Water Bound Quotes

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Water Bound (Sea Haven/Sisters of the Heart, #1) Water Bound by Christine Feehan
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Water Bound Quotes Showing 1-30 of 32
“And maybe that was love. Being so vulnerable and allowing someone else in so far they could hurt you, but they also give you everything.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“He felt safe with her. He'd never been safe with another human being, not since he'd been taken as a child from his home. He'd never been able to trust. He could never give that last small piece - all that was left of his humanity - into someone else's keeping. And now there was Rikki. She let him be whatever he had to be to survive. She didn't ask anything of him. There was no hidden motive. No agenda. Just acceptance. She was different - imperfect, or so she thought - and she knew what it was like to fight to carve out a space for herself. She was willing for him to do thar.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“If you need to talk about your childhood, you’re safe with me. If you need to break into a million pieces, I’m right here, Lev. I’ll find them all, I’m good at details, and I’ll put you back together. You’re safe here.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“For the first time in his existence, he knew he was drowning and he wasn't thinking about survival.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“Sex was a practiced art to him. Each move calculated. His brain always worked while he performed, his body seducing his prey with ease, noting each response of his target. But in one moment, everything had changed. She swept him into a tidal wave of pure sensation, and he willingly let go and let her take him with her.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“I know what it's like to battle everyday of my life, just for acceptance, just to survive.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“He tasted passion. He tasted emotion. He tasted a world he’d never imagined, one he could never enter. It was right there in front of him, suddenly open to him. Unexpected. Exciting. Scary.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“Here's to many more firsts and many more great memories.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“If you allowed yourself to hear or feel amusement, you would hear and feel pain.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“I don’t like you in danger. When a man finds the only person
of worth to him, that one person who matters more than anything and makes
everything he’s ever seen or done or gone through worthwhile, believe me,
Rikki, the urge to protect her is overwhelming. If that bothers you, then I’m
sorry, because it’s going to be happening over and over throughout our years
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“Maybe love was a woman feeding him pancakes. Maybe it was someone sitting across from him sipping orange juice just to please him.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“I have one thing you don't,' he murmured against her neck, turning his head and nipping her earlobe.
His tongue teased her ear. 'Brute strength,' he whispered and removed the keys from her hand even as he captured her mouth with his. He didn't let her up until she kissed him back thoroughly, until her arms slid around his neck and she melted into him.
He drove the truck with great satisfaction, smirking at her. 'Manly man, here, woman.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“I'm sorry. I never think to check my messages and I don't have a clue where that cell phone is.'
She looked around as if she might find it in the flower bed.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“I'm going to crash if you keep that up. You're sort of distracting.'
He laughed again at her matter-of-fact observation. 'I'm sort of distracting? I obviously need to try harder.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“They were on the highway, lights flashing, sirens blaring.
'Maybe we should go in quietly and not tip him off. Just a suggestion.'
'Just clearing the way. I'll cut the lights and siren before we turn off the highway.'
'I see the heavy traffic,' Lev said. There wasn't a car on the road.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“What the hell was he shooting at? You? Or the birds?'
'He fired off a few rounds at me, both from here and back there.' Lev turned to indicate the spot where the assailant stood. 'Then he was shooting at the owls.'
'The ones that attacked him.' There was open skepticism in Jonas's voice.
'I don't carry spare owl feathers in my pocket,' Levi said.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“Just like the movements in a symphony, the rain sent vibrations through his body, painting the world in a physical map of mountains, valleys and high peaks dropping into deep ravines. The physical structures were all created by sound itself, and the colors were intense and vivid—substance created by sound, by feeling.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“Just like the sea, she was turbulent and wild, angry and loving. She felt every sensation, but it was only here, with water around her, that she dared let herself feel so strongly, so passionately.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“I’m taking a shower.”
Oh, God. She was killing him. Making him want to laugh out loud. Where had his sense of self-preservation gone? He didn’t feel emotion— that was far too dangerous. He shivered beneath the blankets, suddenly afraid for her. For himself.
“You’re still cold. I should have thought to rub you down with some warm oil. Lexi makes it and I use it sometimes when I come in from a dive. It warms you up fast. Can you roll over, because I’m not rubbing your front.”
“Why not?”
“If you want a massage, turn over.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“You look like hell,” she observed. “I can’t call the coast guard because you ripped out my VHF. I’m going to have to get you to shore as fast as possible.”
He held up his hand. “No. I can’t be seen.” He forced a trembling note into his voice. “I think someone’s trying to kill me.”
“That’s a shocker,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“He groaned and dropped into the nearest kitchen chair, pushing his head into his hands. “Death by peanut butter. I never thought I’d go that way.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“He looked pained. “I don’t eat peanut butter.”
That genuinely shocked her. “Who doesn’t eat peanut butter? It’s the perfect food.”
He shuddered. “Even to make up for all the things I’ve done wrong, I don’t think I can do it.”
“For a man who carries around as many weapons as you do, you’re a bit of a baby.”
“It isn’t being a baby not to eat peanut butter. I don’t think babies eat the stuff.”
“That’s un-American.”
“I’m not certain I am American,” he pointed out.
She had to agree with him there. “Fine. You can put peanut butter on waffles. Blythe bought some of those frozen thingies that you put in the toaster. I’m not sure how old they are. Do frozen foods last like four years or more?”
