Tease Flirt Quotes

Sam laughed, a funny, self-deprecating laugh. "You did read a lot. And spent too much time just inside the kitchen window, where I couldn't see you very well." "And not enough time mostly naked in front of my bedroom window?" I teased. Sam turned bright red. "That," he said, "is so not the point of this conversation.

Me? I'm being ridiculous? You're the one flirting for your thesis. What the hell kind of degree is that anyway? A doctorate of dick tease?

I want to see the front of you.” “That’s what all the girls say.” “Do you expect me to roll you over? ’Cuz I will.” “Your mate’s not going to like this.” “As if that’s going to bother you?” “True. It actually makes it worth the effort.” With a groan, he shoved his palms into the shimmering silver pool of blood beneath him, and flopped over like the side of beef he was. “Wow,” she breathed. “I know, right? Hung like a horse.” “If you’re really nice—and you live through this—I’ll promise not to tell V.” “About my size.” She laughed a little. “No, that you assumed I’d look at you in any fashion other than professionally.

What is it?" When Kat's voice finally came into Hale's ear, it was cold and steady and even. All tease was gone. If she was angry at him for standing her up, she didn't show it. she just said, "Tell me what's going on." "Party crashers," Hale whispered. He watched Macey watching him. "Five, and they brought toys." "Guns?" Kat guessed. "Big ones," Hale said. "You know this is what you get for doing a favor for your mother." "I know," Hale admitted. "What are they after?" Kat asked. "Hard to say," Hale said; again, he eyed the room. "Who is that?" Macey asked. "The reason I wasn't flirting with you,"Hale told her.

She was nursing a beer in a glass bottle, and she was bored—bored by the music, and the boys who swaggered over every now and then to flirt, and then stormed away, sulking, when she turned them down. She was bored by being called beautiful, and then a bitch. Stunning, and then stuck up. A ten, and then a tease.

A flirtatious soul misses the point of intimate trust relations.

Keefe would honestly be… … … …a really awesome boyfriend. He was thoughtful. And supportive. And he could be incredibly sweet—when he was actually being serious instead of joking around with everybody. Though… maybe some of his jokes with her hadn’t just been teasing. Had some of it also been… flirting?

I would definitely want the one with the bed,' I say and then realize how that sounds. I wonder if I will ever be able to flirt intentionally, as opposed to just accidently. 'Really?' he says, a little too innocently. I can do this— I can say something flirtatious and mean to. 'Or maybe not. You were always horrible at sharing your things,' I tease, but then realize that was just an insult said with an eyebrow wiggle. James leans in close enough that our arms touch and he smiles, slow and deliberate. 'I've gotten better.' I think all of my internal organs just evaporated. 'Why do you have a bed if you don't sleep?' I blurt. 'It looks new.' 'Yeah, that's not where I thought this conversation was going at all,' he says before settling back against the wall.

Huh? Oh you have a hidden agenda, do you?" She laughed. His straight-faced humor always surprised her. "You promised me you didn't." "There is nothing hidden about it," he replied. My objective is obvious. I've decided I'd rather have you describe me as 'sweet' than a 'slagging pain in the tailset.'" "Really?" "Well..." he looked up from the bag. "Maybe not in public." "I might be able to confine myself to saying it in private, if you gave me a reason." Taya met his eyes, and he blushed.

incredibly sweet—when he was actually being serious instead of joking around with everybody. Though… maybe some of his jokes with her hadn’t just been teasing. Had some of it also been… flirting?

You don't like birthdays, Aelan?" The silver eyes ran over her gently. "Because I can help you love birthdays...trust me." ~Nolan

You're a model? Never would have guessed," Jonah said in a lazy, teasing voice that caused Hamilton's head to swivel. He'd never seen Jonah flirt before. The girl tilted her head. The glossy hair spilled down one bare shoulder. "Un moment...you look familiar." Jonah grinned. "Yeah?" "'Ave we met? Are you an 'airdresser?" "A hairdresser?" Jonah choked out. "Guys, we'd better get going," Hamilton said. "The name is Jonah," Jonah said, pronuncing his name carefully. He waited for a sign of recognition. "Nicole." "Jonah Wizard." Nicole squinted at him. "You are a wee-zhard? Like the Harry Potter, non?" "I'm Hamilton," Hamilton said, even though nobody asked.

And they beat. The women for having known them and no more, no more; the children for having been them but never again. They killed a boss so often and so completely they had to bring him back to life to pulp him one more time. Tasting hot mealcake among pine trees, they beat it away. Singing love songs to Mr. Death, they smashed his head. More than the rest, they killed the flirt whom folks called Life for leading them on. Making them think the next sunrise would be worth it; that another stroke of time would do it at last. Only when she was dead would they be safe. The successful ones--the ones who had been there enough years to have maimed, mutilated, maybe even buried her--kept watch over the others who were still in her cock-teasing hug, caring and looking forward; remembering and looking back.

There's a bump in your nose now." He glared at me. "There is not." "Your mouth is lopsided." He opened his mouth to argue, but then he just let out a weary groan. "What is the point? I am hideous. I can't wait to change myself back again." "Don't. I prefer you like this." He looked surprised, then he began to smile. "Do you?" "Yes," I said. "You blend into the background. I could almost forget about you entirely. It's refreshing." Naturally, he found a way to twist this into a compliment. "And am I ordinarily a distraction to you, Em?

Damn it, Elliot, do you ever make kissing easy?' he said, cupping his nose. 'Maybe you should learn not to be such a tease and get to it a little quicker,' I shot back. 'So, I've got to get to the kissing before you start thinking too hard about something else?' 'Something like that,' I said, reaching to check his nose. He winced. 'You'll heal in a minute,' I said with a smirk.

Why am I impatient I am unsure for what is patience? And why should I ultimately feel that I am lacking in it. Is it timing? Waiting? Abstaining? Obligation? Longing? Torture? Perseverance? Discipline? Wanting? Someone recently referred to it as a staring contest between yourself, fate, god and chance. He also referred to it as a tease, a flirt. It's staring at her image when you want to hear her voice, feel her breath, taste her skin. Patience is the recovery from a really hot dream interrupted by the damn alarm clock. Patience is a hard cock with bound hands.

I'm sorry Donatella wounded you so badly,' Evangeline said. And she meant it. She imagined Jacks was probably leaving a few things out, but she believed his hurt was genuine. 'Maybe the stories have it wrong and there's another true love waiting for you.' Jacks laughed derisively. 'Are you saying this because you think you can be her?' He eyed Evangeline through the bars, gaze bordering on indecent. 'Do you want to kiss me, Little Fox?' Something new and terrible knotted up inside her. 'No, that's not what I'm saying.' 'You don't sound too sure about that. You might not like me, but I bet you'd like it if I kissed you.' His eyes went to her lips, and the heat that swept across her mouth felt like the beginning of a kiss. 'Jacks, stop it,' she demanded. He didn't really want to kiss her. He was just teasing her to deflect the pain. 'I know what you're doing.' 'I doubt it.' He smiled, flashing his dimples as he ran his tongue over the tip of a very sharp and long incisor, looking suddenly thoughtful. 'Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to stay like this. I rather like these.' 'You also like daylight.' Evangeline reminded him. 'I could probably live without the sun if I could trade it for other things.' He cocked his head. 'I wonder... if I were to become a true vampire, perhaps my kiss wouldn't be fatal anymore.' His fangs lengthened. 'You could let me bite you and we could try it out.' Another piercing lick of heat, this time right beneath her jaw, then her wrist, and a few other intimate places she'd have never thought anyone would bite. Evangeline blushed from her neck down to her collarbone. 'We're not talking about biting,' she said hotly.

I just meant this stuff with me is different. And I definitely wouldn't call it regular bullying." "So what would you call it, then?" I opened my mouth to answer. But I didn't have any words. Because all the words I could think of—bullying, teasing, flirting—seemed too simple, too small, to hold all the hurt I was feeling.

Colton picked up a glass of cider and tok a sip. "We're not a couple, Olivia and I, so if you want to flirt with me, it's all right." He was teasing, but there was also truth mixed into this game. Perhaps more than he knew, and I felt as though everything inside of me was stretched tight. I didn't want to face him, so I kept my gaze centered out on the dance floor. "I see. Should I bat my eyelashes or were you thinking along the lines of pointless small talk?" "Actually, I like the way you keep looking at me." "I don't keep looking at you." "Yes, you do." I didn't look at him, just to prove the point.

You heard Alanna. Someone’s got to be on you at all times.” His dark eyes glinted with a hot sort of mischief, his double entendre clear as day.

I can see how your mother would have a point. Having a debate with a politically minded woman can be intriguing and even entertaining but to share a house with her and have her always campaigning and protesting at the dinner table,” he slanted his gaze down toward me. “That could be very tiring indeed.

We sat there smiling at each other, shimmied to a standstill, thinking about all the boys that had wanted us that day, and how none of them had got us, not for a minute; how we'd let them pay for drinks and candyfloss and then run away laughing, their cries of 'Slags!' and 'Bitches' ringing in our ears like respect rather than derision.

I had the pleasure of dining with your brother.” “Gregory? Really? You’d classify it as a pleasure?” But he was grinning as he said it, and Honoria could instantly picture what life must be like in the Bridgerton household: a great deal of teasing and a great deal of love. “He was most gracious to me,” she said with a smile. “Shall I tell you a secret?” Mr. Bridgerton murmured, and Honoria decided that in his case, it was right and proper to listen to gossip—he was an incredible flirt. “Must I keep the secret?” she asked, leaning forward ever-soslightly. “Definitely not.” She gave him a sunny smile. “Then yes, please.” Mr. Bridgerton leaned in, just about as far as she had done. “He has been known to catapult peas across the supper table.” Honoria gave him a very somber nod. “Has he done this recently?” “Not too recently, no.” She pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. It was lovely to witness this type of sibling teasing. There used to be so much of it in her home, although most of the time she’d been but a witness. She was so much younger than the rest of her siblings; in all honesty, most of the time they’d probably just forgotten to tease her. “I have but one question, Mr. Bridgerton.” He cocked his head. “How was this catapult constructed?” He grinned. “Simple spoon, Lady Honoria. But in Gregory’s devious hands, there was nothing simple about it.

