Mr. Impossible (Carsington Brothers, #2)

by Loretta Chase

“I cannot see my hand when I hold it an inch from my face,” she said, “yet you had no difficulty locating my breast.” “Was that the part I found?” he said. “What amazing luck.” What a splendid bosom!

“What should I do if you were hurt?” he exploded. “What should I do if you were killed? Do you never think of me? No, why should you? I’m merely a great, dumb ox. I have no feelings, so why should you consider them?” “Feelings?” she cried. “What do you know of feelings?” “This,” he said. In the same breath he’d closed the space between them. In the next he’d pulled her into his arms.

“You’ve got it backwards,” Carsington said. “It wasn’t her rising to the occasion. It’s the occasion rising to her. Egypt and this business with you and the papyrus have finally given her the chance to show what she truly is. She’s—she’s a goddess. But human. A real goddess, not make-believe. She’s beautiful and brave and wise. And fascinating. And dangerous. As goddesses are, as you know, in all the best stories.”

“You said it was better to marry than to burn, and I was in a state of eternal conflagration, it seemed—but that wasn’t what it was at all.”

“But I liked you from the moment I first heard your voice,” he said, “when I had no idea what you looked like. I thought it delicious, the way you bargained for me, as though I were an old rug.

He took it from her. It was quite heavy, even for a large piece of silk. “What have you got twisted up in this?” he said. “Rocks?” “Five purses,” she said. “About thirty-five pounds.” “You came prepared.” “Of course I did,” she said. “When I want something, I will stop at nothing. Look at what I’m wearing.” “I like what you’re not wearing, too,” he said. “I am even so shameless as to take advantage of you when you are weak and wounded.”