He groaned and dropped into the nearest kitchen chair, pushing his head into his hands. “Death by peanut butter. I never thought I’d go that way.”
Rikki found herself laughing. Nothing made her laugh, not out loud, not hurt-her-tummy laughing, not like this. He looked so dejected— a big, tough man done in by peanut butter.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“She’d read a great deal about the blankets and knew the weight was supposed to help release serotonin by putting pressure on the sensory nerves in her muscles, joints and tendons, for a calming effect.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“A few more steps and you’ll be in the bedroom. I’m going to lay you down and try to get your wet clothes off.”
She sounded dispassionate, as if he wasn’t a man at all. She didn’t seem embarrassed by the thought of removing his clothes, but then she was a diver and he knew they often had to strip with other divers around them. He didn’t mind that she wasn’t embarrassed, but it vaguely bothered him that she didn’t see him as a man. With his head pounding so hard and his chest so tight, he wasn’t certain of anything, so he dismissed the notion as idiotic.
The moment he stretched out on the bed, he closed his eyes and let her work. She found his knife in one boot and his holdout gun in the other. There was another knife strapped to his leg. Another gun in his belt. A third one in a harness. Another knife and three small daggers in loops at his belt. She didn’t say a word but her breathing changed. She inhaled several times quite sharply. That made him want to smile too. She found his throwing stars and the two throwing knives, but she missed the garrotes sewn into his clothing.
“What are you? Some kind of assassin?”
He didn’t answer. She was tugging his clothing off of him, and he knew the instant she saw him as a man. Her hands stilled and she made a single sound, a low note he couldn’t quite interpret. He opened his eyes and caught her looking, her eyes enormous and beautiful, the lashes fanning the sweep of her high cheekbone. She looked up at him and he felt a physical jolt.
She cleared her throat and tugged on his jeans. “Lift up.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“When she turned away, he caught her hand. He waited until she looked back at him. “I need my weapons. Just in case.”
“You won’t shoot me. Or stab me. Or throw one of those thingies at me.”
She snorted. “How would you know? You don’t know what you’re doing half the time.”
She sighed and began stacking weapons on the bed beside the pillow. “Fine. But I’ll be royally pissed if you try to kill me again. It’s getting old.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“He watched her through narrowed, half-closed eyes, keeping his breathing regulated so that she dismissed him to take his clothes to the laundry room. He heard her but couldn’t see her as she started up the washing machine. Then she was back, meticulously wiping up her hardwood floor until it gleamed. She must have warmed some blankets because she stripped off his blanket and tucked two more around him, still muttering to herself under her breath.
He really was far gone and confused, because he was beginning to find that habit rather adorable.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“She frowned at him and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You’re pretty damned stubborn, aren’t you?”
He thought that was evident and not worth answering, so he just let himself disappear into her eyes. She had beautiful eyes. He loved how liquid and soft they were. She started to move away and he caught her arm. “Don’t go.”
“I don’t like people touching me.”
He should have let go of her, but instead he rubbed the pads of his fingers up and down her bare arm. Her shirt was still half buttoned, and he was tempted to stroke her flat belly just to know the texture of her.
“I don’t like it either,” he said. And it was true. Funny. He’d never admitted that to anyone. It didn’t particularly matter, he did what had to be done, but he didn’t like it— maybe not in the same way she meant. His was a matter of personal space, a natural avoidance of closeness with others. But Rikki . . . He studied her face. “I don’t think my touch bothers you that much.”
She blinked. She rarely blinked, but he’d struck home. She compressed her lips and then narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re pretty arrogant for a man who can’t move with a pile of weapons sitting next to him.”
“You have such a penchant for violence.”
She looked outraged. “I do? You’re the one being hostile. I’m Mother Teresa here. And I don’t like sick people.”
“Do you like anyone?” Amusement was creeping in again. He was beginning to like the feeling. “Anything?”
“Not particularly.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“Figuring her out was fast becoming an obsession,”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“. And maybe that was love. Being so vulnerable and allowing someone else in so far they could hurt you, but they could also give you everything.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound
“Your scars? Would you tell me if I asked?”
“What I know. The bullet that nearly severed my spine.” He waited until she found it, until the pads of her fingers stroked over the spot like a caress. “Amsterdam. I know that but not why or who. The knife along my hip was Paris and one up by my shoulder blade, Egypt. I know where I was with each of them, but not why.”
“I should have taken you to the hospital.”
She was frowning again, he could tell by her voice. He wished he could see her face, but she was working on his buttocks and he lost his own voice as well as his ability to think straight. Little explosions were going off in his head— and his groin. His cock was hot and heavy and so full he was leaking. Her hands went to the backs of his thighs.
Impersonal. He repeated the word silently over and over to himself. She would have done the same for anyone needing help. He’d have to kill any man she touched like this. His body should have been relaxed, not ready to take possession of hers. He was acutely aware of her every movement. Her breath. The swing of her hair. The beat of her heart. Her hands moving over his muscles, pressing deep, stroking and gliding. He knew she was wholly focused on what she was doing— not on him— and God help them both, he wanted her to notice him.”
Christine Feehan, Water Bound

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