He slouches,' DeeDee contributes. 'True--he needs to work on his posture,' Thelma says. 'You guys,' I say. 'I'm serious,' Thelma says. 'What if you get married? Don't you want to go to fancy dinners with him and be proud?' 'You guys. We are not getting married!' 'I love his eyes,' Jolene says. 'If your kids get his blue eyes and your dark hair--wouldn't that be fabulous?' 'The thing is,' Thelma says, 'and yes, I know, this is the tricky part--but I'm thinking Bliss has to actually talk to him. Am I right? Before they have their brood of brown-haired, blue-eyed children?' I swat her. "I'm not having Mitchell's children!' 'I'm sorry--what?' Thelma says. Jolene is shaking her head and pressing back laughter. Her expressing says, Shhh, you crazy girl! But I don't care. If they're going to embarrass me, then I'll embarrass them right back. 'I said'--I raise my voice--'I am not having Mitchell Truman's children!' Jolene turns beet red, and she and DeeDee dissolve into mad giggles. 'Um, Bliss?' Thelma says. Her gaze travels upward to someone behind me. The way she sucks on her lip makes me nervous. 'Okaaay, I think maybe I won't turn around,' I announce. A person of the male persuasion clears his throat. 'Definitely not turning around,' I say. My cheeks are burning. It's freaky and alarming how much heat is radiating from one little me. 'If you change your mind, we might be able to work something out,' the person of the male persuasion says. 'About the children?' DeeDee asks. 'Or the turning around?' 'DeeDee!' Jolene says. 'Both,' says the male-persuasion person. I shrink in my chair, but I raise my hand over my head and wave. 'Um, hi,' I say to the person behind me whom I'm still not looking at. 'I'm Bliss.' Warm fingers clasp my own. 'Pleased to meet you,' says the male-persuasion person. 'I'm Mitchell.' 'Hi, Mitchell.' I try to pull my hand from his grasp, but he won't let go. 'Um, bye now!' I tug harder. No luck. Thelma, DeeDee, and Jolene are close to peeing their pants. Fine. I twist around and give Mitchell the quickest of glances. His expressions is amused, and I grow even hotter. He squeezes my hand, then lets go. 'Just keep me in the loop if you do decide to bear my children. I'm happy to help out.' With that, he stride jauntily to the food line. Once he's gone, we lost it. Peals of laughter resound from our table, and the others in the cafeteria look at us funny. We laugh harder. 'Did you see!' Thelma gasps. 'Did you see how proud he was?' 'You improve his posture!' Jolene says. 'I'm so glad, since that was my deepest desire,' I say. 'Oh my God, I'm going to have to quit school and become a nun.' 'I can't believe you waved at him,' DeeDee says. 'Your hand was like a little periscope,' Jolene says. 'Or, no--like a white surrender flag.' 'It was a surrender flag. I was surrendering myself to abject humiliation.' 'Oh, please,' Thelma says, pulling me into a sideways hug. 'Think of it this way: Now you've officially talked to him.

You are so fucked.” Tate’s eyes darkened with lust as he flicked his tongue over Logan’s thumb and said, “I can’t wait.” You fucking flirt, Logan thought, as he dipped his thumb between Tate’s lips, and when he sucked on it, Logan growled.

A tease is a con. You press a spot because you know that it can be pressed, and while the sucker is feeling the pleasure or the pain resulting from the pressure, you take something from him. ...A flirt doesn't do that. A flirt does a dance within the context of giving pleasure. Referring to this, referring to that. And suddenly, following the references, you find a little surprise. Nothing enormous. Nothing like 'Feed on me.' Nothing like that. Something small with a bow on it. It's a pleasure. A surprise, and a *gift*.

Philip Wyndham! That is the most inappropriate thing I have ever heard, and if your mother were here she would give you the scolding of your life! In fact, I have half a mind to go tell her what an atrocious, incorrigible, scandalous tease she has raised.” He didn’t look the least bit chagrined. He just smiled and said, “If my mother were here I wouldn’t have said it. That was for your ears only.” And then he winked. I stared at him in disbelief. There was no stopping him. He had no limits to how far he would go with his outrageous flirting.

Hmmm," he said, "Lauren Elizabeth Danner.Elizabeth is a beautiful name and so is Lauren. They suit you." Unable to endure the sweet torment of having him flirt with her, Lauren said repressively, "I was named after two maiden aunts.One of them had a squint and the other had warts." Nick ignored that and continued aloud. "Color of eyes,blue." He regarded her over the top of the file, his gray eyes intimate and teasing. "They are definitely blue.A man could lose himself in those eyes of yours-they're gorgeous." "My right eye used to wobble unless I wore my glasses," Lauren informed him blithely. "They had to operate on it." "A little girl with wobbly blue eyes and glasses on her nose," he reflected with a slow grin. "I'll bet you were cute." "I looked studious,not cute.

He’d forgotten, in those long years in Bedlam, through fear and grief and pain, what it was like to simply be with a pretty woman. To tease and flirt and yes, perhaps steal a kiss. He didn’t know how she felt about that kiss—or if she’d let him kiss her again, but he was certainly going to try. He had lost time to make up—much of life itself to live. He’d spent four years in limbo, simply existing, while others found lovers and friends, even started families. He wanted to live again.

And right now, you’re having too much fun flirting with her on Twitter,” Lia teased. “It’s chatting, not flirting,

Fuck me." "Is that an offer?" The amusement on his face fanned flames of annoyance in me. Annoyance, and maybe a tiny little bit of temptation.

If they hadn’t been sparkly flying horses, Sophie would’ve teased them for flirting.

Glad to see you woke up ready to play, Nesta.

waiting for the other shoe to drop. Did you know it originated in cities like Chicago and New York?” “No. I did not” He tilted his head, his mouth hooking upward to one side as though he were trying not to laugh. “Tell me about it.”He was teasing me again. “Well, it did. So…”He lifted his eyebrows, “That’s all? You’re not going to tell me the specific origin of the idiom waiting for the other shoe to drop’?”I shook my head, “I don’t know it.”He mimicked me and shook his head in response, “You’re lying. You do know.”“Nope. I don’t.”“This is just like the mammals.” He sighed and placed his phone on the table. Before he took a bite from his sandwich he said, “You’re stingy with information.”My frowned deepened, “No, I’m not-”His words were somewhat garbled as he spoke between chewing, “You’re an information tease.”“What?!”“Or maybe you don’t really know the origin and you’re just making things up to impress me-” he took another bite. “I am not! It originates from the late industrial revolution, in the late 19th and early 20th century.Apartments were all built with the same floor plan, in similar design so one tenant’s bedroom was under another’s. Therefore it was normal to hear an upstairs neighbor removing his or her shoes and hearing one shoe hit the floor, then the other, when they undressed at night.”“I wonder what else they heard.” His gaze held mine, seemed to burn with a new intensity.“I suppose anything that was loud enough.

SOPHIE WASN’T SURE HOW LONG she sat there staring blankly at her empty doorway. Could’ve been minutes. Could’ve been hours. It didn’t matter. No amount of time was going to quiet the chaos in her head. All it did was raise a whole lot of terrifying questions. Because even if Ro was right about Keefe’s feelings—and Sophie decided she wanted to see what would happen—this was so much bigger than just the two of them. Like… What would Grady and Edaline think? Sophie still didn’t know if she was actually allowed to date—much less date That Boy. And even if she was, there would surely be all kinds of annoying new rules and restrictions to deal with. Plus, Edaline would probably follow them around with a sappy, embarrassing smile, and Grady would make them sit through a series of horrifying Dad Talks. And what would her friends say when they found out? There’d been a time when Sophie had wondered if Biana had a crush on Keefe—and even though it seemed like Biana had gotten over it… what if she hadn’t? Better question: How would Fitz react? Keefe was Fitz’s best friend—and Fitz’s temper could be… challenging. The possibilities for drama were endless. Sophie’s insides twisted into knots on top of knots as she imagined the awkward conversations. And the stares. And the gossip. There would be So. Much. Gossip. She wanted to hide just thinking about it—and Keefe would probably love the attention. Did that prove they weren’t compatible? Or was she just looking for an excuse because she was scared? And why was she so scared? Keefe would honestly be… … … …a really awesome boyfriend. He was thoughtful. And supportive. And he could be incredibly sweet—when he was actually being serious instead of joking around with everybody. Though… maybe some of his jokes with her hadn’t just been teasing. Had some of it also been… flirting? If Ro were still there, she probably would’ve been nodding and shouting about the Great Foster Oblivion. And maybe she was right. Maybe Sophie had been too insecure to let herself see what was right in front of her. Or too distracted by her crush on Fitz. The last thought made her inner knots twist so much tighter. She’d liked Fitz for so long that she’d never even thought about liking someone else—and she was still trying to get over all of that. But… Did she want to risk missing out on something that might be… really great? Keefe’s face filled her mind, flashing his trademark smirk.

What do you talk about?”... “Nothing. Just . . . stuff.” “Oh my god, Jules. You are blushing!” This is appalling. She’s right. I can feel it. “I am not!” She leans in and teases me. “Do you need a mirror? You’re bright red.” “Stop it. It’s not like that. We talk about . . . heavy things.” I don’t want to say “death.” Even that much feels like breaking a confidence. “We’re not flirting.” “So he hasn’t sent you a picture of his manhood yet?” I burst out laughing. “Has Brandon sent you a picture of his?” “No!” Now she’s blushing. “Knowing him, it would be artfully framed, with perfect lighting and specifically placed shadows—” “Shut up!” But she’s giggling.

As we hop out of the truck and head towards the entrance, I tell Cole that it's okay and let him know that he's not the first straight guy that I've been with. He asked, "You've been with other STRAIGHT guys?" "Yeah. So don't worry. You don't ever have to do ANYTHING that you don't wanna do. And we can do whatever you want ANYTIME you want. Or NEVER do it again. Alright?" He laughed, "I KNEW that you were a little whore." I chuckle with delight.

You're a shameless flirt.' 'Thank you.' He grins and goes back to carving. 'It wasn't a compliment.' 'Don't mind her, she's just sexually frustrated. Makes a girl crabby.' ... 'That has nothing to do with it.' Gods, could she have said that a little louder? 'And yet I don't hear you denying it.' She smiled sweetly at me. 'I'm sorry I don't make the cut,' Liam teases. 'But I'm sure Riorson would be fine with my reviewing a couple candidates, especially if it means you'll stop flipping him off in front of his entire wing.' 'And how exactly would you be reviewing candidates? What will you be scoring?' Rhiannon asks, one eyebrow raised above her wide grin. 'This I have to hear.' I manage a straight face for all of two seconds before laughing at how horrified he suddenly looks. 'Thanks for the offer, though. I'll make sure to run any potential liaisons by you.' 'I mean, you could watch,' Rhiannon continues, blinking innocently at him. 'Just to be sure she's fully covered. You know, so no one... sticks it to her.' 'Oh, are we telling dick jokes now?' Ridoc asks from Liam's side. 'Because my entire life has led up to this moment.' Even Sawyer laughs. 'Fuck me,' Liam mutters under his breath.

