Just Like Heaven (Smythe-Smith, #1)

by Julia Quinn

His whole body ached, and his leg really hurt.

INFECTION

when she touched him his skin was dry and parched.

SEPSIS SEPSIS

“I think you’re shy.” Well, for God’s sake, he could have told her that.

“Then you’ll steal me a piece?” He gave her his best smile. His best I-almost-died-so-how-can-you-deny-me smile. Or at least that’s how he hoped it appeared. The truth was, he wasn’t a very accomplished flirt, and it might very well have come across as an I-am-mildly-deranged-so-it’s-in-all-of-our-best-interests-if-you-pretend-to-agree-with-me smile.

The Smythe-Smith musicale. It finished off what the Crusades had begun.

He walked over to one of the refreshment tables and picked up a pitcher of lemonade. There didn’t seem to be any glasses set out yet, which did make him wonder if Lady Winstead meant for him to pour the lemonade down the girls’ throats.

together they had made their own little heaven.

there was nothing heavenly about what yall just did