her hand away. “How can you be so sure I’ll come around? Aren’t you risking an awful lot on the assumption that you can seduce me?” “I’m willing to risk anything and everything to have you,” Baird said seriously.

As I recall, you were kissing back pretty eagerly, Lilenta. You can’t claim breach of contract when you were so obviously ready and willing.” “Why you—I was not! I mean, I wasn’t…wasn’t myself for some reason.” Liv still had no idea why her self control seemed to fly out the window when she got in close proximity with the big Kindred warrior but she was too angry to try and analyze it now. “Anyway, it’s not like you have any better self control than me—you started it! Why do you think I’m dressed like this?” “I don’t know—why don’t you tell me?” His eyes flashed gold. “You claim it’s not because you’re afraid of me. Could it be that you don’t trust yourself?” That was closer to the truth than Liv wanted to admit which only made her angrier. “It’s because I don’t trust you, you big bastard!” A corner of his full mouth went down and his eyes were suddenly cool. “I told you before I would never take you against your will. You could dress in the most revealing night clothes imaginable and I wouldn’t lay a hand on you if you didn’t want me to.” “Is that right?” Liv lifted her chin and looked at him speculatively. His words had given her the beginnings of a plan but she’d need some help to carry it out. “Yeah, that’s right. I have no interest in taking what you don’t want to give.” “We’ll

You can’t see them but Kindred have scent glands all over their bodies—mostly in the face and groin area. One of the ways we claim a mate is to scent mark her—but that’s pretty hard to do when the woman I want to claim won’t let me touch her.” “I told you I don’t want to be claimed.” Liv could hear the tremble in her voice but she forced herself to meet his eyes. “I left too much back on Earth to forget about just because you want me as your mate, Baird.” He raised an eyebrow. “You want to fight it ‘til the end? That’s fine with me, Lilenta. We’ll call it a draw tonight. But you want to remember one thing—tomorrow is the beginning of the second week—our bathing week—so we’ll be sharing the bathing pool every night. And I’ll be allowed to touch you—touch you and make you come.” “You can’t…you wouldn’t.

Look at me, Lilenta.” Baird lifted her chin gently, forcing her to look into his amber eyes. “Is my touch really so distasteful to you?” he asked softly. Liv bit her lip. “You know it’s not,” she said at last, deciding not to bother with a lie. “You pretty much said you can tell how I feel when you…when you touch me.” “I can smell your arousal, yes.” He nodded. “Then why do you have to fight me every step of the way?” Liv felt frustrated. “You know why—I told you why. I can’t let myself relax with you because I’m afraid if I do I’ll go too far and let you…let you bond me. Whatever that means, exactly.

Slowly, trying not to startle her, he pushed down the black sleep pants which were all he was wearing. Then he rose and stood in front of her in a relaxed posture, giving her time to look. Olivia’s gaze flicked over his body, marking his shoulders and chest and the flat planes of his abdomen before dipping lower to look between his legs. Baird saw her eyes widen as she took in the thick club of his sex which was already more than half hard in anticipation of seeing her naked. “My God,” she murmured, putting a hand to her mouth. “Is there something wrong?” Baird looked down at himself. He knew from the material Sylvan had given him to study that Kindred males were pretty much the same as their human counterparts—although built on a considerably larger scale. The only difference in their anatomy was the mating fist at the base of his shaft and it wouldn’t fully inflate until he was buried deep in his bride’s sweet body, bonding her to him. “Nothing’s wrong.” Olivia’s cheeks were as red as her robe. “It’s just…you’re so big. I mean, can you actually use that thing without being arrested for assault with a deadly weapon?” Baird realized she was making a joke about his size—probably because it frightened her. “It’s all right, Lilenta,” he murmured, taking a step toward her. “I would never hurt you. I promise that when the time comes for me to enter you, I’ll make sure you’re wet and ready to take me.” “You’re assuming we’ll make it that far.” Her words were defiant but her voice shook, betraying her uncertainty. “Not