You're drooling,' Cassian said to her, and Nesta went rigid. 'If there was anything enticing,' she hissed, entering the ring, 'it was seeing Azriel punch your face.' Cassian motioned for her to get into her fighting stance. 'Keep telling yourself that, Nes.

And they beat. The women for having known them and no more, no more; the children for having been them but never again. They killed a boss so often and so completely they had to bring him back to life to pulp him one more time. Tasting hot mealcake among pine trees, they beat it away. Singing love songs to Mr. Death, they smashed his head. More than the rest, they killed the flirt whom folks called Life for leading them on. Making them think the next sunrise would be worth it; that another stroke of time would do it at last. Only when she was dead would they be safe. The successful ones—the ones who had been there enough years to have maimed, mutilated, maybe even buried her—kept watch over the others who were still in her cock-teasing hug, caring and looking forward, remembering and looking back.

Improvising, I participated in the discussion, and questioned another woman in the group. I asked her how old she was and she answered, “Thirty.” I replied, “No, you are not thirty but instead eighty and lying on your deathbed. And now you are looking back on your life, a life which was childless but full of financial success and social prestige.” And then I invited her to imagine what she would feel in this situation. “What will you think of it? What will you say to yourself?” Let me quote what she actually said from a tape which was recorded during that session. “Oh, I married a millionaire, I had an easy life full of wealth, and I lived it up! I flirted with men; I teased them! But now I am eighty; I have no children of my own. Looking back as an old woman, I cannot see what all that was for; actually, I must say, my life was a failure!

In what also seems to be a strange contrast to her loner ways, Marella definitely has a reputation for flirting. And teasing. And generally being very open about who does and doesn’t catch her interest—as well as who she thinks her friends should or shouldn’t be interested in. Which may seem like a strange note to be including in this file. But given the particular complications of Marella’s ability, she’s likely going to have a very challenging matchmaking process—possibly even more challenging than Sophie’s. In light of that, her flirting seems suddenly significant.

Her kiss is hungry, as if long deprived. As if they didn’t already spend the morning doing just exactly this, making up for the lost time they were apart. Triton’s trident, I could do this all day. Then he catches himself. No, I couldn’t. Not without wanting more. Which is why we need to stop. Instead, he entwines his hands in her hair, and she teases his lips with her tongue, trying to get him to fully open his mouth to her. He gladly complies. Her fingers sneak their way under his shirt, up his stomach, sending a trail of fire to his chest. He is about to lose his shirt altogether. Until Antonis’s voice booms from the doorway. “Extract yourself from Prince Galen, Emma,” he says. “You two are not mated. This behavior is inappropriate for any Syrena, let alone a Royal.” Emma’s eyes go round as sand dollars. He can tell she’s not sure what to think about her grandfather telling her what to do. Or maybe she’s caught off guard that he called her a Royal. Either way, like most people, Emma decides to obey. Galen does, too. They stand up side by side, not daring to be close enough to touch. They behold King Antonis in a polka-dot bathrobe, and though he’s the one who looks silly, they are the ones who look shamed. Galen feels like a fingerling again. “I apologize, Highness,” he says. It seems like all he does lately is apologize to the Poseidon king. “It was my fault.” Antonis gives him a reproving look. “I like you, young prince. But you well know the law. Do not disappoint me, Galen. My granddaughter is deserving of a proper mating ceremony.” Galen can’t meet his eyes. He’s right. I shouldn’t be flirting with temptation like this. With the Archives on their way-or possibly here already-there is a distant but small chance that he and Emma can still live within the confines of the law. That they can still live as mates under the Syrena tradition. And he almost just blew it. What if it had gone too far? Then his mating with Emma would forever be blemished by breaking the law. “It won’t happen again, Highness.” Not until we’re mated, anyway. “Um. Did you just promise not to kiss me ever again?” Emma whispers. “Can we talk about this later? The Archives are obviously here, angelfish.” She’s on the verge of a fit, he can tell. “He’s just looking out for us,” Galen says quickly. “I agree, we need to respect the law-“ At this her fit subsides as if it was never there. She smiles wide at him. He can’t decide if it’s genuine, or if it’s the kind of smile she gives him when he’ll pay for something later. “Okay, Galen.” “Galen, Emma,” Nalia calls from the dining room, saving him from making a fool of himself. “Everyone is here.” Emma gives him a look that clearly says, “We’re so not done with this conversation.” Then she turns and walks away. Galen takes a second to regain a little bit of composure-which kissing Emma tends to steal from him. Then there’s the mortification of being interrupted by-Get it together, idiot.

. To be a sex goddess you had to view the world coldly yet treat it with overabundant affection; you had to be brashly childlike yet clearly womanly; you had to pretend you expected nothing, but in reality accept nothing less than everything; you had to tease and charm and flirt and whimper and coo and goad everyone you met.

It’s no big deal,” he said quickly, backing up to lean sideways against the doorjamb. Crossing his arms. Definitely not thinking about how easy it would be to prowl over her on that bed, tease her a little more, run his fingertips along that section of skin between her hip bones and waist, flirt until kissing turned into her idea, instead of his intention all along. He knew the dance moves well.

No, I chastised myself. I should be happy for him. I’d let him go. I’d turned down his request to be with me, so now I had no room to judge who he chose to be with. I needed to be happy for him, but I wasn’t. Knowing he was laughing and smiling with someone else, that he was flirting and teasing someone who wasn’t me ignited a feeling inside me that I’d fought so hard to bury. Suddenly, I was drawn to him like I hadn’t been in years, and I couldn’t ignore it.

I'm not most people.' 'Most people aren't as insane as you,' I said in a throaty voice that wasn't mine. 'That's not a very nice thing to say.' He scraped harder with his sharp teeth, just below where he'd bitten me before, and I gasped as my body jerked. 'And the truth is, you like my brand of insanity.' My blood pounded through me in a dizzying push. 'I don't like anything about you.' He laughed as his lips skimmed the side of my throat. 'I love how you lie.

Why, Dain Aetos,' I grin and walk toward him, then grasp the door handle at his side. 'You've seen me in swimwear, tunics, and even ballgowns. Are you telling me it's the leather that does it for you?' He scoffs, but there's a slight flush to his cheeks as his hands covers mine to open the door. 'Glad to see our year apart hasn't dulled your tongue, Vi.' 'Oh,' I toss over my shoulder as we walk into the hallway, 'I can do quite a few things with my tongue. You'd be impressed.

by Gene’s old-man name as I am. I’m less pleased, however, with Lulu’s behavior tonight. Once again, she was on obnoxious overload, teasing me in biting, passive-aggressive ways, buying shots for Calvin and Ramón, sitting on their laps, flirting shamelessly. Lulu’s always been my wild friend, but never this sharp before. Seeing her through Calvin’s eyes is embarrassing; I want her to relax and back off, just the tiniest bit. “She’s so jealous of you,” Calvin says, tugging his shirt up and over his head. He tosses it past the couch;

I might be a shameless flirt, but at least I don't have a horrible temper. You should come tend to my wounds from our squabble in the snow. I'm bruised all over thanks to you. Something clicked against the nightstand, and a pen rolled across the polished mahogany. Hissing, I snatched it up and scribbed: Go lick your wounds and leave me be. The paper vanished. It was gone for a while- far longer than it should have taken to write the few words that appeared on the paper when it returned. I'd much rather you licked my wounds for me. My heart pounded, faster and faster, and a strange sort of rush went through my veins as I read the sentence again and again. A challenge. I clamped my lips shut to keep from smiling as I wrote, Lick you where exactly? The paper vanished before I'd even completed the final mark. His reply was a long time coming. Then, Wherever you want to lick me, Feyre. I'd like to start with "Everywhere," but I can choose, if necessary. I wrote back, Let's hope my licking is better than yours. I remember how horrible you were at it Under the Mountain. Lie. He'd licked away my tears when I'd been a moment away from shattering. He'd done it to keep me distracted- keep me angry. Because anger was better than feeling nothing; because anger and hatred were the long-lasting fuel in the endless dark of my despair. The same way that music had kept me from breaking. Lucien had come to patch me up a few times, but no one risked quite so much in keeping me not only alive, but as mentally intact as I could be considering the circumstances. Just as he'd been doing these past few weeks- taunting and teasing me to keep the hollowness at bay. Just as he was doing now. I was under duress, his next note read. If you want, I'd be more than happy to prove you wrong. I've been told I'm very, very good at licking. I clenched my knees together and wrote back, Good night. A heartbeat later, his note said, Try not to moan too loudly when you dream about me. I need my beauty rest. I got up, chucked the letter in the burbling fire, and gave it a vulgar gesture. I could have sworn laughter rumbled down the hall.

Thea," I said, my voice lower and firmer than I had intended. "I want you here, and even better, I'm glad you slept in my bed." Another flush of emotion from the direction of Thea's warmth. Just a hint of lust. Her lips parted in surprise, and my eyes followed the motion with a spreading grin. "Did you sleep well, bond mate?" I asked, low and with clear intent to tease. Thea caught her breath and stood up straighter, pulling my shirt tighter around her shoulders. She looked me up and down, a mix of curiosity and scandal on her face. "Now who is thinking unspeakable things?" Her reaction was unexpected and I chuckled as I took her fingers in my hand. "You're entangled with a fae now, darling. Unspeakable things are what I excel at.

While we spoke, I flipped through the pages, occasionally passing sketches of more fairy tale creatures. "He really did have hallucinations, didn't he?" "Marcel?" Devin asked, looking over my shoulder. "That depends entirely on your perspective." I landed on a page depicting a winged being with pointed ears in a flower field and held it up for Devin. "You almost sound like you believe in the faeries too," I teased. He laughed, so close to me that the rumble from his chest was almost tangible. My heartbeat jumped up to the level of light aerobics while I tried to clear my head. "Maybe I do." His warm breath tickled my ear. "I believe Marcel truly saw all of the things he painted." "I admire your imagination, but I'm going to be a little tougher to convince." "Should I take that as a challenge? I happen to have a hobby of convincing lovely historians to believe in fairy tales.

