Mind Game Quotes

“You aren't worried are you?"
"Why should I be worried? It's just another day in the neighborhood. You know - bombs, fires, people shooting at you. Why should I be worried? Especially since we could be clothes shopping or boarding a plane. I'm not in the least worried."
"Hmmm," he mused allowed. "I read about this in the relationship manual. It's called womanly sarcasm and usually means a man is in deep trouble.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“Cute? You think he's cute? What's cute about him?
...
Well, yes. He's got that smile, that really bad boy smile, and a great backside.

On page eighty of the relationship manual, it clearly states, you cannot look at another man's backside, especially if you think it's great.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“There were a thousand secrets in her eyes, a thousand wounds. A lifetime of distrust and betrayal. Isolation. How did one overcome such things?”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“Suddenly gator was framed in the doorway, grinning at them, his black unruly hair tumbling into his face and his piercing blue eyes bright with laughter. "Oh, I see you are most friendly with each other. And Lily was so worried." He turned his head. "Ian Tucker, come look at this. Our man has found himself a little kitty cat."
"Shut up, Gator, or I'm going to shoot you." Nicholas put the gun away and looked down at dahlia. She had the covers pulled up to her chin. Here eyes were enormous and getting bigger by the moment as more Ghost Walkers crowded into the doorway to gape at the sight of Nicholas, the loner, in bed with Dahlia.
"And you said he didn't know what to do with a woman," Tucker Addison accused the tallest of the group, Ian McGillicuddy.
"I stand corrected." Ian gave Nicholas a small salute.
Dahlia made a small distressed squeak. Nicholas picked up the gun. "I'm going to start shooting if the lot of you don't get out and close the door."
"What a poor sport," Gator groused. "And this is my house.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“Nicholas wanted to believe in fairy tales. She'd read her share, hoping for miracles, but in the end, there was no hundred acre wood to play in with her little stuffed animals. There was pain and crushing disillusionment and betrayal.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“The men gasped at Nicholas. "That's the most I've heard him say in three years." Sam said. He turned to the others. "You ever hear him talk that much?"
"I wasn't sure he could talk," Tucker Addison replied straight-faced.
"He talks," Dahlia said defensively.
"Begging your pardon, ma'am, but he's just plain anti-social," Sam pointed out, "Always had been, always will be.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“That be the jealousy talking," Gator said, in no way perturbed. "I can't help the way the women love me. I was born with the gift."
The men hooted and made rude noises. "You were born with a gift of bullshitting." Sam pointed out, "but that's about it." He looked at Dahlia. "Pardon me, ma'am, but its the truth."
"I rather thought it was," she agreed.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“(After Nicholas tells Dahlia that he loves her)

"...Just don't break my heart my heart, Dahlia. I've never handed it over to anyone before."
She placed both hands over his. "I've never had anyone's heart. I don't know the first thing about keeping hearts. You're taking a terrible risk."
"That's what I do best." ... "Are you feeling relaxed now?" ...
"I was until you started throwing around the L-word. That's enough to scare anyone.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“You learned several forms of martial arts."
"yes, and for the most part, because I was doing something physical and most of my instructors enjoyed what they were doing, it was fun. Later, as I got older and they were serious about training me, I was faster than the instructors, and some of them would get angry."
"Honey, that's entirely understandable. You're barely five feet tall, and you can't weigh a hundred pounds. To make matters worse, you're a girl. Kicking some man's butt is not ladylike.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“As a child he had grown up without a mother or even a grandmother. He had never really explored emotional relationships or marriage. He'd never been given advice on the matter. The closest he'd really come to seeing a relationship was watching Ryland Miller pursue Lily. The man had lost his mind. Nicholas had a feeling he'd joined the ranks of en losing their mind over women.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“You missed him," she said. Somehow it didn't seem possible. He was so sure of himself, almost invincible in his manner.
"I hit what I was aiming at," he answered quietly. "We have to keep moving. I'm hoping I slowed them down, but we can't count on it." He forced the oars through the water with his powerful arms and the boat shot through the channel toward open water.