Lilenta…” Baird reached for her but she shied away. “No, don’t touch me! In fact, I don’t think we should touch anymore at all.” Baird frowned. “What are you talking about?” Liv shook her head, her pulse pounding as all her old fears of being pinned down and helpless under the big alien male came back in a rush. “There’s something about you. I can’t…can’t seem to control myself when you get too close. When you touch me. And don’t tell me it’s my body reacting to yours because we ‘need’ each other again either,” she snapped, when he opened his mouth as if to reply. “I don’t care what causes it, I don’t like being out of control. Don’t like it that I can’t seem to stop myself from…from acting like some kind of animal in heat.” “I told you this would happen.” Baird shifted on the bed toward her but Liv pulled away again. He sighed and sat back. “Your body is in heat, Lilenta—to a certain extent anyway. And as long as we’re together you’ll get hotter and hotter. Having me inside you is the only thing that will ease you.” “Well then I guess I’ll just have to manage on my own because there is no way I’m letting you try to get your whole entire uh…self inside me.” Liv’s heart was still racing. “In fact, I don’t think I want you touching me at all anymore. It’s too dangerous.” Baird’s face was like a thundercloud. “You signed a contract, Olivia. This is our bathing week—you can’t deny me the right to wash you.” “Exactly—wash me. And that’s it.” Liv lifted her chin defiantly. “I’m pretty sure if I went over that contract with a fine tooth comb there wouldn’t be anything about you being able to rub me with fifty types of oil and lay on top of me and practically hump me through the mattress.” “I was scent marking you,” he protested. “Gotta do that in order to let other males know you’re mine.” “I’m not yours,” she flared at him angrily. “And I never will be! So you can wash me—fine, I can’t stop you. But nothing outside the bathing pool. That means no more naked massages with exotic oils. And absolutely no more marking, or whatever you call it.” “Fine.” Baird was so angry now his eyes were practically glowing. “But if I can’t mark you, then we’re not leaving the suite. Not with you smellin’ so hot and not having any of my scent on you.” Liv threw up her hands. “Great. Put me under house arrest—I don’t care. Just stay away from me.” “If that’s how you feel,” he said, his jaw clenched. “I told you once I wasn’t interested in taking what you didn’t want to give.” “That’s exactly how I feel,” Liv assured him. “And I’m not giving another inch.” “Fine.” He was still glaring at her but the pain was back in his eyes now—back to stay and Liv knew she was the cause of it. Suddenly she felt horrible. “Try to understand, Baird,” she pleaded softly. “I never asked for this—for our minds to align or for you to claim me. I never wanted any of it. I just…I just want to go home.” Baird closed his eyes briefly. “I wish I could let you. But I can’t, Olivia. I need you too damn much. I’m sorry.

Forgive me, Sophia. I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just coming over to apologize for hurting you during the, er, ceremony.” “It’s all right.” She looked down at the ground, feeling awkward all over again when she remembered the strange sensations that had flooded her body during the Luck Kiss. “No, it’s not. I drew your blood and for that I must beg your forgiveness.” He sounded formal again, just as he had when he was talking to the priestess. “The gift of blood must be freely given—never taken or forced.” “The…the gift of blood?” She looked up at him uncertainly. “Is that some kind of Kindred ceremony?” He looked uncomfortable. “It is part of the mating ritual of the Blood Kindred. And since you have made it abundantly clear you have no wish to be called as a bride, I shouldn’t have taken your blood.” “So if you did call a bride that would be part of it—of your relationship, I mean? You’d always be…biting her?” She couldn’t help looking at his fangs again and feeling glad they were still small. “Only when we made love,” Sylvan assured her as though that made it all right. Sophie felt her stomach do a slow forward flip but she tried not to show her dismay. “That’s…uh interesting.” “And off the point.” Sylvan frowned, as though irritated with himself. “What I’m trying to say is, please accept my apologies and my best wishes for your health and happiness. I truly did not mean to bite you.” “It’s…I know it was an accident but…” She wanted to ask him more. Wanted to know why his fangs had grown when he kissed her. It wasn’t just his fangs that grew, whispered a little voice in her head and a wave of embarrassment swept over her. “Yes?” Sylvan looked at her earnestly but she shook her head. “It’s okay,” she mumbled, not meeting his eyes. “Seriously, I’m fine. Let’s just…leave it at that.” “I appreciate your willingness to put the incident behind us but I need to examine the wound.” “Why?” Sophie asked. “I know you’re a doctor…er medic but—” “I need to know how serious the injury I inflicted was.” He looked so stern that she tilted her chin up to allow the examination. “It’s not bad at all. See?” she pointed at her bottom lip which, to tell the truth, was still pretty sore. Sylvan cupped her cheek in one hand and leaned forward, studying her hurt lip. For some reason Sophie’s face got hot at the gentle touch and she had to close her eyes. What is he looking for? What’s taking so long? She wished he would hurry up and finish the examination. His hand was so warm and the feel of his skin on hers made her nervous. “Is…is everything all right?” she asked at last. “It appears to be.” He sounded cautiously relieved. “I nicked you pretty badly but I don’t think you got any of my essence.” “Your what?” She opened her eyes to see him looking at her intently. Blushing, she looked quickly away. “My essence. It’s…never mind. You should recover normally.” His voice dropped. “I would offer to heal it for you but I don’t think you’d care for my method of healing.” “What do you mean?

