Lynn Turner

“Deke: 'You know what I'm wonderin'?' Malachi: 'No, and to tell the truth, I don't care' Deke: 'I'm wonderin' how you've managed to live to the ripe old age of 36, when it's a known fact that you've been brain-dead since birth' 'Strength of will', was the flat reply”

“He moaned her name against her lips, and then at her temple, and her closed eyes. It seemed to be all he could say, the only word he knew. She remembered how she’d once been incensed by his lazy, mocking use of that butchered form of Bernadette, and decided she had been a pathetic little idiot.”

“He released something elemental in her, some primitive force she hadn’t even been aware of until he came along. It was frightening, in a way, but it was also exhilarating and incredibly exciting. And the jungle, steamy and frought with hidden dangers, seemed the perfect setting for their coming together.”

“God, I want you,’ he breathed, and Bernadette’s throat closed, trapping her breath, while every last ounce of strength drained out of her and left her with knees turned suddenly to rubber.‘I’ve never said that to a nun before,’ he mused wryly. ‘But then I’ve never met a nun like you. I doubt anyone has. What business has a woman Like you got being a nun, for the love of God!”

“Does this ring any bells?’ he murmured against her lips.‘I——-’Whatever else she’d been about to say was lost as he kissed her again. His gentleness took her by surprise, and without being fully aware that she was doing it she started kissing him back, just as gently.His hand curved to fit her waist as he murmured something unintelligible, his long fingers sliding with masterful confidence to her ribcage.”

“Their conversation was limited to monosyllables, few and far between, and either consciously or unconsciously spoken in French. The language should have sounded clumsy or discordant when spoken in Forrester’s normal growl, but it didn’t. Instead, his terse questions and muttered comments came out sounding like impatient love words, deliciously sexy; as if the engine he was working on was a temperamental woman whose pretence at reluctance might irritate him, but for whom he would play the game because of the reward he knew he’d receive at the end of it.”

“She would remember that voice as long as she lived, Bernadette thought. It was low and slightly harsh, as if he was hoarse from yelling at the top of his lungs all day. Yet there was a deep resonance to it, as well. It seemed to come from the soles of his feet, rumbling up through that long, tough-looking body and somehow being muted by the time it reached his throat. No, she revised the whimsical reflection; not muted, but tamed a little, civilised for the benefit of those who might hear it.”