"I didn't feel anything."
His gaze brushed her face, an odd little caress she felt all the way through her body, just as if he'd touched her with his fingers. "I wasn't aiming at you."
She caught the fleeting glint of his white teeth in what could have been a brief smile. One dark eyebrow rose in response. "Has anyone ever told you your sense of humor needs a little work?"
"No one's ever accused me of having a sense of humor before. You keep insulting me. First you accuse me of missing, and then you try to tell me I have a sense of humor."
His face was made of stone, his tone devoid of all expression. His eyes were flat and ice cold, but Dahlia felt him laughing. Nothing big, but it was there in the boat between then, and the terrible pressure in her chest lifted a bit. "And it needs work," she pointed out. "Get it right." She even managed a brief smile of her own to match his.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“Baby don't do this." He whispered the words. Why did he thought if she cried she'd feel better? It was too much, too much sorrow for her. He pulled her beneath him, lying over her, somehow trying with his body to protect her from the ggrief.
She came awake, her eyes wide, black. Swimming with tears. "Nicholas? What is it?" He touched his face, the lines of worry there.
"You're crying, honey. I thought it would be good for you to cry, but not like this, not in your sleep where I can't share it with you."
"I can't be crying." Dahlia wiped at the tears on her face with a kind of horror. "I never cry."
"You are crying."
"I can't stop." She looked desperate. "Make me stop, Nicholas, Make it stop.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“I don't suppose you cook?" Tucker inquired hopefully.
"Did you think because she can start fires she'd be great with a grill? Gator asked.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“I think my vision's blurred," he murmurred.
SHe responded with a hesitant laugh. "If that's all that happened, you're a heck of a better kisser than I am. I can't stand up."
"I'm afraid to touch you. We might go up in flames."
She sighed. "They story of my life...”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“You listen to me this one time, Dahlia. If something goes wrong, anything at all, you haul butt out of here fast. You have the cell phone and the number. Call Lily. The Ghost Walkers will be here as soon as possible."
She caught him before he could turn away. "You listen to me this one time, Nicholas. If anything goes wrong, don't be a hero. Haul your butt out of there and in one piece. We'll call Lily, and she can send the others.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“Do you think anything else can go wrong tonight?"
Kaden turned to look at Nicholas coming up behind her and nodded. "Yes ma'am. I'd say all kinds of things could go wrong.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“cell phones have a way of disliking the bayou and the river. It must be water thing."
"But what about when you weren't i the bayou? Surely Calhoun gave you a cell phone to keep in touch when you were in town."
"I melted two of them. he decided it wasn't worth it."
He looked down at her to see if she was teasing him. Her gaze was all too serious. "You melted them?"
She nodded. "I melt things. Accidentally."
Nicholas wasn't touching that. Considering all that melting going on inside of him any time he was close to her he could believe she'd melted a couple of phones. After all, they were much smaller than he was. His breath chuffed out and he took her hand, deciding to try to diffuse the situation. "Try not to melt any body parts.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“His energy is very malevolent.
Don't get sick or I'll start asking you if the baby is all right in front of him.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“Nicolas sat very still just watching her. What he wanted to do was yank her back into the boat and weld their mouths together. Their bodies. He craved her like he would a drug. He made himself breath. In and out. He could read the desperation in her eyes, the fear. Not of him, for him. The tight coil in his belly began to relax. Not giving her time to argue or think, he simply caught her small wrists and lifted her into the boat. “We’re adults, remember? Now that we know it can happen, we’ll be more careful.” He managed a quick, teasing grin. “Until we don’t want to be careful.”
Dahlia swallowed hard. She had courage, he had to give her that. Respect for her grew with every moment in her company. She didn’t back away from him, but held her ground. They were both standing up, and she had a long way to look up. “It could happen, Nicolas. You’ve never seen what pure energy can do, but I have. I generate heat when it happens and fires start. People get hurt.”
“Have you ever made love to someone, Dahlia?”