I don’t…I’m not into this,” she protested. “And I’m not some little girl who needs a spanking to be made to behave.” “You look pretty little to me,” he returned, giving her another swat. “And maybe I like spanking you.” Obviously he wasn’t hitting her nearly as hard as he could—though the blows stung, they were hardly painful. Still, it was the principle of the thing that Liv objected to. “You can’t do this,” she protested. “I…I don’t like it.” “Oh, no?

Those won’t do at all,” he told her sternly. “And I don’t have any boots that will fit you. I’ll just have to carry you.” “Oh no, I don’t want you to have to do that. If it’s just a few yards like you said, I’m sure I can manage.” Sylvan felt his heart knot like a fist. “A few hundred yards,” he corrected her gruffly. “Is there some reason you don’t want me to carry you? Remember I swore to leave you alone so you don’t have to worry that—” “No, no!” she said hastily, cutting him off. “No, I just didn’t want to…to burden you.” “You could never be a burden to me, Talana.” The endearment slipped from him before he could help it. Clearing his throat, he tried to cover his mistake. “Besides, if you don’t want to lose your pretty toes to frostbite, you’ll have to be carried whether you like it or not.” Sophia went pale. “It’s that cold?” He nodded. “It’s that cold.” She bit her lush lower lip, another gesture that made him want her so much he ached. “Then I would like it very much if you would carry me, Sylvan,” she said in a low voice. “Thank you.” “You’re

I mean, I appreciate the offer but that’s…that’s really not what I need right now.” “Forgive me.” He breathed deeply and she could almost feel him trying to let go of his rage and relax. “What do you need, Sophia?” She was almost afraid to ask but… “You said earlier that you…you wanted to hold me. Do you still, uh feel that way?” His answer was quick and certain. “Yes, of course I still want to hold you. But are you sure? I mean, in light of what you told me…” Sophie knew what he meant. “Yeah, you’re a big guy—a lot bigger than Burke even and he was pretty huge. But I’m not afraid of you, Sylvan. At least…not when you’re not in your scary fighting mode.” “I’m glad.” His voice came from much closer and she looked up to see him standing in the darkness beside the bed. “I never want you to fear me.” “I couldn’t help it, earlier” she whispered. “It’s just…the way I feel when a guy gets too close too fast. The way I’ve felt ever since…ever since it happened.” “I wish I could take away your pain.” He sat carefully on the bed, as though trying not to startle her. “I wish I could make it better in some way.” “You can,” she surprised herself by saying. “Just…hold me. Can you do that?” He didn’t answer with words. In a moment he was on the bed beside her, gathering her into his arms and holding her close. Sophie

I don’t understand your reference. Are you trying to say you find my brother and me attractive?” “Very much so.” Kat ducked her head, having a hard time looking him in the eye. “But you already knew that.” “I knew that your body reacted to ours,” he said softly. “But physical attraction doesn’t always equate with compatibility.” “Exactly.” Kat took a deep breath. “Which is why I still don’t know why you took that beating for me. Did you do it out of a sense of duty? Or just because you wanted me—felt lust for me? Or was there another reason?” she said, before he could answer. “A deeper reason?” “Come here.” He reached for her and Kat went willingly into his arms. He was so tall that, even though he was still sitting and she was standing, they were pretty much eye-to-eye. “You have to understand,” he said hoarsely. “You’re so beautiful…so high above me. What good does it do a male to love a goddess? I might as well love the sun or the stars or anything else that’s forever out of reach.” “I’m not completely out of reach,” she said quietly. “I’m just frightened. Feeling your emotions all the time—that’s pretty overwhelming. And you…you can be pretty scary sometimes.” She lifted her chin. “Not that I’m afraid of you.” He studied her for a long moment. “Maybe I’m afraid of you—did you think about that?” “Why?” Kat frowned. “You’re a hundred times stronger than me. You could probably break me in half with your pinky finger.” “It isn’t physical pain that frightens me,” he said hoarsely. “That’s nothing. It’s—” At

