From the Bookshelf of Dangerous Hero Addict Support Group…

Anxiety pressed in on Banallt, which annoyed him to no end. What he wanted from this moment was proof she hadn't taken possession of his heart. That his memories of her, of the two of them, were distorted by past circumstance. They had met during a turbulent time in his life during which he had perhaps not always behaved as a gentleman ought. They had parted on a day that had forever scarred him. He wanted to see her as plain and uninteresting. He wanted to think that, after all, he'd been mistaken about her eyes. He wanted his fascination with her to have vanished.
None of that had happened. (p. 2)

She was no beauty. Not at first glance. Not even at second glance. [...] The first time he saw her he'd thought it a pity a woman with eyes like hers wasn't better looking. Not the only time he'd misjudged her; merely the first. (p. 2)

Met they had, and Christ, he'd fallen hard. Precisely, he thought, because she was so unexpectedly the opposite of everything. The opposite of his expectations, the opposite of his desires, the opposite of any woman ever to flit into his imagination. (p. 6)

"Naturally, we met. I thought her---" What was he to say? Heartbreaking. And then intriguing, and at last, utterly beguiling. "---charming." (p. 7)

Just that one look from her and all his pent-up and repressed feelings for her returned in force: his anticipation of her company; his delight in her intellect, her wit, her eyes; the way his body clenched when he was near her. No, nothing at all had changed. (p. 11)

She looked at him, and, as ever, he felt a shock at the beauty of her eyes. Thick, thick lashes framed her almond eyes. And the color, my God, a lucid blue green, an astonishing shade sparked to life by her formidable wits. A man could lose his soul in her eyes. A man had. (p. 13)

"I would not marry a man I did not love. And therefore, if I were married to you, it would be because I was in love. And to a woman in love, faithfulness is the air she breathes, not a meal she chooses. One day this, another that. Changing menus all the time because one grows bored." (p. 84)

Their silence was not uncomfortable. Silence between them never had been, unless she was angry with him. He let the silence continue. What, after all, did a man say to the woman who had refused his heart? Though he would allow that perhaps his had been badly offered. [...] He was aware, damn it all, far too aware, of her dainty figure at his side. He could ignore his response to her. He could. And would. (p. 101)

Her eyes turned dreamy. He imagined gazing into her eyes while she came to passion. Inappropriate, yes, but he was a man, after all, and he was not over her no matter how often he told himself that he was. (p. 106)

Banallt was far too aware of Sophie. He had years of practice in not staring at a woman who interested him if his doing so might arouse suspicion. The skill he'd honed to an art form eluded him now. His present circumstances were fundamentally different than in those days. Before Sophie, his interaction with women had been, in essence, about him. [...] With Sophie, the compulsion to stare came from someplace deep inside him, and he could no more stop himself from looking at her than he could stop breathing. (p. 154)

She was not beautiful, not by any objective standard, and yet somehow her features fit together in a way such that he could not help staring, enraptured. (p. 157)

"You've been in my dreams for so long, now that you're real, my hands are shaking, Sophie." His laugh was a soft and velvet rumble in her ear. "I may never get you undressed."
She turned, pressing her hands to her upper chest to keep her gown from falling away. His eyes pierced her, and the backs of her knees tingled. "You mean that, don't you?"
He hooked a finger in the bodice she held trapped against her body and pulled. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever known. You know that's what I think. Don't pretend you don't."
"Look at me, Banallt, and say that. Really look at me." She ran a finger the length of her unfortunate nose.
"I look at you and see a woman who makes my hands tremble." (p. 166)

She wasn't his. Not legally. He could as yet lay no claim to her heart. He wanted the ceremony that would make her indisputably his. He wanted Sophie to be the mother of his children. He wanted Sophie. He wouldn't ever be whole without her. (p. 180)

He wanted her body under his, wrapped around his. He wanted her breath low and on the edge of control, her voice capable of nothing but a ragged echo of his name. (p. 234)