His voice was so low she had to strain to hear him. She felt the surge of darkness, of danger, something lethal and deadly emanating from him.
“No, I’ve never wanted to get that close to anyone.”
“Until now.” He wanted to hear her say it. At least give him that much. He needed that much.
“Until now,” she agreed.
Nicolas stepped away from her, sank back into position. “Thanks for not pushing me into the water. You must have thought about it.”
“Don’t give me too much credit.” She made her way to the motor. “I wasn’t certain if I shoved, you’d fall.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“Nicolas couldn’t stop looking at her with her head thrown back, her thick, black hair streaming in the wind, her body perfectly balanced as she guided the boat. With her head back, he could see her neck and the outline of her body beneath the shirt, almost as if she wore nothing at all. His body stirred, hardened. Nicolas didn’t bother to fight the reaction. Whatever was between them, the chemistry was apparent and it wasn’t going to go away. He could sit in the boat and admire the flawless perfection of her skin. Imagine the way it would feel beneath his fingertips, his palm.
Dahlia’s head suddenly turned and her eyes were on him. Hot Wild. Wary. “Stop touching my breasts.” She lifted her chin, faint color stealing under her skin.
He held up his hands in surrender. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Dahlia’s breasts ached, felt swollen and hot, and deep inside her, a ravenous appetite began to stir. Nicolas was sitting across from her, looking the epitome of the perfect male statue, his features expressionless and his eyes cool, but she felt his hands on her body. Long caresses, his palms cupping her breasts, thumbs stroking her nipples until she shivered in awareness and hunger.
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, that.” She couldn’t help seeing the rigid length bulging beneath his jeans, and he made no effort to hide it. His unashamed display sent her body into overtime reaction so that she felt a curious throbbing where no throbbing needed to be. She grit her teeth together. “I can still feel you touching me.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I consider myself an innocent victim in this situation,” Nicolas said. “I’ve always had control, in fact I pride myself on self-discipline. You seem to have destroyed it. Permanently.” He wasn’t exactly lying to her. He couldn’t take his eyes or his mind from her body. It was an unexpected pleasure, a gift.
He was devouring her with his eyes. With his mind. A part of her, the truly insane part—and Dahlia was beginning to believe there really was one—loved the way he was looking at her. She’d never experienced a man’s complete attention centered on her in a sexual way before. And he wasn’t just any man. He was . . . extraordinary.
“Well, stop all the same,” she said, caught between embarrassment and pleasure.
“I don’t see why my having a few fantasies should bother you.”
“I’m feeling your fantasies. I think you’re projecting just a little too strongly.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You mean you can actually feel what I’m thinking? My hands on your body? I thought you were reading my mind.”
“I told you I could feel you touching me.”
“That’s amazing. Has that ever happened before?”
“No, and it better not happen again. Good grief, we’re strangers.”
“You slept with me last night,” he pointed out. “Do you sleep with many strangers?” He was teasing her, but the question sent a dark shadow skittering through him.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“Women, real women do not have to prove anything to men. We already know we’re the superior gender.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“Violence, once committed, lingered behind and subtly worked on those sensitive to its ugliness.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“Is the rain getting the mud off of me?”
She tilted her head. A hint of laughter crept into her eyes. “Actually it’s running down your face in a rather dramatic fashion. I think you’d even manage to scare an alligator.”
“Before you start laughing at me, you might take a look at yourself.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“Dahlia’s breath hissed out of her throat. Slowing the boat, she swung back toward him, glaring. “What is so damned fascinating about breasts? If I show them to you will you stop?” Her hands went to the buttons of the shirt as if she might really rip the material open. There was color in her face and her breath came too fast. “I one heard that men thought about sex every three minutes but you must be setting some sort of record.”
“It isn’t just any breasts, Dahlia.” He reached for the canteen of water. His hand was shaking. Actually shaking. Just the thought of her opening her shirt sent his body into a painful, hard, unrelenting ache.
“Well I have them, okay? Just like any other woman. They’re there. I can’t do much about it.”
