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The Kind of Substance You Need For Your Success

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Gift Gugu Mona

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“I don't suppose you care to enlighten me as to who you are?" "Do you really care?" He smiled then. "No." "I thought not. Miss Brown will do." "On the contrary- 'Miss Brown' will not do at all. I refuse to have someone living under my protection with such a tedious name. 'Emma' will suffice. You seem rather like an Emma, despite your exotic appearance. There's something definitely well ordered about the name Emma. Calm and reasonable, warmhearted and generous." "You think I'm calm and reasonable?" She was astounded. While that sounded a bit more flattering than she tended to view herself, he'd painted a fairly accurate picture of the real Emma. Well ordered, sensible, kind, and serene, despite the storms that surrounded her. But how could he possibly know that?”

Personality TraitsJames KilloranEmma And JamesEmma LangoletCalm Under Pressure
Book:To Love a Dark Lord
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“Make certain you tell them you are not my sister." "Your sister? Why should anyone believe such an absurdity?" she said hotly, shaken by the very notion. He touched her then. His elegant, pale hand reached out and touched her chin, tilting her face up to his. He looked at her carefully, his dark green eyes revealing only cursory interest. "I cannot imagine," he said after a moment.”

James KilloranEmma And James
Book:To Love a Dark Lord
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“He has a very strong sense of beauty, he has. You're to dress entirely in black and white and silver." "Why?" "Ask him yourself, miss. He'll be here in a minute." "He certainly won't!" Emma cried, leaping for the black dress and pulling it over her head, slapping away Mrs. Rumson's clumsy attempts to assist her. The gown was barely around her shoulders when the door opened, without so much as a knock. Beneath the yards of filmy material, Emma allowed herself a quiet snarl. "Arguing with Mrs. Rumson again, my angel?" Emma yanked the gown down, half hoping it would rip. It didn't, and the clinging black silk gauze settled around her curves perfectly. "I'm not used to dressing in front of an audience," she said sternly. Killoran had already availed himself of the most comfortable chair and seemed prepared to enjoy himself. "Accustom yourself, Emma," he said. "It is quite the fashion. Great beauties have their cicisbeis to guide their choices of jewelry and maquillage. Think of me as merely a servant to your exquisite loveliness." She scowled. "I am not a great beauty," she said, advancing on him as Mrs. Rumson struggled behind her, trying to fasten the myriad of tiny black buttons. "I don't wear maquillage, and I have no jewelry." She halted, her anger carrying her so far and no farther. She was already dangerously close to him, and he simply looked up at her, that cool, assessing expression on his face. He said nothing for a long moment, merely let his eyelids droop as he surveyed the length of her. "Perhaps you're right," he said finally. "You are no common beauty. You are, however, quite... magnificent." There was an undercurrent of heat in his words that terrified her, but a moment later it had vanished, and he was leaning back, watching her with detached interest.”

BeautyJames KilloranEmma And JamesEmma Langolet
Book:To Love a Dark Lord
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“I'm not your sister." He was still touching her breasts. The dark smile that lit his face was far from reassuring. He leaned closer, so close she could sense the warmth of his breath against her parted lips, and she felt herself weaken. If the wall weren't at her back, she would have been unable to stand. As it was, she held herself very still, not daring to breathe, aware only of his dark green eyes staring into hers, his breath on her mouth, his hands on her breasts. "Remember that," he whispered, so close, so desperately close.”

James KilloranEmma And James
Book:To Love a Dark Lord
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“He could have broken the man's neck with little difficulty, and it had taken a portion of his legendary self-control to keep from giving in to the impulse. Particularly when the cold, killing rage that had sustained him for ten long years had suddenly burned white-hot at the sight of his enemy mauling Emma. Perhaps that was what was troubling him. He'd ruthlessly stripped himself of all weakness, all emotion, anticipating little from this life except a passably entertaining evening and the bloody death of Jasper Darnley. And yet, suddenly, desires were churning inside him, stronger than he'd felt in years. He didn't like it. Emma didn't like it either, he thought absently. He had felt her animosity, hot, intense, almost sexual, radiating out at him during the ride home. It had been very... arousing. That, and the memory of her face at the opera, eyes shining with delight. He'd wanted to reach for her, put his hands on her, and pull her against him, to touch her and wipe out the touch of Darnley's fat-fingered hands. She'd have fought him, of course, and he had yet to find the struggles of an unwilling woman to be the slightest bit entertaining. But the interest lay in how long it would take him to make her cease struggling. What kind of sounds would she make when he pulled the black silk down to her waist and freed her breasts from the soft chemise he'd bought her? What kind of sounds would she make when he pushed her down on the bed upstairs and drove into her? Would she be easy to pleasure? Or would she be shy, wary, making him seduce her oh, so carefully?”