Come inside with me,” he urged, increasing the pressure on her elbow, “and I’ll begin making it up to you.” Elizabeth let herself be drawn forward a few steps and hesitated. “This is a mistake. Everyone will see us and think we’ve started it all over again-“ “No, they won’t,” he promised. “There’s a rumor spreading like fire in there that I tried to get you in my clutches two years ago, but without a title to tempt you I didn’t have a chance. Since acquiring a title is a holy crusade for most of them, they’ll admire your sense. Now that I have a title, I’m expected to use it to try to succeed where I failed before-as a way of bolstering my wounded male pride.” Reaching up to brush a wisp of hair from her soft cheek, he said, “I’m sorry. It was the best I could do with what I had to work with-we were seen together in compromising circumstances. Since they’d never believe nothing happened, I could only make them think I was in pursuit and you were evading.” She flinched from his touch but didn’t shove his hand away. “You don’t understand. What’s happening to me in there is no less than I deserve. I knew what the rules were, and I broke them when I stayed with you at the cottage. You didn’t force me to stay. I broke the rules, and-“ “Elizabeth,” he interrupted in a voice edge with harsh remorse, “if you won’t do anything else for me, at least stop exonerating me for that weekend. I can’t bear it. I exerted more force on you than you understand.” Longing to kiss her, Ian had to be satisfied instead with trying to convince her his plan would work, because he now needed her help to ensure its success. In a teasing voice he said, “I think you’re underrating my gift for strategy and subtlety. Come and dance with me, and I’ll prove to you how easily most of the male minds in there have been manipulated.” Despite his confidence, moments after they entered the ballroom Ian noticed the increasing coldness of the looks being directed at them, and he knew a moment of real alarm-until he glanced at Elizabeth as he took her in his arms for a waltz and realized the cause of it. “Elizabeth,” he said in a low, urgent voice, gazing down at her bent head, “stop looking meek! Put your nose in the air and cut me dead or flirt with me, but do not on any account look humble, because these people will interpret it as guilt!” Elizabeth, who had been staring at his shoulder, as she'd done with her other dancing partners, tipped her head back and looked at him in confusion. "What?" Ian's heart turned over when the chandeliers overhead revealed the wounded look in her glorious green eyes. Realizing logic and lectures weren't going to help her give the performance he badly needed her to give, he tried the tack that had, in Scotland, made her stop crying and begin to laugh: He tried to tease her. Casting about for a subject, he said quickly, "Belhaven is certainly in fine looks tonight-pink satin pantaloons. I asked him for the name of his tailor so that I could order a pair for myself." Elizabeth looked at him as if he'd taken leave of his senses; then his warning about looking meek hit home, and she began to understand what he wanted her to do. That added to the comic image of Ian's tall, masculine frame in those absurd pink pantaloons enabled her to manage a weak smile. "I have greatly admired those pantaloons myself," she said. "Will you also order a yellow satin coat to complement the look?" He smiled. "I thought-puce." "An unusual combination," she averred softly, "but one that I am sure will make you the envy of all who behold you.

Every morning the muse puts her finger in my nose. One, then two. Sliding into me pornographically. She stretches my nostrils wide until her slimy hand crawls past my deviated septum, in between my eyes, and into my brain. Exploding into a fist when she reaches the cavity behind my temples. The muse is bratty. She is smug. She wiggles her fingers around defiantly. She displays her palm expectantly, waiting for a present I will drop into it. She brushes and tickles the walls of my skull. The muse is a flirt. She’ll always tease but never put out. Fucking bitch. I so badly want to be liked. Scratch that. I want to be loved. I want her to love me. Scratch that. I want her to leave. I want her to scratch that. Scratch that itchy itch of my swollen brain. It’s only awful ’cause the muse looks just like me. Dirty fingernails and gummy smile. But she sparkles the way only a beautiful woman can.

There's always a moment before a storm when the wind seems to change its mind. It plays at domesticity; it flirts with the blossoms on the trees; it teases the rain from the dull grey clouds. This moment of playfulness is when the wind is at its cruelest and most dangerous. Not later, when trees fall and the blossom is just blotting-paper choking the drains and rivulets. Not when houses fall like cards, and walls you though were firm and secure are torn away like paper. No, the cruellest moment is always the one in which you think you might be safe; that maybe the wind has moved on at last; that maybe you can start rebuilding again, something that can;t be blown away. That's the moment at which the wind is at its most insidious. That's the moment where grief begins. The moment of unexpected joy. The demon of hope inside Pandora's box. The moment when the cacao bean releases its scent into the air: a scent of burning, and spices, and salt; and blood; and vanilla; and heartache.

Matthew closed the door and turned toward her. He seemed very large in the small room, his broad frame dwarfing their civilized surroundings. Daisy’s mouth went dry as she stared at him. She wanted to be close to him… she wanted to feel all his skin against hers. “What is there between you and Llandrindon?” he demanded. “Nothing. Only friendship. On my side, that is.” “And on his side?” “I suspect— well, he seemed to indicate that he would not be averse to— you know.” “Yes, I know,” he said thickly. “And even though I can’t stand the bastard, I also can’t blame him for wanting you. Not after the way you’ve teased and tempted him all week.” “If you’re trying to imply that I’ve been acting like some femme fatale—” “Don’t try to deny it. I saw the way you flirted with him. The way you leaned close when you talked… the smiles, the provocative dresses…” “Provocative dresses?” Daisy asked in bemusement. “Like that one.” Daisy looked down at her demure white gown, which covered her entire chest and most of her arms. A nun couldn’t have found fault with it. She glanced at him sardonically. “I’ve been trying for days to make you jealous. You would have saved me a lot of effort if you’d just admitted it straight off.” “You were deliberately trying to make me jealous?” he exploded. “What in God’s name did you think that would accomplish? Or is turning me inside out your latest idea of an entertaining hobby?” A sudden blush covered her face. “I thought you might feel something for me… and I hoped to make you admit it.” Matthew’s mouth opened and closed, but he couldn’t seem to speak. Daisy wondered uneasily what emotion was working on him. After a few moments he shook his head and leaned against the dresser as if he needed physical support. “Are you angry?” she asked apprehensively. His voice sounded odd and ragged. “Ten percent of me is angry.” “What about the other ninety percent?” “That part is just a hairsbreadth away from throwing you on that bed and—” Matthew broke off and swallowed hard. “Daisy, you’re too damned innocent to understand the danger you’re in. It’s taking all the self-control I’ve got to keep my hands off you. Don’t play games with me, sweetheart. It’s too easy for you to torture me, and I’m at my limit. To put to rest any doubts you might have… I’m jealous of every man who comes within ten feet of you. I’m jealous of the clothes on your skin and the air you breathe. I’m jealous of every moment you spend out of my sight.” Stunned, Daisy whispered, “You… you certainly haven’t shown any sign of it.” “Over the years I’ve collected a thousand memories of you, every glimpse, every word you’ve ever said to me. All those visits to your family’s home, those dinners and holidays— I could hardly wait to walk through the front door and see you.” The corners of his mouth quirked with reminiscent amusement. “You, in the middle of that brash, bull-headed lot… I love watching you deal with your family. You’ve always been everything I thought a woman should be. And I have wanted you every second of my life since we first met.

It was a particular pleasure when she climbed into the dark confines of her coach and sat back with a deep sigh, all without realizing he was sitting in the shadows across from her. She rapped on the roof three times, and the coach pulled away with the horses at a sedate walk. “Did you have fun, Miss Windham?” She didn’t scream, which was a point in her favor, though her hand disappeared into her reticule. “You might hit me at this range, even in the dark,” Hazlit said. “But I really wish you wouldn’t. In such a situation, even a gentleman might be forced to take desperate measures.” “Good evening, Mr. Hazlit. Not quite a pleasure to see you.” “You hired me, Miss Windham. Were we to communicate exclusively in notes written in disappearing ink?” “No.” Her ungloved hand emerged from her reticule. “I meant I can’t quite see you.” She took off her other glove and stuffed them both into her bag. “I suppose it makes sense you’d prefer to meet in private. I wasn’t sure whether to approach you, since you insist on determining the time and place you meet with a client. You did not look to be enjoying yourself.” “You did.” How could peevishness creep into only two syllables? In the dark, her teeth gleamed in a smile. “I did. A little bit, I did. There are advantages to being on the shelf, though I’ve yet to truly appreciate them.” “One being that you can tease and flirt and carry on like a strumpet all night?” The peevishness was gone, but Hazlit hardly liked himself for the condescension that had taken its place. “If I’m flirting and teasing, then the gentlemen are also flirting and teasing, and yet you hardly compare them to streetwalkers. They are being gallant, but you accuse me of being immoral. Hardly fair, Mr. Hazlit.” “They do not have their hair swinging around their backsides like some dollymop working the docks.” She went still, as if he’d slapped her, and Hazlit had to wonder if she wouldn’t be justified in shooting him.

Come here.” Without regard for modesty, she pulled off her T-shirt and wadded it up to stanch his wounds. He splayed his fingers on her bare stomach and grinned. “Honey, I’m afraid I can’t help you with that right now. Maybe later?” How could he joke and flirt when she was so afraid? “Max. You’re bleeding. Maybe dying. I don’t want to lose you.” “Come. Here.” He grabbed her and pulled her down into the grass beside him. He pressed a kiss to her temple and rubbed his grizzled cheek against hers. The sirens were getting closer. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” “I’m fine. You’re the one who got shot. Twice.” “I’m gonna live through both. I’m a tough guy, remember?” “Damn it, Max—” “Rosemary March. Did you just swear? You know I don’t like hearing that from you,” he teased. He pulled her in for a kiss that lasted until a groan of pain forced him to come up for air. “You get under my skin, Rosie.” “Like an itchy rash?” she teased. “Like an alarm clock finally waking me up to the life I’m supposed to have. With you.” So when did the tough guy learn to speak such beautiful things? Tears stung her eyes again as she found a spot where she could hug him without causing any pain. “I know I’m not the guy you expected to want you like this, and I know you weren’t the woman I was looking for. Hell, I wasn’t even looking.” “Neither was I.” “But we found each other.” “We’re good for each other.” “I’m not an easy man to live with. I come with a lot of emotional baggage.” “And I don’t?” “You can do better than me.” Rosie shook her head, smiling. “I can’t do better than a good man who loves me. A man who encourages me to be myself and to be strong and who makes me feel safer and more loved than I have ever felt in my life.” “I do love you, Rosie.” “I love you, Max.” “What are we going to do about these feelings?” Max asked. “What do you want to do?” " Let’s give the Dinkles something to talk about.” “You’re moving in upstairs?” “And opening all the windows.” Rosie smiled. “Oh, I hope we give them plenty to talk about.

