Laini

“Women are the cradles of life. What sort of man tries to break a cradle.”
― Diana Palmer, A Man of Means

“Judd sat alone in the chapel. They’d let him in for a
handful of minutes to look down on Christabel’s white,
drawn little face. If he’d been able to get to a bar, he could
have gone through a fifth of whisky afterward. It was shocking to see her like that. She was hooked up to half a dozen monitoring machines with a needle in her arm feeding her
nutrients and apparently a narcotic for pain. There was a
tube coming out of her side to drain her chest. Perhaps it
was the same tube they’d used to reinflate the lung as well.
Not since she was sixteen had she been so badly hurt,
and even then it wasn’t this serious. There hadn’t been the
risk that she could die from her father’s brutal beating.
This was different. She looked fragile and helpless and
so alone. Her big dark eyes were closed. There were dark
circles under them. When she breathed, he heard the slow rasp of fluid in her chest. Her lips were blue. She looked
as if she’d already died.
He’d touched her small hand with his big one and remembered the last thing she’d said to him before Clark showed up. Tippy had told her that he’d been disgusted with her, that he hadn’t wanted her hanging on him, running after him with her heart on her sleeve. His eyes had closed with a shudder. If she didn’t make it, her last memory of him would be one of pain and betrayal.
It wasn’t true. He wasn’t disgusted. He lay awake
nights remembering the passion they’d shared. He missed
her. It was like being without an arm or a leg. He’d told
her he didn’t want anything permanent. Now the choice
might not be his anymore. He might be left alone, as he’d
thought he wanted to be when he told her he was getting the divorce.
Somewhere he remembered an old adage. Be careful
what you want; you might get it. He looked at Christabel’s still body and saw the end of everything he loved.”
― Diana Palmer, Lawless

“Oh, my God. Did I force myself on him? Wait, under him. Can you force yourself under someone?”
― Alexa Riley, Snow and Mistletoe

“Get him in leg irons and transport him to the hospital,” Grier told him curtly.
“I need a doctor,” Clark raged. “I’m shot. My hand’s
bleeding!”
Grier stared at him. “If you make a move I don’t like,
you’ll need a mortician,” he said with pure malice, and
abruptly spun the Colt with a professional skill that made
Clark back up a step.”
― Diana Palmer, Lawless