James KilloranEmma Langolet
Book:To Love a Dark Lord
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“Am I considered a virtuous young lady?" He surveyed her thoughtfully. The stark black of her dress molded to her lush form, and the neckline, though demure by Lady Barbara's standards, was scandalously low for a proper young lady. Her gorgeous hair hung down her back, and her mouth was soft, damp, abominably kissable. There were also her eyes. Honey-brown, staring up at him with an unassailable innocence that only a complete fool would miss. But then, how many people would their time looking in her eyes when there were so many other delectable attributes to gaze upon? "Not likely," he said. "Anyone who spends time in my presence is tainted." He advanced on her slowly, giving her time to run. She didn't, but she wanted to. He could see the faint startled reflex in her eyes, the momentary flash of panic. But she held firm, tilting her chin up with just a trace of defiance. Poor child. Little did she know that her defiance enchanted him as much as her panic. He fastened the pearls around her neck, their rich luster luminous against her skin. He resisted the temptation to stroke her bruised flesh, the need to touch his mouth to that abrasion. He resisted the impulse to turn away from her, lock himself in his study, and immerse himself in brandy. He stepped back, a deceptive half smile on his face. "Lovely," he said.”

James KilloranEmma And JamesEmma Langolet
Book:To Love a Dark Lord
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“He reached out his hand and moved her heavy mane of hair away from her neck, stroking her, and he shifted his chair closer, so that his leg pressed against hers through the heavy layers of black silk. His fingers slid lower, brushing against the neckline of her dress, drifting against the swell of breasts. "Stop it," she hissed, trying to keep all expression from her face. "What will people think?" "Exactly what I want them to think, my pet," he said. She tried to scoot her chair away from him, but beneath the flow of her skirts, he'd managed to hook one foot around her chair leg, effectively trapping her against him. In the distance the soprano screeched, the accompanist pounded, and Emma felt uncharacteristically close to tears. "You said you were doing it for Darnley," she shot back. "He isn't even here." "But he'll be well informed." He slid his hand up her neck and caught her chin. The strength in those long, pale fingers was palpable, but he wasn't hurting her. Shaming her, arousing her, tormenting her. But there was no brute force in his touch. In a way, that almost made it worse, Emma thought. Cruelty, brutality, pain could be dealt with, shut out, endured. They were straightforward, something you could fight. But the velvet caress, the banked glance, the knowledge that it was all an elaborate game and she was nothing more than a convenient pawn, a toy to be moved back and forth on the chessboard, made the situation unbearable. She couldn't help it. A stifled murmur of misery escaped her before she could stop it, and Killoran suddenly stilled. His fingers still cupped her chin, but they were no longer stroking her. He simply stared at her, and for once there was no mockery, no wickedness, in his dark green eyes. He stared at her as if seeing for the first time, and if she didn't know better, she would have thought it was his conscience making a belated appearance. And then the moment passed, so swiftly it might have never existed. He leaned forward and put his mouth against the swell of her breast. His hand caught hers, holding her there, and her eyes fluttered closed as she felt the shocking caress. He used his tongue.”

James KilloranEmma And James
Book:To Love a Dark Lord
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“Killoran strolled into the darkness, paused before her locked door, and casually considered his alternatives. He could knock. He could leave her alone. The sanest course would be to dismiss her from his mind, leave her alone for the night. But he'd never prided himself on his sanity. It was a vastly overrated commodity. And then he kicked the door open, splintering the wood with the force of his blow. He filled the doorway to her bedroom. The broken doorway, Emma amended, staring at him. She kept forgetting how very tall he was. How intimidating. Despite his not being the slightest bit bulky, there was a lean and deadly power to his body, one that disturbed her far more than brute mass. And then, belatedly, she realized how little she was wearing. She'd torn off the ruined black dress and now stood in only her petticoats. The bowl of water on the dresser in front of her was dark with the blood she'd been washing from her skin. The water had soaked through the fine lawn underclothing, molding it to her flesh, and she felt half naked.”

James KilloranEmma And James
Book:To Love a Dark Lord
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“I won't tell you." Killoran sighed wearily. "Of course you will, my angel," he said in a deceptively pleasant voice. "I have any number of ways of discovering that which I desire to know. I can do it nicely." He'd come closer, too close, and his hand caught hers, his long fingers stroking her palm, slowly, insistently, cleverly. "I can touch you in ways that you can't even imagine." His voice was low, heated, and she felt a disturbing, answering shimmer deep inside. "I can take your darkest secrets, I can take anything I want from you, and you'd be willing, eager, to give me. Everything." For a moment she was unable to speak. Her pulse leapt in her throat, and she knew he could feel it, pounding beneath her pale skin. "You underestimate me," she said in a hushed voice, struggling against the hypnotic effect he had on her. His smile was small, cynical, and heartbreaking. "No, my love. I know you very well indeed. Better, perhaps, than you know yourself. You want me to let go of your hand, don't you?" "Yes," she said hoarsely. "You want me to go away and leave you alone?" "Yes." His other arm slid around her waist as he bent over her. "You want me to kiss you, don't you?" "Yes," she whispered, helpless, angry. Angry at herself, for making no effort to escape. Angry at him, for making her want him.”

James KilloranEmma And JamesEmma Langolet
Book:To Love a Dark Lord
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“So you're entirely protected from my random lusts." "Random lusts?" "I usually have more control in these matters. You do seem to have a habit of affecting me strangely." His cool tone was entirely deceptive. His body was hot and hard against hers, and she could feel the tension running through him. Odd, to realize that it was somehow she who had made him tense. "I'm sorry," she said, staring up at him. "Oh, don't be." He moved his head toward hers, and she had the strange notion that he was going to kiss her. "At least it breaks my boredom.”

James KilloranEmma And James
Book:To Love a Dark Lord
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