“She was breathtaking in her beauty and her human spirit, he thought, unable to speak as he gazed upon her. Hers was the sort that would not fade or grow jaded with time and years, but flourish, grow more radiant with life and its experience. Hers was a beauty that no other possessed. A beauty he longed to keep, to hide away, to bask in, himself alone. She had become his. He didn’t know when, whether it had been the moment her fingertips had touched him when he was hurt, or if it had grown, like a seed, slowing spreading until Jane had become the root anchoring the shattered pieces of his heart, pulling them tight together until it resembled the organ it should.”

“Black would trust her with his secrets. He would protect hers. But did she trust him with her heart? Could she?She thought of Wendell, and no longer felt any remorse for her feelings. She did not love him. Her heart had been taken two years ago, by a stranger she thought she had conjured up in the atmosphere of her imagination.He had asked her to trust him—and there was only one way she knew how. She reached into the wardrobe and pulled out the crimson gown.No regrets. No seduction. No scandal. Only love.”

“She saw how he was staring at it, the bright red hue beneath her bonnet. She could not bear to see the way he was looking at her—right through her—without seeing her. He did not see a woman. He did not see Jane, the woman he had been so passionate with two days before. He saw… Jane swallowed hard and lookedaway, hating the weakness of her spirit. She was more than this, a wilting flower. She was stronger than this. But damn it, this hurt.It hurt because he was the man responsible for making her burn. For making her feel like a woman. It hurt because it had been a trick. An illusion. And it hurt most of all because he did not see her, the woman she was behind the unfashionable spectacles and garish hair.”

“[Jane] “You know how I feel about you. About what we share. I did not mean it in such a way.”“No?” he whispered wickedly, his gaze finding hers, latching on with strength and determination. “I don‟t believe you. I think you had better show me, Jane.” She kissed him, slow, lazily, her lips moving over his mouth, slowly winding, becoming deeper, sensual, and then slowly her tongue penetrated his mouth, touching his tongue, flicking around the tip of his. He groaned, wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed her up against his bulging phallus that felt so large and hard. Her core ached, needing that deep inside her.”

“Tilting her face back, he looked into her eyes. They were unfocused, unable to settle on his face. And the same terrifying feeling stole over him once again. An acute fear—a final, painful realization—that her world was one of utter blackness. At last he realized the magnitudeof her blindness. He couldn’t imagine never seeing her again.It was like a death, the inevitable conclusion when someone was gone. Why it should hit him now, after all these years, he could not fathom, but it was there, and finally he understood her private hell. He’d told her he would die without sight. Selfish, arrogant bastard, concernedwith his own needs, his own perversions to watchhimself pleasure her, to study her as she accepted him, to watch their bodies joined. How carelessly he had said that, not thinking of Elizabeth and what she would die for. What she wanted in this life.”

“He knew how to touch her, how hard to thrust, when to roll his hips, when and how to angle himself so she could not only feel him inside her, but rubbing against her clitoris, brushing, sensitizing. The fiend knew how to make her agony last, how to suspend it until he would allow her to reach out for it and surrender.”

“She had his dark hair, his lashes, and from the glimpse he had, she bore his eyes, as well. But the shape of her face, a perfect oval, was her mother’s. She had Anais’s cheeks. Anais’s lovely mouth and proud chin. He kissed her chin, feeling the softest of fluttering against his cheek—baby’s breath. There was nothing sweeter than the feel of an innocent child’s breath against one’s cheek—nothing more wondrous than knowing that the baby was your own flesh and blood.Mina stretched against him, yawning widely and throwing her arms up wide alongside her head. He laughed through his tears and reached for her little fist and brought it to his mouth, kissing her with such love he thought he would die of it. “You will consume me, little Mina, just as your mother has.”-Linsay to his infant daughter.”