Well, I’m not gone—I’m here with you.” Sophie pressed closer to him. “You got to me in time—you saved me, Sylvan.” “No, Talana,” he rumbled, kissing her again. “It was you who saved me. Without you I’d be dead inside.” “Hmmm,” she whispered, stroking his thigh. “You feel pretty alive to me.” “I’m going to get a whole lot livelier if you keep that up,” he warned. “That’s okay,” she murmured. “I don’t mind. I…” But she couldn’t finish—Sylvan was licking a long, slow trail down her neck. Sophie’s heart began to race as his warm, wet tongue caressed her sensitive skin. His big, hard body felt so good against hers and his mating scent was rising, enveloping her in pure lust. She tilted her head to one side, baring her throat. “Do it, Sylvan—I want to feel you in me.” “I never get tired of biting you,” Sylvan growled softly, lifting her so that she was straddling his hips.

Speaking of other guys, how does Lock feel about all this?” Olivia asked. “It seems to me that he’s always in the middle of you two—that can’t be easy for him.” “I don’t know.” Kat shook her head. “We didn’t talk on the trip back home at all. None of us. But…I’m pretty sure the two of them were fighting after our argument on Twin Moons.” “Really? How could you tell?” Liv looked interested. “I’d say Deep’s face was a pretty good indication. He looks like he slammed head-first into a concrete wall. And the knuckles on Lock’s right hand are all cut and bruised.” “A fist fight?” Liv shook her head. “Really? Because I was under the impression that Twin Kindred never strike each other—under any circumstances. I think it hurts them just as much to hit their twin as it does to be hit…like they share the pain they inflict or something like that. That’s what Baird told me, anyway.” “Well, I’d say they made an exception to the no-knuckle-sandwich-between-brothers rule,” Kat said dryly but she couldn’t help being troubled. “I guess…I guess they were fighting over me.” “Lock loves you, doesn’t he?” Sophie said sympathetically. Kat nodded. “And I could love him too if—” “If Deep wasn’t in the way,” Olivia finished for her. But Kat shook her head. “No, that’s not what I was going to say. I could love Lock—hell, I could love both of them if there was any chance of my love being returned.” “But what about having their emotions in your head all the time?” Sophie asked. “I thought you hated that.” Kat thought of the warm, happy feelings she’d gotten from both brothers just moments before they were captured by the natives. “It’s not so bad when they’re in a good mood. But Deep…” “Is never in a good mood,” both Liv and Sophie said. Kat nodded sadly.

My music is not staid or proper, pretty or respectable. It is not for the mother looking for a biddable bride for her son at church or for the son looking for a pretty housekeeper to call his wife. It is adventurous and weighty, loud and boisterous, fuming when it wants to be and despondent when it needs to be. It is unapologetically emotional in a way I am never allowed to be without consequence. My music is a girl who behaves like a boy: flat shoes and comfortable slacks, loud-mouthed and ready to take on the world. My music is black in a place where black isn’t an insult: it’s shining, proud, and unworried. I let myself transform into wood and sound and vibration.

She was of an age that took other people’s lives to be pretty fictions, useful merely for adorning the invisible membrane that contained her own singular and glorious existence.

Los Angeles nailed down his second up Oregon way. A minor player, Princess of the Siskyous or something, lanky tall white girl answering to Sally Rue. The Wizard of Los Angeles pricked up when she started making her name, strapped up his big snort of a horse and rode it all the way from Alamagordo where he’d fucked and then detonated the brain-stem of Abbot of New Mexico with a one lightning kiss. Come on now. Don’t make a face. I told you it wasn’t a pretty thing, when these kids count off their paces.