What the devil was Davy doing up there with a marlinespike? That’s what I’d like to know. It’s a sailors duty.” She put her head in her hands. “I’m afraid that’s my fault, too. I’d been talking to him about moving up to the forecastle, and I…I think he wanted to impress me.” Gray choked on a laugh. “Well, of course he did. You ought to take care how you bat those eyelashes, sweetheart. One of these days, you’re likely to knock a man overboard.” The legs of her chair scraped the floor as she stood. The color returned to her cheeks. “If Davy was trying to impress me, it’s as much your fault as mine.” “How is that my fault?” Gray’s frustration came right back to a boil. He hated himself for growling at her, but he couldn’t seem to help it. “You’re the one who humiliated him in front of the crew, with all those questions. You goaded him into saying he…well, you know what he said.” “Yes, I know what he said.” Gray stepped toward her until only the table separated them. “I know what he said. And don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it. Don’t pretend you don’t use those men to feed your vanity.” “My vanity? What would you know about feeding my vanity? You don’t so much as breathe in my direction. At least the sailors speak to me. And if that entire ‘Kind of the Sea’ display wasn’t one long exercise in feeding your own vanity, I’m sure I don’t know what is.” She jabbed one finger on the tabletop and lowered her voice. “Those men may flirt with me, but they worship you. You know it. You wanted to feel it. Bask in it. And you did so at Davy’s expense.” “At least I only teased the boy. I’m not the one poised to break his heart.” She blinked. “It’s only infatuation. He’s not really in love with me.” He pounded the table. “Of course the boy’s in love with you! They all are. You talk to them, you listen to their stories-even Wiggins’s prattling, God only knows why. You draw them little sketches, you make them paintings for Christmas. You remind them of everything they’ve left behind, everything they pray they’ll one day hold again. And you do it all looking like some sort of Botticelli goddess, surely the most beautiful thing they’ve ever laid eyes on. Damn it, how’s a man to keep from falling in love with you?” Silence. She stared at him. She blinked. Her lips parted, and she drew a quick breath. Say something, Gray silently pleaded. Anything. But she only stared at him. What the hell had he just said? Was it truly that bad? He frowned, reliving the past minute in his mind. Oh, God. Gray rubbed his face with one hand, then gave a sharp tug on his hair. It was that bad. Damn it to hell. If Joss were here, he’d have a good laugh at his expense.

His phone dinged again. “This crazy-ass voicemail. It’s all jacked—Wait, when did you call me?” “Please don’t listen to that,” I blurted. He grinned. “Okay, now I have to hear it. Was this last night? Were you drunk? Did you drunk-dial me?” he teased. But it was too late, he’d already lifted the phone. Bile rose in my throat and the room became a thousand degrees hotter. “Please. Don’t.” “Why? What’s wrong?” He grew quiet and listened. “I don’t hear anything. Wait. You didn’t mean to call, did you? Is that another guy?” I put my face in my hands. Cade was quiet as he listened. And I prayed for a giant black hole to open and swallow me. His phone made a soft thump as he tossed it onto the coffee table. The couch moved with him as he settled back. “You can uncover your face now.” His tone didn’t sound angry but I still couldn’t face him. His hands slid around my wrists and gently tugged, forcing me to lower them. I swallowed the lump in my throat, annoyed that I didn’t even have my own car to leave. “Was that your roommate?” he asked. I nodded, my face still tucked down. “And…her boyfriend?” “No, her best friend.” “So you told your roommate about me?” I could hear the smile in his voice and looked up. “I mean, I assume you don’t know a bunch of ‘therapy dog’ guys named Cade, but I could be wrong.” “You aren’t pissed about what you heard?” “All I heard were some friends teasing you…about me. They think you want me. Bad.” He grinned. “And what I said?” “Were you serious? Because to me you sounded annoyed, maybe even defensive. And considering you stayed home last night and are with me tonight, I don’t think you really planned a, how did you put it? ‘Weekend fuckfest.’ ” He bit back a smile. “You were never supposed to hear that.” I crossed my arms. “And I expected you to be upset, not tease me about it.” He grabbed my hand. “C’mon, I’m sorry. Did you want to have a weekend fuckfest? I don’t want to interfere with your plans.” He tugged my hand, urging me to look up. “Look, we can have one. I’m game. Don’t stop on account of me.” “Shut up.” His hand made its way to my arm and he slid me along the leather couch, and tucked me into him. “Quit being all grumpy. I’m RSVPing to your fuckfest. I mean, I’ve never had one, but it seems pretty self-explanatory.” “You’re an asshole.” And by that I really meant the most perfect fucking guy ever. Who hears something like that and plays it totally cool? “So, am I also supposed to bend you over a table or something? Because I think your roommate might have mentioned that as well.” I shoved him back while trying hard not to smile. “I hate you.” He laughed and scooped me into his lap. “If it makes you feel any better, my roommate knows I have the hots for you too.” I rolled my eyes

I saw a pretty shop across the Sidra the other day. It sold what looked to be lots of lacy little things. Am I allowed to buy that on your credit, too, or does that come out of my personal funds?' Those violet eyes again drifted to me. 'I'm not in the mood.' There was no humour, no mischief. I could go warm myself by a fire inside, but... He had stayed. And fought for me. Week after week, he'd fought for me, even when I had no reaction, even when I had barely been able to speak or bring myself to care if I lived or died or ate or starved. I couldn't leave him to his own dark thoughts, his own guilt. He'd shouldered them alone long enough. So I held his gaze. 'I never knew Illyrians were such morose drunks.' 'I'm not drunk- I'm drinking,' he said, his teeth flashing a bit. 'Again semantics,' I leaned back in my seat, wishing I'd brought my coat. 'Maybe you should have slept with Cresseida after all- so you could both be sad and lonely together.' 'So you're entitled to have as many bad days as you want, but I can't get a few hours?' 'Oh, take however long you want to mope. I was going to invite you to come shopping with me for said lacy little unmentionables, but... sit up here forever, if you have to.' He didn't respond. I went on, 'Maybe I'll send a few to Tarquin- with an offer to wear them for him if he forgives us. Maybe he'll take those blood rubies right back.' His mouth barely, barely tugged up at the corners. 'He'd see that as a taunt.' 'I gave him a few smiles and he handed over a family heirloom. I bet he'd give me the keys to his territory if I showed up wearing those undergarments.' 'Someone thinks mighty highly of herself.' 'Why shouldn't I? You seem to have difficulty not staring at me day and night.' There it was - a kernel of truth and a question. 'Am I supposed to deny,' he drawled, but something sparked in those eyes, 'That I find you attractive?' 'You've never said it.' 'I've told you many times, and quite frequently, how attractive I find you.' I shrugged, even as I thought of all those times- when I'd dismissed them as teasing compliments, nothing more. 'Well, maybe you should do a better job of it.' The gleam in his eyes turned into something predatory. A thrill went through me as he braced his powerful arms on the table and purred, 'Is that a challenge, Feyre?' I held that predator's gaze- the gaze of the most powerful male in Prythian. 'Is it?' His pupils flared. Gone was the quiet sadness, the isolated guilt. Only that lethal force- on me. On my mouth. On the bob of my throat as I tried to keep my breathing even. He said, slow and soft, 'Why don't we go down to that store right now, Feyre, so you can try on those lacy little things- so I can help you pick which ones to send to Tarquin.' My toes curled inside my fleece-lined slippers. Such a dangerous line we walked together.

These Claudines, then…they want to know because they believe they already do know, the way one who loves fruit knows, when offered a mango from the moon, what to expect; and they expect the loyal tender teasing affection of the schoolgirl crush to continue: the close and confiding companionship, the pleasure of the undemanding caress, the cuddle which consummates only closeness; yet in addition they want motherly putting right, fatherly forgiveness and almost papal indulgence; they expect that the sights and sounds, the glorious affairs of the world which their husbands will now bring before them gleaming like bolts of silk, will belong to the same happy activities as catching toads, peeling back tree bark, or powdering the cheeks with dandelions and oranging the nose; that music will ravish the ear the way the trill of the blackbird does; that literature will hold the mind in sweet suspense the way fairy tales once did; that paintings will crowd the eye with the delights of a colorful garden, and the city streets will be filled with the same cool dew-moist country morning air they fed on as children. But they shall not receive what they expect; the tongue will be about other business; one will hear in masterpieces only pride and bitter contention; buildings will have grandeur but no flowerpots or chickens; and these Claudines will exchange the flushed cheek for the swollen vein, and instead of companionship, they will get sex and absurd games composed of pinch, leer, and giggle—that’s what will happen to “let’s pretend.” 'The great male will disappear into the jungle like the back of an elusive ape, and Claudine shall see little of his strength again, his intelligence or industry, his heroics on the Bourse like Horatio at the bridge (didn’t Colette see Henri de Jouvenel, editor and diplomat and duelist and hero of the war, away to work each day, and didn’t he often bring his mistress home with him, as Willy had when he was husband number one?); the great affairs of the world will turn into tawdry liaisons, important meetings into assignations, deals into vulgar dealings, and the en famille hero will be weary and whining and weak, reminding her of all those dumb boys she knew as a child, selfish, full of fat and vanity like patrons waiting to be served and humored, admired and not observed. 'Is the occasional orgasm sufficient compensation? Is it the prize of pure surrender, what’s gained from all that giving up? There’ll be silk stockings and velvet sofas maybe, the customary caviar, tasting at first of frog water but later of money and the secretions of sex, then divine champagne, the supreme soda, and rubber-tired rides through the Bois de Boulogne; perhaps there’ll be rich ugly friends, ritzy at homes, a few young men with whom one may flirt, a homosexual confidant with long fingers, soft skin, and a beautiful cravat, perfumes and powders of an unimaginable subtlety with which to dust and wet the body, many deep baths, bonbons filled with sweet liqueurs, a procession of mildly salacious and sentimental books by Paul de Kock and company—good heavens, what’s the problem?—new uses for the limbs, a tantalizing glimpse of the abyss, the latest sins, envy certainly, a little spite, jealousy like a vaginal itch, and perfect boredom. 'And the mirror, like justice, is your aid but never your friend.' -- From "Three Photos of Colette," The World Within the Word, reprinted from NYRB April 1977

