Best 8 quotes of Cari Silverwood on MyQuotes

Cari Silverwood

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    Cari Silverwood

    As she reached back for the buckle, her fingers met Mr. Meisner’s. She jumped. “I can do this... Sir.” “Ah.” He brushed aside her fingers. “I see you’ve at least remembered the sir.” “One always calls gentlemen that, just as you--” With only a rustle of cloth to warn her, his teeth met in the lobe of her ear, sending a spark into her middle. Like the melt of winter snow, she felt heat pool in her lower body. Her fingers curled against her collarbone where her hands still rested either side of her neck. “I’m not a gentleman, Faith.

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    Cari Silverwood

    Being born of the dreams and nightmares of humans, they weren’t truly faery or demon. The semantics of labels didn’t matter. There was just light, and there was dark, and neither of them belonged in this world.

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    Cari Silverwood

    His words thrummed in, deep, imprinting themselves on her very deepest, deepest, deep bits. “I believe I am your destiny. You are mine, as I am yours. We shall be one. So one that your air will be mine, your scent mine, your blood will fill my veins, your soul and my soul will entwine together forever. Everything about you, mine.” Wow. “Those little china animals on my mantelpiece?” “Mine.

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    Cari Silverwood

    I have one important question to ask you before I kiss you.” Kiss her? Her eyes had possibly bulged out of their sockets. Not good. “What?” “Are you allergic to calamari?

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    Cari Silverwood

    Tallish. Check. Built like a bull. Check. Were there tingles in her downstairs department? Mmhmm. Check. Her pearly gates had gone into override and the doors were ready to burst open.

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    Cari Silverwood

    She squeezed her eyes shut. “No.” “Excuse me?” She sniffed, opened her eyes then looked up. “No. I don’t wish you to leave.” His eyes changed from lukewarm to hot. The iron of the seat met her back. Oh yes, definitely she was the keeper at the zoo and she’d just offered her own leg, medium-rare, to the lion.

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    Cari Silverwood

    Then I woke in the shade of the fig tree in my favorite park, with the gun barrel in my mouth.

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    Cari Silverwood

    There was something about ink curling across a man’s bulging bicep that invoked the dance of horniness.