Connecting with someone doesn’t always have to be pretty and beautiful. It can be raw and ugly and infected with need.

I sometimes debated asking her to pray for me as well. To pray that I'd one day learn to love the dresses, and the parties, and my role as a blushing, pretty bride.

Nothing that came before will ever be yours again unless it steps through The Veil and joins you here. And even then, unless fate is kind and sends them soon, they won’t miss you the way you ache for them. Time heals and grief fades. People move on. Your pretty bride will likely find a new husband in time and when she passes over, she won’t be looking for you anymore.

He might be presenting to a jury of one, but this could be the most important case of his life. He’d use every advantage at his disposal.

I fade into the background, your favorite wallpaper. You always claim it’s pretty, but that’s all you can say about it.

The two men and a woman who interviewed her had even asked how she thought women might best fit into the organization. Frances had said earnestly that in many ways they could be more useful than men, because women were chameleons; it was so easy to change how they looked by changing their clothes and hair. A girl could look anything between fifteen and fifty, pregnant, fat, thin, ugly, pretty, or sick, while men were harder to disguise. Also, in her experience, men usually assumed that women weren’t capable enough to do anything particularly important, so they were less likely to be conspicuous and get caught. And of course they could get round men without them noticing. Even Germans.

Surprising aptitude for it, though you wouldn’t think it to look at her, pretty little thing like that.

We always assume things will be pretty much the same as they were the day before. On some level, we understand that things change, but we convince ourselves that nothing tragic will happen on this day. It might happen some other day in our lives, but not this day.

I suppose that’s what older brothers feel, isn’t it? It might not be identical to how I feel about Sierra dating, but it’s pretty damn close. That must be it.

When will I be able to shift, too?” Shit. “I don’t know.” “Misha can do it already.” “I’m sure there are things you can do that Misha can’t.” She ponders the matter. “I’m really good at braids.” “There you go.” Pretty trivial skill, but. “Can I braid your hair?” “Absolutely fucking no.

Connecting with someone doesn’t always have to be pretty and beautiful. It can be raw and ugly and infected with need. I want all of him—the good and the bad.

I was one of those people. Stepping off a bus from Manhattan into the glass and concrete terminal dressed in my TWA uniform and on my way to a faraway city. From the moment I had my wings pinned onto my dark blue jacket in 1979, to the day in 1986 when I hung my uniform up for good, being a flight attendant brought me everything that I had dreamed. By the time I had stopped flying, I had flown well over a million miles, much of it out of that terminal on 747s that took me to all those places I dreamed of visiting. But the job gave me things that I could never have imagined: the ability to talk in front of a couple hundred people and navigate the subways and streets of foreign cities with ease. It taught me to listen, to be kind and helpful and compassionate. For every honeymooning passenger I treated to a celebratory bottle of Champaign, there was another whose hand I held as the flew home after someone they loved had died. For every love story I heard, there was a tale of cruelty or a broken heart. I learned that there are misogynists in the world, sure, but that most people are pretty wonderful. I learned to laugh at human foibles and therefore to laugh at myself and to stop taking small things too seriously. We forget bride's maid dresses and Christmas presents on airplanes, we loose our passports and our wallets, we spill coffee on our white pants and red wine on our suits, but we also offer to hold a strangers crying baby or give up a seat so that newlyweds can sit together.

Or should I say, she’s why we’re out here.” Connell refused to give his friend the satisfaction of an answer. “Word’s going around town that she got the best of two big men last night. Jimmy Neil and another strong man, who happens to be standing in the middle of Main Street, ogling at her—” “I’m not ogling at her.” Connell looked far off to the south, to the puffs of black smoke billowing in the air, the distant signal that the train—a branch of the Flint and Pere Marquette Railroad—would make its daily appearance in Harrison. “And she didn’t get the best of me.” Stuart slugged him in the arm. The point of Stuart’s middle knuckle jabbed Connell hard enough to throw him off balance. Stuart wasn’t a big man. In fact, everything about him was thin. His face was a narrow oval covered with a scraggly beard. His arms and legs were as skinny as the branches of a sapling. If Connell hadn’t witnessed the man’s enormous appetite on occasion, he would have guessed Stuart wasn’t getting enough to eat. “Sounds like she’s got quite the spirit if she can get the best of you.” “I was rescuing her from Jimmy, and she fell on top of me.” “Rescuing?” Stuart gave a snort. “From the way I heard it, she did a pretty good job taking care of herself.” “No telling what could have happened to her if I hadn’t stepped in when I did.” Stuart laughed. “Okay, big guy. Whatever you say.