The opponent seemed to shift slightly in the seat. His index finger tapped a card, just a couple strokes. There it was the card that ruined his hand. Her hazel eyes release the player across from her to steal a glance registering the emotion of observers around the table then to her best friend. Sophie looks like a Nervous Nelly-she, always worries. She knows the girl will put too much emphasis on a lost hand. The striking man with his lusty brown eyes tries to draw Sophie closer. Now that he has folded and left the game, he is unnecessary, and the seasoned flirt easily escapes his reach. He leaves with a scowl; Sophie turns and issues knowing wink. Ell’s focus is now unfettered, freeing her again to bring down the last player. When she wins this hand, she will smile sweetly, thank the boys for their indulgence, and walk away $700 ahead. The men never suspected her; she’s no high roller. She realizes she and Sophie will have to stay just a bit. Mill around and pay homage to the boy’s egos. The real trick will be leaving this joint alone without one of them trying to tag along. Her opponent is taking his time; he is still undecided as to what card to keep—tap, tap. He may not know, but she has an idea which one he will choose. He attempts to appear nonchalant, but she knows she has him cornered. She makes a quick glance for Mr. Lusty Brown-eyes; he has found a new dame who is much more receptive than Sophie had been. Good, that small problem resolved itself for them. She returns her focuses on the cards once more and notes, her opponent’s eyes have dilated a bit. She has him, but she cannot let the gathering of onlookers know. She wants them to believe this was just a lucky night for a pretty girl. Her mirth finds her eyes as she accepts his bid. From a back table, there is a ruckus indicating the crowd’s appreciation of a well-played game as it ends. Reggie knew a table was freeing up, and just in time, he did not want to waste this evening on the painted and perfumed blonde dish vying for his attention. He glances the way of the table that slowly broke up. He recognizes most of the players and searches out the winner amongst them. He likes to take on the victor, and through the crowd, he catches a glimpse of his goal, surprised that he had not noticed her before. The women who frequent the back poker rooms in speakeasies all dress to compete – loud colors, low bodices, jewelry which flashes in the low light. This dame faded into the backdrop nicely, wearing a deep gray understated yet flirty gown. The minx deliberately blended into the room filled with dark men’s suits. He chuckles, thinking she is just as unassuming as can be playing the room as she just played those patsies at the table. He bet she had sat down all wide-eyed with some story about how she always wanted to play cards. He imagined she offered up a stake that wouldn’t be large but at the same time, substantial enough. Gauging her demeanor, she would have been bold enough to have the money tucked in her bodice. Those boys would be eager after she teased them by retrieving her stake. He smiled a slow smile; he would not mind watching that himself. He knew gamblers; this one was careful not to call in the hard players, just a couple of marks, which would keep the pit bosses off her. He wants to play her; however, before he can reach his goal, the skirt slips away again, using her gray camouflage to aid her. Hell, it is just as well, Reggie considered she would only serve as a distraction and what he really needs is the mental challenge of the game not the hot release of some dame–good or not. Off in a corner, the pit boss takes out a worn notepad, his meaty hands deftly use a stub of a pencil to enter the notation. The date and short description of the two broads quickly jotted down for his boss Mr. Deluca. He has seen the pair before, and they are winning too often for it to be accidental or to be healthy.

Madeline giggled. "Seriously Zoe, don't you even dare think about flirting with a machine, I'm way too hungry and I need to eat." She teased.

Busting out the fancy words now?” Jer continued with an amused grin. “Don’t tease. You know how a big vocabulary turns me on.” Raven pursed her lips to hide her smile as she handed him a bowl and fork. “Yeah, okay. Keep your big vocabulary in your pants,” she responded.

Mike had a girlfriend named Jenny. Soap liked Jenny because she teased him, but Jenny really isn’t important to this story. She wasn’t ever going to fall in love with Soap, and Soap knew it. What matters is that Jenny worked in a museum, and so Soap and Mike started going to museum events, because you got Brie on crackers and wine and martinis. Free food. All you had to do was wear a suit and listen to people talk about art and mortgages and their children. There would be a lot of older women who reminded Soap of his mother, and it was clear that Soap reminded these women of their sons. What was never clear was whether these women were flirting with him, or whether they wanted his advice about something that even they couldn’t put their finger on.

How cool,” she says, directing a melting stare at Luca. “I’d love to live in a place like this--just pull a cord when you need someone to bring something…” “It is very old and falling down,” Luca says depressingly, propping his shoulders against the wall and crossing his legs at the ankles. “And it costs so much to heat, in the winter we live in one small room.” “Oh, I’m sure that’s not true!” she coos. “Si, invece. In the peasants’’ houses, they have the big fireplace,” he informs her. “With the stone panchini--” He looks at Catia, who provides him with the word “benches.” “Ecco,” he continues. “With the stone benches to sleep next to the fire, to stay warm. Often I say to my mother, we need them here too.” Paige giggles. “You need an American heiress,” she says teasingly. “Like in the nineteenth century in England. Kendra and I saw the miniseries. These American girls with tons of money went to England and married the dukes and earls ‘cause those guys needed money to keep up their stately homes, and the girls wanted to be duchesses. Or princesses,” she adds pointedly. “Subtle, Paige,” Kendra says. “Subtle like a Mack truck.” Paige giggles again. “I’m just saying,” she points out, tossing her blond curls. “I’d looove to be a princess.” “There are many princes in Italy,” Luca says. “And almost all of them are very poor.” “Awesome,” Paige says with relish. “We’re not all this bad,” Kendra says to me and Kelly in an undertone. “Honestly.” “I think she’s funny,” Kelly says back. “I mean, she’s only saying what everyone’s thinking. I sort of admire her for coming straight out with it.

Sierra couldn’t afford complications, not in her position, but the way he flirted with her and teased had amped her touch hunger to a deafening roar.

We spoke of you. According to Joel, you make him very happy." She bristled at his mocking tone but couldn't help the blush creeping up her neck. "Bite me, Hawthorne." The corner of his mouth curved upwards. His eyes glittered, as if he was imagining doing exactly that. In the silence, his gaze traced over her. Moving slowly across her jaw, down her throat, and along her collarbones topping to linger on the curve of her shoulder. As if showing her all the places he longed to bite most. Emeline couldn't help but imagine it: His teeth on her bare skin. Soft little bites in between kisses.

She hopped off the counter, ducked her head under me to catch my gaze, and palmed my face. “No, he was angry and provoked. You took a bullet for me, Romeo.” I scowled. “Don’t be dramatic.” “Thank you.” Since I’d made no progress finding the starting point to stitch myself, I cleared my throat, stepping back. “You’re welcome. Now leave.” “I want you.” Her hand ran the length of my chest up to my shoulder. I want you, too, which is why I need you to get the hell away from here.I no longer recognize myself or my actions where you’re concerned. You’ve become a liability I cannot afford. Rather than kick her out, I set the needle and thread down. “You can ride my thigh.” “I want to ride your cock.” She teased up the short hem of her olive satin dress. “When you forced me to tag along to Le Bleu, didn’t you say you’ll fuck me if I behave? I behaved.” “I said I’ll fuck you when you’re on your period.” “I interpreted that differently.” “It’s not a Benedict de Spinoza book. It was not open to different interpretations.” “Whatever. That last time wasn’t so great anyway.” Contrary to her words, her dress inched up, flirting with the border of her lace panties. “It happened so long ago that I don’t even remember much. Was I even there? Were you?” Egging me on wouldn’t work. Sadly for her, I was more sophisticated than that. She continued, undeterred. “Oliver told me you’re a born-again virgin. You know your pee pee has other functions, right?” “Leave, Dallas.” (Chapter 55)

Xavier and Catalina sat in the VIP box, waving down at us enthusiastically and I waved back before giving Darius my full attention. The entire right side of his face was covered in mud, not to mention the rest of him and his torn jersey fell open to reveal the firm cut of his abs and that perfect V which dipped beneath his waistband. “You’re killing it out there,” I told him truthfully, flashing a sweet smile which instantly had him narrowing his eyes in suspicion. We hadn’t exactly talked much since the whole three way thing and I was really curious about how he was feeling about that. But I was even more curious as to how he was going to react when he realised I’d been playing with the sack of treasure I stole from him oh so long ago. There were plenty of times when I’d thought about the little stash we’d hidden out in the woods and wondered why he hadn’t asked for it back and there was only one reason that made any sense – he assumed I didn’t have it anymore. I didn’t know if he thought I’d sold it or destroyed it, but I was about to remind him that I still had it and see how nice he was when his temper flared. I was pretty sure there was a guide book or two out there about not poking a Dragon, but I guessed I was just too stupid to care. “Thanks. Are you looking for me to make some cheesy statement like I’m thinking of you every time I tackle someone?” he teased and I laughed, tossing my hair. He frowned at me and I had to admit that might have been overkill, but whatever. “Nice to know I’m on your mind every time you have someone pinned beneath you in the mud,” I purred. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Mildred rising to her feet in the stands with a face like an angry Koala which had been hit by a car. I didn’t have long before she came over here to stake her claim on her Dragon, but I didn’t need much time. “I think I’ve made my desire to pin you beneath me pretty clear,” Darius replied in a low voice which had my toes curling, but I wasn’t here to flirt, I was here to poke a Dragon. “Good luck for the second half,” I said in a sweet voice, reaching out touch his bicep, making sure that the gold rings pressed against his skin. Darius looked down the moment he felt his magic stir in response to the gold and his eyes widened in surprise which was quickly followed by a flash of fury as he recognised the jewellery from his stash which I’d stolen. I whirled away from him with a dark laugh before he could do any more than suck in an angry breath and I jogged out to join my squad just as they started up a chant. V – E – G – A! She’ll wipe the floor with you today! Veeeeega! Veeeeega! I fell into the moves of the chant, clapping my hands as some of the others rustled pom-poms and Darcy offered me an appreciative smile from the side of the pitch. We had little chants like that for all of the team members, but we often forgot to call out for the Heirs. The music suddenly dropped and 7 Rings by Ariana Grande burst from speakers around the stadium as we moved into a full routine filled with dance moves and tricks. The song choice turned out to be perfect for taunting a gold obsessed Dragon as well as performing a badass routine to and I couldn’t help but smirk like a psychopath throughout. Darius stood glaring at me from the side of the pitch even when Seth tried to drag him into the locker rooms and my heart thundered at the pure fury in his eyes. Remind me again why I thought poking the Dragon was a good idea because he looks ready to shit a brick! I turned my eyes from him, grinning out at the crowd as I moved between my girls, running forward as I performed a set of hand springs which ended in me throwing a huge blast of multicoloured petals up into the air so that they fell over the crowd. (Tory)

