jesse

“Yes, I am certain it’s infatuation. I’ve felt it before.”
Now Ash was the one who became a maelstrom of irrational emotion. That emotion being jealous anger. “Toward whom?”
“Why should it matter?”
“Because,” he said, “I like to know the names of the people I despise. I keep them in a little book and pore over it from time to time, whilst sipping brandy and indulging in throaty, ominous laughter.”
― Tessa Dare, The Duchess Deal

“So. This is it. Your car.” Danny stops, frames his hands around the car. “It’s incredible.”

“Isn’t she?” I lean on the door. “Free at last, free at last.”

“Did you just quote Martin Luther King Jr. in relation to your car?”

“Um. Yes, I guess I did . . .”

He bursts out laughing. “Man, you’re awesome.”

“I’m an idiot.”
― Sally Thorne, The Hating Game

“You've never seen my legs, Marcus. You don't know what you're talking about. And coming from a man who takes his pick of the most beautiful women in London as if he were sampling from a tin of bonbons-"
"Are you implying that I'm some shallow fool who values a woman only for her appearance?"
Aline was tempted to retract her charge in the interest of maintaining peace between them. But as she considered the last few women that Marcus had carried on with... "I'm sorry to say, Marcus, that each of your recent choice of companions- the last four or five, at least- displayed all the intelligence of a turnip. And yes, they were all quite beautiful, and I doubt that you were able to to have a sensible conversation with any of them for longer than five minutes."
Marcus stood back and glared at her. "How does that pertain to what we were discussing?"
"It illustrates the point that even you, one of the finest and most honorable men I've ever known, place great importance on physical attractiveness. And if I ever see you consort with a woman who is less than stunningly perfect, then perhaps I'll listen to your lectures on how appearance doesn't matter.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Again the Magic

“Have I told you,” I said, bending low to whisper in his ear, “how beautiful you are when you smile?”
He smiled then, the kind of smile that dimpled his cheek and set my heart on fire. “Tell me.”
“Sometimes when I look at you, I can’t breathe.” My hand moved to his belt. “I can’t think. I can’t function until you look back. And when you give me this smile”—I brushed my knuckle against his dimple—“it’s like a secret just for the two of us. I don’t think I ever love you more than when you smile at me.”
― Shelby Mahurin, Blood & Honey