Stuart muttered, “Why don’t you say something?” Connell wanted to, but his lips felt like they were frozen shut. He’d never been all that suave around pretty girls. And not only was this girl pretty, but she had enough spunk to knock a man off his feet—literally. Stuart jabbed his ribs with his bony elbow. “At least go over to her.” Connell couldn’t make his feet work either. Lily stepped into the street and headed in the direction of the next closest tavern. “You big chicken,” Stuart said under his breath.

You’re as pretty as Ewan said, and I like your dress.” “Adaira!” Ewan’s face was a bright shade of red. “Not everything is meant to be repeated.” Her eyebrows dipped low. “I didn’t tell anything bad.” She looked up at Laura. “You didn’t mind me saying that Ewan thinks you’re pretty, did you?” Laura bit back a grin. “I always enjoy hearing a lovely compliment, Adaira. However, I believe you’ve embarrassed your brother, so perhaps you shouldn’t repeat anything else unless you first gain his permission.

He rang the bell beside the double doors and took her cold hand, bringing it to his lips. “Have I told you how beautiful you look?” She looked into his eyes, released a breath she didn’t know she’d held. She smiled. “Twice.” He had a way of calming her. Just by being there. Thank God he was with her tonight. Between this dinner and Stanley’s upcoming decision, she was a wreck. “You look pretty handsome yourself.” “I know. Some foxy lady told me my shirt matches my eyes.” Her lips twitched. “Who says foxy?

WHY I AM STILL SINGLE: (According to lies I tell myself)   1. I am not worth the trouble because of my imperfections.   2. I am not lovable.   3. I am not pretty enough.   4. A guy has to be drunk to be attracted to me.   5. I’m too old, even for guys my age, who want women ten years younger.   6. Another woman will always be there to take a guy’s attention off me.

Lily fought like a lynx caught in a steel trap. She scratched and bit and kicked with a force that took Connell by surprise. Her teeth sank into the sensitive flesh of his palm and forced him to let go. “Calm down, Lily. It’s just me, Connell.” The beginning of her scream died away, and she spun on him, her eyes flashing with fury. “Why did you sneak up on me like that?” “I didn’t mean to.” He brought his smarting hand to his mouth and sucked at the blood she’d drawn. “When you didn’t hear me approach, I thought I might startle you. And I didn’t want you to scream—a sure way to get every shanty boy in the camp to come running.” The tempest in her eyes turned into a low gale. He glanced at the teeth marks she’d left in his hand. “You sure know how to greet a fellow.” “And you sure know how to scare a girl half to death.” “Why exactly were you so scared?” “Because I thought you were someone else.” “And what if I had been someone else?” She paused, her pretty lips stalled around the shape of her next word. “Any number of the rough men from this camp could have followed you out here.” He’d seen the way the men were looking at her, how they hadn’t been able to take their eyes off her from the moment she’d arrived. “What would you have done then?” When she’d run off into the woods after the stupid cat, he’d had to yell at several of the men to stop them from chasing after her. “I would have screamed.” She pulled herself up to her full height, which he estimated to be five feet six inches. “Since apparently I’d get lots of attention that way.” “I’m serious,” he started. But then at the glimpse of the twinkle in her eyes, his ready lecture stalled. He stuck his aching hand into his pocket and pressed his wound against the scratchy wool. “I appreciate your concern,” she offered with the hint of a smile. “But I’m a much stronger woman than you realize.” She’d be no match for any of his strong shanty boys. “You were reckless to wander off by yourself.” He tried to soften his accusation, but he wanted her to realize the constant danger she was in simply by being an attractive woman in a place populated by lusty men. “I strongly suggest you refrain from doing so again—especially if you hope to avoid any further run-ins.

brand of churches that do not depend on the Spirit, a whole culture of Christians who are not disciples, a new group of “followers” who do not follow. If all God asked for were faceless numbers to fill the churches, then we would all be doing all right. Most of us would feel pretty confident. But simply having a good speaker, a service that is short and engaging, a good venue, and whatever else we add to the mix does not make a “good” or “successful” church. God intended for His bride, those who claim His name, to be much more than this.

so I thought I’d come see all of you,” the pretty colored woman said. “And I’m sure

They call that a Good Lord Bird,” he said. “It’s so pretty that when man sees it, he says, ‘Good Lord.

