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unfortunately, true love never seemed to happen to someone who was looking for it. Love was a prankster, preferring to sneak up on people who were busy doing other things.
“There’s nothing wrong about not knowing something. The stupid people are the ones who think they know everything.”
Men who make history rarely make good husbands.”
‘Troubled are they who want the world, troubled are they who have it.’
The things that help us climb to the top are the same things that keep us from enjoying it once we’re there.”
“Another novel?” Tom asked, giving her a long-suffering glance. “What’s wrong with novels?” “Nothing, as long as one doesn’t mistake them for advice manuals.” “If it’s good advice,” Phoebe countered, “why does it matter where it came from?”
With a sigh, she picked up the discarded shoe and scowled at it. The pearls and intricate beading glittered in a slant of moonlight. So beautiful, and yet so incompetent at being a shoe. “I had such high hopes for you,” she said dourly, and threw it, not with any real force, but with enough strength to hit a potted palm and send beads scattering. Tom Severin’s dry voice cut through the silence. “People in glass houses really shouldn’t throw shoes.”
“Call me by my first name,” he interrupted, as if he couldn’t help himself. “Just once.” After a long hesitation, he added in a softer tone, “Please.”
“Barnaby, do you know what lying has in common with bullfighting?” “No, sir.” “If you can’t do it well, it’s better not to do it at all.”
He kissed her for all the midnights and mornings they would never share. He kissed her with a tenderness he would never be able to express in words, and felt her response in his blood, as if her sweetness had sunk into his marrow.
Since Love is a greased pig wasn’t a particularly dignified motto, she decided the Latin translation was more elegant: Amor est uncta porcus.
“Make no mistake,” Kathleen continued heatedly, “this is a taste of how he would treat you after the wedding. Except it would be a thousand times worse, because as his wife, you would be at his mercy. Men like that never take responsibility—they lash out, and then say someone else provoked them into doing it. ‘See what you made me do.’ But the choice is always theirs. They hurt and frighten others to make themselves feel powerful.”
“Powerful men don’t lose their tempers. They stay calm while others are shouting and blowing up.”
“You can’t kill a rumor that way, Severin. The more facts you throw at a lie, the more people insist on believing it.”
“You bought an entire newspaper business . . . for my sake?” Tom thought for a long moment before answering. Now his voice was different than she’d ever heard it, quiet and even a little shaken. “There are no limits to what I would do for you.”
“Shall I kill him for you?” Tom asked, sounding alarmingly sincere. “I’d rather you didn’t,” she said in a watery voice, and blew her nose again. “It’s not nice to murder people, even if they deserve it, and it wouldn’t make me feel better.” “What would make you feel better?” Tom’s tone was gentle and interested, his hands comforting as they moved over her. “Just this,” she said with a shuddering sigh. “Just hold me.” “For as long as you want. I’ll do anything for you. Anything at all. I’m here, and I’ll take care of you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“God help me, don’t be grateful.” Tom took an unsteady breath. “I’ll hold you ’til the end of time, if that’s all you want from me. But there’s so much more I could do for you. I would treasure you. I would—” He broke off, leaning so close she felt as if she were drowning in the tropical azure and ocean green of his eyes. “Marry me, Cassandra—and we’ll tell them all to go to hell.”
“You’re trying to appear as harmless as a lamb. But we both know you’re not.” “I have lamblike moments,” Tom said. At her dubious glance, he insisted, “I’m having one right now. I’m one hundred percent lamb.”
“Here, would you like one?” “Thank you, but no. That is, I would like one, but I can’t.” “Why not?” “I’m trying to reduce.” “Reduce what?” Cassandra blushed and looked annoyed, as if he were being deliberately obtuse. “My weight.” Tom’s gaze slid over her opulent and spectacularly curved form. Mystified, he shook his head. “Why?” Cassandra’s color deepened as she admitted, “I’ve gained nearly a stone since Pandora’s wedding.” “Why does that matter?” Tom asked, increasingly baffled. “Every inch of you is gorgeous.” “Not to everyone,” she said wryly. “My proportions have expanded past the ideal.
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“Your body isn’t an ornament designed for other people’s pleasure. It belongs to you alone. You’re magnificent just as you are. Whether you lose weight or gain more, you’ll still be magnificent. Have a cake if you want one.” Cassandra looked patently disbelieving. “You’re saying if I gained another stone, or even two stones, on top of this, you’d still find me desirable?” “God, yes,” he said without hesitation. “Whatever size you are, I’ll have a place for every curve.”
Tom couldn’t stop himself from kissing her again. “You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever held in my arms,” he whispered. “I want to be the one who pleasures you. The one you reach for in the night.” He nuzzled and nipped at the velvety surface of her lips. “I want to fill the empty places inside you . . . give you whatever you need. My beautiful Cassandra . . . tell me what I have to do to be with you. I’ll meet you on your terms. I’ve never said that to anyone in my life. I—”
Not for the first time, Tom reflected there was no understanding women. It wasn’t that they were illogical. Just the opposite. Their logic was of a higher order, too complex and advanced to submit to a complete proof calculus. Women assigned mysterious values to details a man would overlook, and were able to draw piercing conclusions about his innermost secrets.
“My work is important to me,” he said. “I need the challenge, or I’d go mad from boredom. But it’s not all-consuming. As soon as I’d achieved what I’d set out to do, there was nothing left to prove. It all started to seem like more of the same. Nothing has been exciting or satisfying for years. With you, though, everything is new. All I want is to be with you.” “Even so,” Cassandra said, “there will always be many voices clamoring for your attention.” He drew back enough to look at her. “Yours is the one I’ll heed first. Always.”
What if Tom’s heart wasn’t frozen after all? What if it were merely guarded . . . so guarded that it had become a prison? If so, it would take time and patience to help him find his way out. And love. Yes. She would let herself love him . . . not as a martyr, but as an optimist.
He made me aware there are more important things than winning—which is a lesson I needed to learn.”
Are you grumpy in the morning?” “No, but I wake up on the go. I don’t like to linger over breakfast.” “You must not be doing it right. Lingering is lovely. I do it all the time.” She stretched her arms and shoulders, and arched her sore upper back, her breasts lifting with the motion. Tom stared at her, mesmerized. “I might stay just to watch you linger.”
Life doles out enough inevitable pain for each of us—my children won’t need extra helpings from me.”
she was determined to have her way, even if it meant using the iron-hand-in-a-velvet-glove approach.
“I don’t believe in luck anyway.” “Neither do you believe in love,” Winterborne reminded him with a touch of friendly mockery. “But here you stand with your heart in your fist.”