You’re not running again,” he growled before pouncing up onto the table. I shrieked, stumbling backwards as he leapt towards me. I threw my shoes at him and they bounced off of his chest making him pause in surprise. He barked a laugh then lunged at me, faster than was humanly possible. He caught my waist and I squealed as he pushed me back against a heavy bookcase which stood along the wall. My hands landed on his shoulders like I was going to push him off of me but I didn’t. “Cheat,” I breathed as my heart pounded. “Only a little,” he admitted. Before I could say anything else, he leaned forward and kissed me. My heart leapt, my skin tingled and my traitorous body gave in to his demand. I was supposed to hate him. I was supposed to be shoving him off of me and slapping him and telling him to stay the hell away from me. I definitely shouldn’t have been pulling him closer, my hands fisting in the material of his shirt, my lips parting to admit his tongue. I could still taste blood from where I’d bitten my lip and he obviously could too, a groan of desire escaping him as I felt a soft tug on my magic from the welt on my lip. Why am I always a sucker for the bad guys? And why does it always feel so good? The heat of his kiss lit me up and I gave up on any thoughts of pushing him away. It wasn’t like I was giving him my heart anyway. Just a kiss... or maybe two... Caleb’s hands slid into my hair and I arched my back, pressing my body against his. His grip tightened in my hair and he dragged my head backwards, breaking our kiss as he moved his mouth down my neck, teasing with the idea of biting me, his fangs flirting with my flesh. My body was alight with his proximity and I moaned, urging him on. I didn’t want this to stop even if I really should have. Caleb withdrew just enough to look into my eyes and the heat I saw in his gaze made my toes curl. “You wanna play another game, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice deep. “What do I get if I win?” I breathed. “I think this game will have two winners,” he promised. My gaze roamed over his face hungrily but then I glanced at the open door. This really wasn’t the best place for us to be making out... or doing anything else either. “I can sort that,” he said, taking one hand off of me and casting magic at the door. A long vine curled across the carpet before pushing the door closed and winding itself around the handle to lock it. An orb of orange light flickered into existence overhead as we were plunged into darkness, casting shadows over his stunning features. He aimed his palm at the ceiling next and I felt a wave of magic wash over me. “Silencing bubble, so we don’t have to hold back,” he explained. I looked into his eyes, wondering if I was really going to do this with him. Heat was curling its way through my body, lighting me up with desire for this beast before me and I decided to act on it before I had the chance to question my decision. (tory)

I normally train without a shirt, but I’ll keep it on to preserve your dignity, m’lady,” Roy teased Wendy. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. You wouldn’t be the first half-naked man I’ve ever seen,” Wendy replied, the corner of her mouth twitching.

Impulsively Evie half rose from her seat to kiss his cheek, which was smooth and cool against her lips. "Thank you. It was very kind of you." His hands came to her waist, preventing her retreat. He exerted just enough force to bring her onto his lap, until their faces were so close that their noses were nearly touching. His breath caressed her mouth as he murmured, "Surely I deserve more thanks than that." "It's only a foot warmer," she protested mildly. He grinned. "I should point out, darling, that the thing is going to cool eventually... and then, once again, I will be your only source of available warmth. And I don't share my body heat indiscriminately." "According to rumor you do." Evie was discovering an unfamiliar delight in the exchange. She had never bantered with a man like this, nor had she ever experienced the fun of withholding something he wanted, teasing him with it. She saw from the glimmer in his eyes that he was enjoying it as well. He looked as if he wanted to pounce on her.

I know she’s not a kid anymore, but if I don’t tease her a little like I used to, I’ll start flirting with her and I don’t think that’ll go over very well.

Oh you want me to go deep, do you, Cal?” Seth teased, raising his eyebrows at me suggestively and I rolled my eyes at him as a prickle raced along my skin. “Stop flirting with me, asshole,” I joked, shoving him so that he almost fell out of my lap. “Stop smiling so much when I do then,” he replied, giving me a dirty grin as he settled himself back in over my crotch.

She looked down, kicking a little clump of grass with her slipper. "I suppose you will look at me differently now." "How so?" "Now that you know I am not who you thought I was. Who I thought I was." "Oh, are you not human after all?" He teased, "Are you actually a woodland water Sprite or famed West Country pixie?" "No." He took a step nearer. "You are still Lady Amelia's pride and joy. Still headstrong, still a bruising rider and righter of wrongs, still the bravest and most foolish woman that I know, still determined to lead ever dance, and still and incorrigible flirt. Is that not true?" She hesitated, torn between offense and amusement. "Yes, I...I suppose it is." "Then you are still exactly the woman I thought." "Very funny.

Be fiercely loyal to one spouse. Fiercely loyal. Don’t even look twice at someone else. No flirting. No teasing. No loitering at her desk or lingering in his office.

Colonel Holding teased her, flirted with her, and made her feel the woman she had thought she had grown up to be.

How’s it going so far?” “Eh.” I examined my hair for split ends. “That good, huh?” “Well, let’s see. My sister just called my ex ‘babe,’ my mom may have suggested I got fat, and my dad might think I’m a lesbian.” Cade laughed. Like hard. “Okay. First off, you’re not fat. I should know. I’ve seen you naked.” My face warmed. “That you have.” “Very naked. In fact, picturing it right now.” He made a low satisfied sound. “Nope, definitely not fat.” I laughed. “Focus, Cade.” “Sorry, so, um, lesbian? What’s that about?” “Dad was teasing me, asking a bunch of questions about you. I told him if he mentioned anything to Mom, I’d tell her I was into girls—it would totally freak her out—then he gets all supportive of my lifestyle choices and says he’d love me no matter my orientation.” “So you told him about me?” I could tell he smiled by the sound of his voice. “Yeah. Though I’m not sure I’ve convinced him of your gender. On a good note, he approves of you, regardless.” Cade chuckled. “Good to know. Guess you said something right.

The Incredible Professor Lichman I laughed and said, "Yes Sir, definitely Sir!" I helped him pack up the fencing equipment while catching up on his news. “Did your first Household assignment go well?" "Very well Sir. Better than I expected! I've gained more experience, especially in the art of body language," I teased. "That's good to know. Perhaps you can teach this old dog some new tricks,” he flirted. "Sure, that can be arranged. When do you want your lessons?" I asked alluringly. "Now is a good time. Let's finish cleaning up and go to my apartment for a shower.

Maybe you can’t see the potential here,” he said. “I’m going to impress you, in that case.” “I’m already impressed,” she said. “It looks like a monumental job. Where I grew up, there were a bunch of old cabins just like this, out on the beach. I was a teenager. They were almost never in use and the local kids used to sneak in. To smoke pot and…other stuff. Then one day they were gone. Razed.” “When you were a teenager,” he said, shoving the rag back into his pocket. “Last week?” “Hey,” she laughed. “I’m talking ten years ago.” “In which case, you don’t age.” “Why don’t you just ask?” she challenged him. “Okay. How old are you? Exactly?” “Twenty-five. And you?” “One hundred and ten.” She laughed again. When she did, she threw her head back and that braid rippled down her back. “Yeah, I thought you were probably really old. How old?” “Thirty-eight. Pretty well out of your range.” “That depends,” she said with a shrug. “On?” “On whether I have a range.” Oh God, he thought weakly. She liked him. Not a little teasing, but private flirting, just between the two of them. Luke was a man with few scruples and even less control. It wasn’t a good idea for her to do this. She was too alluring for her own good.

But, Emmie”—Bothwell’s cultured tones drifted through the back doors of the hall—“you know I’ve missed you.” Emmie’s reply was murmured in low, unintelligible tones, causing St. Just to pause. The damned Kissing Vicar was about to strike again, but as a gentleman… As a gentleman, hell… St. Just did not pull the door shut loudly behind him, which would have afforded Bothwell a moment to protect the lady’s privacy. He charged into the hall, boots thumping on the wooden floor, jar of icing at the ready. “Now, Emmie…” Bothwell was kissing her, one of those teasing little kisses to the cheek that somehow wandered down to the corner of her mouth in anticipation of landing next on her lips. “Excuse me, Bothwell, didn’t realize you were about.” “Rosecroft.” Bothwell grinned at him, looking almost pleased to be caught at his flagrant flirting. “I’d heard you were back. My thanks for the use of your stables.” “And my thanks for keeping those juvenile hellions in shape. You need a horse, man, congregational politics be damned.” “Maybe someday.” Bothwell’s smile dimmed a little as his gaze turned to Emmie. “But for today, I’ve a wedding to perform.” And Bothwell had known, probably from experience, Emmie would be bringing her cake over. Absent a special license, the wedding would have to start in the next couple of hours, and St. Just suspected the vicar had been all but lying in wait for Emmie. “Em?” He brought her the icing. “Shall I go offer up a few for my immortal soul, or will we be going shortly?” “I won’t be long,” she said, brows knit as she positioned the second layer atop the little pedestals set on the first. “I just need to put the candied violets around the base when I’ve got the thing assembled, and maybe a few finishing touches.” “She’ll be hours.” The vicar smiled at her so indulgently that St. Just’s fist ached to put a different expression on the man’s face. “Come along, St. Just, and we can at least spend a few minutes in the sunshine.