Do you ever pray to Jesus?” Sheila’s mom asked. Here we go. “No,” I said. Actually I did pray. Sometimes I prayed to the memory of the altar at our old church. Not on Sunday mornings but in the evenings, remembering the times after dinner that I’d snuck over to run around on the dark altar, with its linen cloth muddled in gold light. On the altar I’d seen a lady in her coffin, the skin of her face slack and her features completely still, and also a bride so pregnant that the zipper on the back of her dress had to be safety-pinned. I believed that the altar was a soft spot, an opening between our world and the infinite one. Now, though, God was mundane, something old and pretty, but broken, like the bronze door handle, or the odd crystal from a chandelier, things you might see in a box at a junk shop. At times I still felt the open God feeling, not so much in objects but in the space around them, like in the space around the couch or the area between the lamp and my bed: it was in that vacuum that something might happen, though it was impossible to know how to pray to nothingness and if it was crazy to do so.

Are you missing your pretty bride?” he suggested. “Counting the minutes until you see her again? Not that I blame you. A most fascinating girl, Talasyn. Or should I say, Alunsina Ivralis. I can see why you—” Alaric went in for the kill.

She shook her head. “Don’t give me that ‘not a pretty sight’ crap. You’re beautiful. Your body is beautiful, the way you move is beautiful. You’re strong and fierce and amazing, and neither the crutches nor the chair have any impact on that at all.

Lachlan grunts and shuffles his feet. "For a methodical, reclusive serial killer, you're pretty feckin' brazen." "It's my wedding day. What if I just embrace it? Boss around my brothers-in-law, marry the Boston Butcher, eat some cake. Sounds pretty great, actually. So, yeah. You need to dance with Lark. Bride's orders.

A soft chuckle escapes my lips as I lean back against the counter and look up at him. “Ares,” I murmur. “I’m not the little girl you used to know anymore. I was named this year’s highest paid model, and I’m a brand ambassador for many of the products sold in this mall. It’s not surprising that he’d recognize me. If anything, his response was really quite mild. I’m pretty sure my face is on a large billboard advertising this mall.

Pennhurst is a city. Thirty-four buildings spread over two hundred acres. It’s got its own power plant. Its own farm. Its own police. Got its own railroad, houses, stockyards, clothing factory, farm animals, tractors, trucks, wagons, wards, everything. It’s bigger than all of Hemlock Row and Chicken Hill together. It looks right clean and pretty on the outside. But on the inside, well . . . that’s where the devil does his work.

Pretty sure it was 'nasty bitch' and not 'tasty peach' that he yelled across the conference room, but who knows?

American history is not meant to be pretty. It is plain. It is simple. It is strong and truthful.

His cheese had pretty much slid off his biscuit.

I missed you, my bride.” Fuck, just calling her that instantly had his sight turning to a bright pink. “My pretty, smart, brave, fairy bride.

I missed you, my bride.” Fuck, just calling her that instantly had his sight turning to a bright pink. “My pretty, smart, brave, fairy bride.” She gave a small moan as she arched her neck. “I’m not a fairy,” she rasped. “Sure, you are. With your long, pointed ears, glossy white hair, and alluring brown skin, you’re the most enchanting thing I’ve ever seen, especially since you hold stars in your eyes. All you are missing is wings.

So pretty... Like a strike of heat from a match, he sensed she was his bride all the way to the very essence of his being.

Her pretty eyes go glassy and her lip trembles a little when she says the words that I know I’ll hear echoes of for the rest of my life. “Please don’t force me to love you any more than I already do, Kiahn. I don’t think I could stand it when you have to walk away.

You are mine, my pretty starshine,” he growled, his sight turning bright pink. “I won’t let anyone take you away from me.

Quasar looked down and picked up the end of the pickle tie. “Yeah, this one is pretty great. You know there’s some new ones out there featuring you on the back of your dinosaur. You fire magic missiles. The Donut merch is much better than the Carl merch.