Angela Quarles > Angela's Quotes

“Wham. She glommed onto him like white plastic on a Stormtrooper, shamelessly pressing against his body, groping and kissing.”
― Angela Quarles, Beer and Groping in Las Vegas

“The bathroom’s down the hall if you want to take off your tights. I can throw ‘em in the dryer for you if you want. Or, you can hang them on the shower curtain rod.” He turned. “It’s
been a long time since I’ve had a woman’s tights draped over my rod.” A quick wink and he was gone before she could do anything more than gape.”
― Linda Morrisx, Melting the Millionaire's Heart

“Yer a good lad, Atticus, mowin’ me lawn and killin’ what Brits come around.”
― Kevin Hearne, Hounded

“Monty Python is like catnip for nerds. Once you get them started quoting it, they are constitutionally incapable of feeling depressed.”
― Kevin Hearne, Hounded

“The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.”
― Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey

“His appreciative gaze set off an internal chain reaction--erratic heartbeat, rush of heat--like all her cells collectively blushed, sighed, and propped their chins in their hands to stare. Well, if cells had chins and hands.”
― Angela Quarles, Must Love Breeches

“The door opened, held by the butler, and Lord Montagu swept into the room, his presence overwhelming the space. She could swear even the flowers in their vases perked up and listed in his direction. Honest to Pete.”
― Angela Quarles, Must Love Breeches

“Yes, especially if the lady is intelligent. I have never been one to tolerate fools, regardless of their sex, so it follows I also appreciate sense, regardless of sex.”
― Angela Quarles, Must Love Breeches

“In addition to her Curtsey-No-Contraction mantra, she needed to add a No-Ogling-the-Period-Hunks policy.”
― Angela Quarles, Must Love Breeches

“Actually, I was the very lowest ranked member of the crew. I would only be “in command” if I were the only remaining person.”
What do you know? I’m in command”
― Andy Weir, The Martian

“Gay probe coming to save me. Got it.”
― Andy Weir, The Martian

“If the oxygenator breaks down, I’ll suffocate. If the water reclaimer breaks down, I’ll die of thirst. If the Hab breaches, I’ll just kind of explode. If none of those things happen, I’ll eventually run out of food and starve to death. So yeah. I’m fucked.”
― Andy Weir, The Martian

“[09:09] MAV: You’re sending me into space in a convertible.
[09:24] HOUSTON: There will be Hab canvas covering the holes. It will provide enough aerodynamics in Mars’s atmosphere.
[09:38] MAV: So it’s a ragtop. Much better.”
― Andy Weir, The Martian

“The light played across the planes of his strong hands and forearms, allowing her to note the minuscule shifting of muscles signaling his next move. His shapely fingers moved with practical ease, and he unclasped the belt. The kilt dropped.”
― Angela Quarles, Must Love Kilts

“She breaks the silence with a breathy, "Oh my God"

Yeah. No shit. Because I’m about to blow, and all I’ve done is grind myself against her like three times. I’m afraid to count cuz it might only be twice. Jesus”
― Angela Quarles, Risking It

“Jane takes a step toward me. And another.
And then she, well…throws herself on me. No lie.
I catch her and fall back against the elevator wall with an oof. Her hand twisted into my T-shirt, she pulls me down, and our mouths crash.
Fuck yeah. All of my pent-up need for this woman unleashes in that moment, whipping through me.”
― Angela Quarles, Risking It

“There can never be more with him. But tell that to my body. It just up and goes hey there as soon as he gets close”
― Angela Quarles, Risking It

“My hand’s on the door handle, but his voice stops me. “Hold up.”
I glance over, and I swear to all the swoony alpha heroes in the romances I’ve read that his eyes have that certain sparkle.
Huh. Thought that was only in books.
I raise a brow. I’m immune. I am.”
― Angela Quarles, Risking It

“I did not mean to be so long away from you. I had clan business to take care of, which took longer than I anticipated.”
She nodded. “I understand.”
He blew out a breath. “I’m not sure you do. I was eager to get through that business precisely because I wanted it out of the way so that I could return to your side.”
Now it was her turn to feel her body flush with heat. “Oh yeah?”
“Aye.” He looked down at his hands and then slowly reached and clasped her hand resting against her thigh. The rough feel of his calloused hands on her skin, and the tentative vulnerability in the movement, about made her slide forward off the bench and melt in a puddle on the stone floor.
He really was just a big—quiet—teddy bear.”
― Angela Quarles, Must Love More Kilts

“No, he didn’t view the scar as shameful, though he did in its getting. For he’d not received it in battle. He’d received it the last time he’d ever acted foolishly over a woman.
Oddly poetic that the very woman who brought out that foolish side again was turned off by the scar. As if the scar and tattoo were a shield. A shield protecting him forevermore from heartache.”
― Angela Quarles, Must Love More Kilts

“His eyes flipped up to hers, the lids hooded. Then back to her mouth. The crackling tension now sparked across her skin.”
― Angela Quarles, Must Love More Kilts

“She dragged the soft cloth up and up, the fabric tickling along his sensitized skin. He trembled. Never had he been so responsive to a woman’s slightest touch.”
― Angela Quarles, Must Love More Kilts

“And while she didn’t yet know how she fit into the world, she did know Duncan was a vital part.”
― Angela Quarles, Must Love More Kilts

“She did not want to have to choose between the legend which had finally made her feel as if her life had meaning and this beautiful, caring man whose soul seemed to echo with the same beats as her own heart.”
― Angela Quarles, Must Love More Kilts

“He settled beside her on the small bench, and awareness of him pushed against her skin as if he extended past the confines of his body and made her want.”
― Angela Quarles, Must Love More Kilts

“He lay stretched full length along his glorified cot, and while his bandage masked his shoulder, plenty of bare skin remained for her gaze to lap up. Bare, musclely skin. Skin that was somehow otherworldly in the soft glow of the flickering candlelight. Skin that made her want to touch, feel, and…and…lick. Until her gaze snagged on the scar-tattoo combo, and ice again crystallized in her gut.”
― Angela Quarles, Must Love More Kilts