Anna, did you just indirectly admit to liking me?” She drew in a swift breath and saw from his expression that while he was teasing, he was also… fishing. “Of course I like you. I like you entirely too well, and it is badly done of you to make me admit it.” “Well, let’s go from bad to worse, then, and you can tell me precisely why you like me.” “You are serious?” “I am. If you want, I will return the favor, though we have only several hours, and my list might take much longer than that.” He is flirting with me, Anna thought, incredulous. In his high-handed, serious way, the Earl of Westhaven had just paid her a flirtatious compliment. A lightness spread out from her middle, something of warmth and humor and guilty pleasure in it. “All right.” Anna nodded briskly. “I like that you are shy and honorable in the ways that count. I like that you are kind to Morgan, and to your animals, and old Nanny Fran. You are as patient with His Grace as a human can be, and you adore your brother. You are fierce, too, though, and can be decisive when needs must. You are also, I think, a romantic, and this is no mean feat for a man who spends half his days with commercial documents. Mostly, I like that you are good; you look after those who depend on you, you have gratitude for your blessings, and you don’t think enough of yourself.” Beside her, the earl was again silent. “Shall I go on?” Anna asked, feeling a sudden awkwardness. “You could not possibly pay me any greater series of compliments than you just have,” he said. “The man you describe is a paragon, a fellow I’d very much like to meet.” “See?” Anna nudged him with her shoulder. “You do not think enough of yourself. But I can also tell you the parts of you that irritate me—if that will make you feel better?” “I irritate you?” The earl’s eyebrows rose. “This should be interesting. You gave me the good news first, fortifying me for more burdensome truths, so let fly.” “You are proud,” Anna began, her tone thoughtful. “You don’t think your papa can manage anything correctly, and you won’t ask your brothers nor mother nor sisters even, for help with things directly affecting them. I wonder, in fact, if you have anybody you would call a friend.” “Ouch. A very definite ouch, Anna. Go on.” “You have forgotten how to play,” Anna said, “how to frolic, though I cannot fault you for a lack of appreciation for what’s around you. You appreciate; you just don’t seem to… indulge yourself.” “I see. And in what should I indulge myself?” “That is for you to determine,” she replied. “Marzipan has gone over well, I think, and sweets in general. You have indulged your love of music by having Val underfoot. As to what else brings you pleasure, you would be the best judge of that.” The earl turned down a shady lane lined with towering oaks and an understory of rhododendrons in vigorous bloom. “It was you,” he said. “Before Val moved in, I thought it was a neighbor playing the piano late in the evenings, but it was you. Were you playing for me?” Anna glanced off to the park beyond the trees and nodded.

They sat in a sphere of quiet, save the sound of their breathing and the carriage’s creaks and sways. Outside, the coachman yelled his encouragement to the steeds moving them forward. The whole carriage cocooned them in a peculiar world with the heaven’s wool-thick mists pressing against the windows. Her hand didn’t stop rubbing his neck, but she shifted her leg, bending her knee to rest her leg on his thigh. Her patten slipped off, dropping to the floor with a thud. Cyrus’s head moved off the squab. “Are you undressing for my benefit?” His smile’s wicked curve played on her. From her stays to her drawers, everything was too tight, too much against her skin. Cyrus reached for her hand working his neck muscles. He brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles thrice with slow adoration. “We don’t have to stop,” she said, her voice breathy and quick. “I’m sure you have more aches and pains.” Mid-kiss, he smiled against the back of her hand, his warm breath brushing her skin. “There are so many ways a man could go with that.” Humor lightened his voice. “But I’m sure you mean to provide tender care to my neck only.” She grinned at her unintended innuendo. This was the experience she craved—to flirt and tease, to kiss and touch. Cyrus put his lips to her wrist, marking her with hot kisses. A spangle of pleasure shot up her arm. “You would break down the meanest soul with your soft heart.” He set her hand on the blanket’s scratchy folds, his thumb caressing her wrist. “High praise, indeed, sir.” Tinseled sparks danced across her skin, not letting her recover from those gentle touches, his lips to her arm. He stroked a lone finger on her hand that rested between them. “And you don’t care one bit that I’m the son of a Midland swine farmer, do you?” Cyrus asked the unexpected question, but his voice conveyed confidence in her answer. Was her chivalrous brawler showing a hidden spot? She peered at him, wanting a better view of his shadowed features. How was she to decipher this latest turn? The carriage bumped and rocked, and the outside candle lantern swung another shaft of light inside. His quicksilver stare pinned her. “Miss Mayhew, have you ever wondered how a freehold farmer got to be in such a fine place?

So . . . you’re already married, then?” The thought seemed impossible, especially given the way he had been staring at her. “Not yet. But if you’re offering, a chara, I’d be glad to accept.” He sent her a teasing smile, and it seemed that his mood had shifted from the earlier melancholy. She sent him a wry look. “I was hardly proposing marriage, Mr. Donovan.” She wasn’t so desperate as that. “Besides, I already have a gentleman suitor.” “Have you?” His face brightened. “I cannot say I’m surprised to hear it. Any man would be honored to wed a cailín as fair as you.” Although his words were kind, she wasn’t interested in idle flirting. “Yes, well. You can turn your interests somewhere else.” “Is he here, then? Your betrothed husband?” “No, he’s in London.” “I can’t believe that’s wise. Leaving a beautiful woman such as yourself at the mercy of the local swains. You might change your mind about marrying him.” She

I'm sure you say that to all the ladies you accost.' 'Only the ones I would be tempted to allow to try and claw my eyes out.

In case you're wondering,' -his voice was a kiss against my skin- 'this is me intentionally staring.

I'm not sure why I'm still here talking to you.' 'Perhaps you feel indebted to me since I watched over you while you were unconscious.' 'I was unconscious for a few moments. It's not like you stood guard for endless hours.' 'I am quite important. Those moments felt like hours.' 'I do not like you,' I said. He eyes shifted to mine, and that curve of his lips remained. 'But you see, you do. That's why you're still here and no longer threatening to claw my eyes out.' I snapped my mouth shut. Ash winked. 'The clawing of the eyes could still happen,' I warned him. 'I don't think so.' He bit down on that lower lip of his again, the act snagging my gaze once more. 'Besides the fact that you know you won't succeed, you said I was beautiful, and clawing my eyes out would ruin that, wouldn't it?

Here, could you put four of these on each cake?” She gave me a devilish grin, and I stared into the box that was full of sugar crafted… penises. “Oh.” “I can show you how to handle them.” Her lips pulled up in a teasing grin. Was she flirting with me? Desire spiralled through me, and I grew uncomfortably hard behind my zipper. “I know how to handle one of these,” I said gruffly, holding up a sugar dick. “Oh really? You didn’t strike me as the type, but I’m not judgemental.

Nice sportsmanship, though. Good to see how quickly you've abandoned all efforts to make me like you." The last part slips out before I consider our small audience, and I hear a soft, delighted gasp from Teagan. Benny straightens up, his face brightening and one eyebrow raised in teasing challenge. "Is that what you think? Oh, sweet, lovely, stealthily talented Reese. I'm only demonstrating how well I can separate work from the personal. That's why you didn't want to go out with me, isn't it?" He steps closer to me and I back up, flattening myself against the front of Teagan's desk and regretting that she's witnessing any of this. "I haven't abandoned any efforts when it comes to you. I'm just playing the long game." He backs away, eyes twinkling with mischief. "See you in the kitchen, yeah?" Before Teagan can suppress her laughter enough to pester me about any of what just happened, I start toward marketing, calling over my shoulder, "Nothing to see here! Back to work!

To reason is to dull this enchantment..See, how the breeze flirts with the murmur of leaves and the eye beholds the virgin beauty of morn. The waves flirt with the shores for the sands call the waves to come home and there begins the gentle teasings of life....

Reasoning is never enchanting but aimless wandering is for the breeze flirts with the murmur of leaves and the eyes behold the virgin beauty of morn. The waves flirt with the shores for the sands call the waves to come home and there begins the gentle teasing of life.

So the three of them are just in there. Naked. Sweating.' Mother above. Interested in taking a look? The dark purr echoed into my mind. Lech. Go back to your sweating. There's room for one more in here. I thought mates were territorial. I could feel him smile as if he were grinning against my neck. I'm always eager to learn what sparks your interest, Feyre darling.

As I watched the dark-haired beauty walk into Luca's home on Gino's arm in a red dress that flirted with her curves and only teased at what was underneath, that thing stirred deep within my chest. That same thing I'd noticed when I first saw her sitting there in the setting sun during the wedding ceremony. It was primitive and possessive and utterly unfamiliar to me, and it made me want to sink my knife into Gino's fat gut and gift her with a necklace of his intestines.

Are you going to frisk me?" he asked when I stepped in close to measure the width of his shoulders. He smelled of pine and leather and the fresh ocean breeze--- wild and free. "This is a custom tailor shop, not a police station." "I might have a dangerous weapon in my pocket," he teased. I pulled the measuring tape tight under his arms, reminding myself that I was a professional. I was totally unaffected by the rock-hard pecs that flexed under my hands or the fact that I was now so close, I could feel the heat of his body. It was disconcertingly intimate. I'd measured many clients over the years for my dad and not once had I ever felt like I needed an immediate date with my vibrator.

Ten.' His brows knitted. 'What?' 'Ten times, you've called me Poppy.' One side of his lips tipped up. The faintest trace of the dimple appeared. 'I like calling you that, but I like calling you Princess more.' 'Shocker.

You have five minutes until we leave.' Nesta managed to step away. 'You're a brute.' He winked. 'Born and raised.' ... 'Don't ever put your hands on me again.' 'Noted.' His eyes still blazed. Her fingers curled once more. She selected her next words like throwing knives. 'If you think this training nonsense is going to result in your climbing into my bed, you're delusional.' She added with a slice of a smile. 'I'd rather let in a mangy street dog.' 'Oh, it's not going to result in me climbing into your bed.' Nesta snickered, victory achieved, and had reached the stairs when he crooned, 'You'll climb into mine.' She whirled toward him, foot still suspended midair. 'I'd rather not.' Cassian threw her a mocking smile. 'We'll see.' She fumbled for more of those sharp-edged words, for a sneer or a snarl, or anything, but his smile grew. 'You have three minutes to get ready now.

The hoop-style petticoat swung above her knees. She flashed sheer white thigh-high stockings right up to the pretty blue bows. She swatted down her errant skirt. And nearly dropped the shepherd's crook. The triplets hadn't noticed the mishap, but Jake definitely had. She felt his gaze from behind his mirrored aviators. He cocked his head and grinned. A teasing grin, so sexy and unsettling that she nearly tripped over her own feet. He edged close, lowered his voice, and said, "Naughty wind peeked up your skirt." "So did you." "Nice legs, Peep.

Give me back the journal.' 'But, of course.' He offered it and I snatched it out of his hand quickly, holding it to my chest. 'All you had to do was ask.' 'What?' My mouth dropped open. 'I have been asking.' 'Sorry.' He didn't sound sorry at all. 'I have selective hearing.' 'You are... You are the worst.' 'You got your words wrong.' Striding past me, he patted the top of my head. I lashed out, narrowly missing him. 'You meant, I'm the best.' 'I got my words right.' 'Come. I need to get you back before something other than your own foolishness puts you at risk.' He stopped by the door. 'And don't forget your book. I expect a summary of each chapter tomorrow.