Nicolas took a long pull of water and nearly choked as she angrily unbuttoned the shirt and allowed the edges to gape open all the way to her waist. Her breasts were fuller than he’d first thought, jutting forward to tempt him more. She was beautiful. Her skin was amazing. He swallowed hard. “I don’t think that was a good idea.”
Dahlia realized instantly she’d made a terrible mistake. His black eyes went from ice cold to a raging fever. His hand gripped the canteen until small dents appeared.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“How do you keep your emotions so under control, Nicolas? Even when you're doing things that have to bother you?" She glanced up at him to make certain her question hadn't upset him.

"I don't do anything unless I believe it is necessary. If it's necessary then there's no reason for me to be bothered by it. The universe has a natural order. I do my best to flow with it and not try to control things outside of myself. The truth is, control is a myth. You can't control another person or even an event. You can only control yourself. So that's what I do.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“Go take a shower. Use cold water, it will help.”
It took him a moment to control the urgent demands of his body. As he stepped away from her, the pad of his finger slipped down her throat and trailed over the swell of her breast before he dropped his hand to his side.
Dahlia shivered at his touch. She remained still, only inches from him, refusing to back away . . . or move forward. “Fortunately, Jesse stashed some clothes here for me. He’s a thoughtful man.”
“Is that what you call him? I think interfering busybody would just about say it all. I like you without clothes.”
“Nicolas,” she cautioned. “I’m hanging on by a thread. You’re supposed to help.”
“Tell me why again, and I’ll work on it.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“All the while, he was conscious of the sound of water. Dahlia was taking a shower. No matter how hard he tried to prevent it, his imagined insisted on conjuring up a vivid picture of Dahlia naked, wet, her hair slick and her face turned up to the hot spray. He closed his eyes against the image and groaned softly. Where had all his self-discipline gone? His tremendous control? He couldn’t blame energy, sexual or otherwise, for his fantasies. It was the glimpse of her bare bottom, the curve of her hip. Her bare breasts gleaming at him in the sun. Or maybe it was her smile. She didn’t smile often, but when she did, Nicolas could swear it was for him alone, no one else. And then there was her skin . . .
“Hey! Lover boy! Stop mooning around and hit the shower. You smell like a swamp rat, and it just doesn’t do a thing to put me in the mood.” Dahlia stood in the doorway, a towel wrapped around her like a sarong. Her hair was up in a towel and she was dripping water all over the floor. She’d obviously come downstairs straight from her shower to scold him for his indiscretions, but changed her mind.
“You’re not helping me with my overactive imagination,” he pointed out as he walked toward her.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“Even so, the two of us look memorable in these clothes. And your shirt is transparent. I don’t think I can take a bunch of men ogling you.” He didn’t look up as he took his rifle apart and carefully wrapped it around before putting it in his pack. The ammunition belt followed, along with every other visible weapon.
Dahlia gasped and crossed her arms over her breasts. “You could have said something.”
“I didn’t want to embarrassed you.” This time he did look up, only a small glance.
She had the impression of a fleeting smile. She caught the shirt he threw her and hastily put it on. “Next time, I’m pushing you in,” she vowed.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“I steal things.”
“You do what?”
She wanted to smile at the incredulous tone. “Is stealing worse than killing? I thought it was all bad.”
“You just surprised me.” He didn’t flinch at her candid assessment of what he did, but it bothered him—and people’s opinions didn’t bother him. He had his own moral code, a code of strict honor. It shouldn’t matter what she said . . . but it did. She wasn’t accusing or even judgmental, just matter-of-fact and perhaps that was what got under his skin. That she just accepted what he was. One-dimensional, as if that was all he was. And all he would ever be.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game

“Nicolas felt awkward. If she needed him to shoot someone for her, he was her man, but comforting her was something altogether different. He didn’t like feeling uncertain; it was foreign to his nature. Men didn’t pet women like dogs, did they? He put his arm around her, drew her closer to him.”
― Christine Feehan, Mind Game