A Quote by Edith Wharton
He bent and laid his lips on her hands, which were cold and lifeless. She drew them away, and he turned to the door, found his coat and hat under the faint gas-light of the hall, and plunged out into the winter night bursting with the belated eloquence of the inarticulate.
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She watched his lips forming the words, at the same time she heard them under her skin, under her winter coat, so near and full of warmth that she felt herself go hot.
To Cam surprise, she was smiling up at him steadily, her eyes midnight. His expression turned quizzical. "What's so amusing?" Amelia toyed with a button on his coat. "I was just thinking . . . tonight those two old hens will probably go to their beds, cold and alone." An impish grin curved her lips. "Whereas I will be with a wicked, handsome Rom who will keep me warm all night.
As we drew near to the gates of Dother Hall the old bell in the belfry rang out. I said, 'I must go in, it's nigh on ten of the clock.' He half-turned away from me, his jacket collar hiding his expression. Was he angry? Disappointed?" Jo looked intently and I said, "Hungry?" Jo ignored me, but as she passed by acting out walking away from Phil, she allowed her hand to slap against my head.
I'm sure I'll find some use for the dress before summer."Kavill nodded, and closed his thick ledger. "Do let me know if it causes anyone to faint-or start a riot."She laughed under her breath, and turned to go, stuffing her hands into her pockets and praying her fingers didn't fall off on the way home."Here," Kavill said, and she turned to find a pair of exquisite dove-gray suede gloves in his hands. "On the house. For many years of loyal patronage." His face bore its usual mask of polite calm and courtesy, but his brown eyes were bright. "And a gift-for a year spent without any gloves at all.
She turned to Skulduggery and held out her arms. “Come here, you.” He tilted his head. “My hugs are for special occasions only.” “Hug me.” “I prefer the old tradition.” “Hug.” “Would a handshake do?” “Hug.” “A pat on the back?” She stepped forward and wrapped her arms round him. “Hug,” she said. He sighed, and his hands settled on her shoulders. The others were warm and their embraces strong – with Skulduggery the hug was cold, and there were areas on his jacket that gave way beneath her fingers, and she could feel the emptiness within. She didn’t mind.
His lips covered hers as he laid the gauze on her leg. Fiery pain shot through her flesh as his lips swallowed her cry, then replaced it with such amazing sensation she wanted to whimper in return. He licked her lips. He didn’t steal her kiss. He didn’t take it. He cajoled it from her.
As she left the room, Po went to Katsa, pulled her up, sat himself in her chair, and drew her into his lap. Shushing her, he rocked her, the two of them holding on to each other as if it were the only thing keeping the world from bursting apart.
That was on a night in August. Dad Lewis died early that morning and the young girl Alice from next door got lost in the evening and then found her way home in the dark by the streetlights of town and so returned to the people who loved her. And in the fall the days turned cold and the leaves dropped off the trees and in the winter the wind blew from the mountains and out on the high plains of Holt County there were overnight storms and three-day blizzards.
Startled, he loosed his grasp and she pulled free. He clutched her arm, but she spun around and pressed her mouth to his. His lips were rough, chapped. She felt the sting of fangs against her bottom lip. He made a sharp sound in the back of his throat and closed his eyes. Mouth opening under hers. The smell of him- of cold, damp stone- made her head swim. One kiss slid into another and it was perfect, was exactly right, was real.
She stood, squared her shoulders. “We’ll do it. Together.” And then she did something that shocked them both. She rose on her tiptoes and pressed a swift kiss on his lips. “Thank you for returning to help me.” When she tried to move away, he latched onto her forearms and held her in place. His eyes were gleaming. "Next time you decide to do that…" What?" she said, stiffening. "Give you a little warning?" No." He grinned. "Linger.
Cold?" Ravus echoed. He took her arm and rubbed it between his hands, watching them as though they were betraying him. "Better?" He asked warily. His skin felt hot, even through the cloth of her shirt, his touch was both soothing and electric. She leaned into him without thinking. His thighs parted, rough black cloth scratching against her jeans as she moved between his long legs. His eyes half-lidded as he pushed himself off the desk, their bodies sliding together, his hands still holding hers. Then, suddenly, he froze.
“Simon,” she whispered, vaguely surprised that she had just used his first name, for she had never used it even in the privacy of her thoughts. Moistening her dry lips, she tried once more, and to her astonishment, she did it again. “Simon…” “Yes?” A new tension had entered his long, hard body, and at the same time, his hand moved over the shape of her skull in the softest caress possible. “Please… take me to my room.” Hunt tilted her head back gently and regarded her with a sudden faint smile playing on his lips. “Sweetheart, I would take you to Timbuktu if you asked.“
... He didn't know how to say good-bye. His throat ached from the strain of holding back his emotions. “I don't want to leave you,” he said humbly, reaching for her cold, stiff hands. Emma lowered her head, her tears falling freely. “I'll never see you again, will I?” He shook his head. “Not in this lifetime,” he said hoarsely. She pulled her hands away and wrapped her arms around his neck. He felt her wet lashes brush his cheek. “Then I'll wait a hundred years,” she whispered. “Or a thousand, if I must. Remember that, Nikki. I'll be waiting for you to come to me.
She leaned down and looked at his lifeless face and Leisel kissed her best friend, Rudy Steiner, soft and true on his lips. He tasted dusty and sweet. He tasted like regret in the shadows of trees and in the glow of the anarchist's suit collection. She kissed him long and soft, and when she pulled herself away, she touched his mouth with her fingers...She did not say goodbye. She was incapable, and after a few more minutes at his side, she was able to tear herself from the ground. It amazes me what humans can do, even when streams are flowing down their faces and they stagger on.
He bent, lips coming to mine and — 'Derek? Chloe?' It was Kit, opening the back door. Derek let out a low growl. 'Never fails.' I turned to Kit. 'How is she?' 'We’re going to take her back to the house now. She’s unconscious again.' 'Then we’ll walk back,' Derek said. 'Give you room in the van to lay her down.' His dad agreed and went back inside. As we walked toward the steps, I looked down at Derek’s hand, holding mine. 'No one’s around,' he said. 'And we can take the back way.' 'Good,' I said, and entwined my fingers with his.
Lastly came Winter cloathed all in frize, Chattering his teeth for cold that did him chill; Whilst on his hoary beard his breath did freese, And the dull drops, that from his purpled bill As from a limebeck did adown distill: In his right hand a tipped staffe he held, With which his feeble steps he stayed still; For he was faint with cold, and weak with eld; That scarce his loosed limbes he hable was to weld.
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