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Quote by Lisa Kleypas

“I've lived away from the world for so much in my life, Mr. Winterborne, that I sometimes wonder who I am, or if I belong anywhere." Winterborne studied her. "Trenear plans to take you and your sisters to London when you've finished mourning." Helen nodded. "I haven't been to town since I was a child. I remember it as a very large and exciting place." She paused, vaguely surprised that she was confiding in him. "Now I think I might find it... intimidating." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "What happens when you're intimidated? Run to the nearest corner and hide, do you?" "I should say not," she said primly, wondering if she were being teased. "I do what has to be done, no matter what the situation." Winterborne's smile widened until she saw the flash of white teeth against that deep bronze complexion. "I suppose I know that better than most," he said softly. Understanding that he was referring to how she had helped him through the fever... and remembering how she had held that black head in the crook of her arm, and bathed his face and neck... Helen felt a blush start. Not the ordinary kind of blush that faded soon after it started. This one kept heating and heating, spreading all through her until she was so uncomfortable that she could scarcely breathe. She made the mistake of glancing into his simmering coffee-black eyes, and she felt positively immolated.”

Quote by Lisa Kleypas

Book:Cold-Hearted Rake
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Cold-Hearted Rake

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Author

Lisa Kleypas
Lisa Kleypas

Lisa Kleypas, born in 1964, is a renowned American romance novel author. Her works are known for their delicate emotional descriptions and captivating storylines, which have won the hearts of numerous readers. more

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“You fool of a jinni! LET ME OUT! Startled from my thoughts, I pull Zhian’s jar from my sleeve and turn it over. I can easily imagine him swirling inside, a cloud of smoke and fury. Be silent, Zhian. I’ll decide when you’re let out, and right now, you’re not inspiring my merciful side. He howls and hurls insults, which I try to ignore as I trail after Aladdin. I have Zhian at last. At any moment I could break open the jar and free him, fulfilling my end of the bargain and claiming my freedom. But what happens next? The humiliation of being captured by the humans will have made Zhian furious. He’s had two moons to feed his hatred of humans, and by now it is ravenous, destructive. If I let him out now, Parthenia will not stand a chance. He’ll destroy the city from the inside out, regardless of my deal with his father. I have to release him outside the city walls and trust that the wards will protect everyone inside from his inevitable wrath. Aladdin heads back toward his rooms, and I follow at a distance, my chest feeling emptier than ever. It’s time to say goodbye.”

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Book:The Forbidden Wish
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“Zhian, is that you? I focus the words on the clay jar above Darian. The reply comes like a clap of thunder GET ME OUT OF HERE! I stumble at the force of his words, and Darian steps forward to catch me. “Wine catching up to you?” he asks, grinning. I just nod distractedly, stiffening a little when his hands slide up my arms. Zhian, I’m here to help you. GET ME OUT NOW! Darian’s hands are far too familiar, one on my back now, the other cupping my jaw. His touch is repulsive, his heartbeat erratic and too fast. I feel assaulted on all sides: by Zhian’s shouting, by the jinn clamoring, by Darian’s desire. “You really are quite pretty,” he says, his eyes dropping to my lips. “I’ve shown you something secret. Now what are you going to show me?” Steeling myself, I grasp his coat and step forward, backing him into the shelves, and around him bottles shake dangerously. “Easy,” he cautions, but his eyes brighten greedily. Our faces are just inches apart, his eyes locked on mine. “You’re a feisty one. I knew it the moment I saw you. No wonder Rahzad likes to keep you close.” “What about the princess?” I murmur, working a hand behind him as if to thread my fingers in his oiled hair. “Caspida hardly appreciates the finer pleasures in life. I, on the other hand, have a king’s appetite.” He kisses me forcefully, stepping away from the wall, and I’m barely able to grab Zhian’s jar before it’s out of reach. No bigger than my hand, it’s simple to let it slip down my sleeve. The jinn prince rages inside, but I ignore him and focus on the human trying to force his tongue down my throat. I can feel myself hovering on the very edge of the lamp’s boundary. Ripples of smoke race under my skin as I strain to keep from shifting, the effort bringing tears to my eyes. I shove Darian hard, and he shouts as he slams into the wall of bottled jinn. A few topple from their shelves, and panic springs into his eyes as he struggles to catch them all. “Bleeding gods, you whore!” he growls. “Are you mad?” “My master is probably looking for me,” I gasp. “I should go.” I turn and flee the room, letting out a soft, relieved cry as the lamp’s pull on me slackens. Darian pursues too quickly for me to shift into a more speedy form. Zhian’s jar rattling in my sleeve, I hurry through the dark crypt and up the stairs, the prince close on my heels. “Stop!” he shouts. “Or I’ll have you whipped!” Sister! Zhian cries. Set me free and I will devour the wretch!”

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“Do it, Zhian urges. Let me out, Zahra. Let me out. Listen to me first, I demand. There are jinn charmers out here—did you hear them? They are playing, filling the hills with their charms. You must not go near the humans, or we will both end up right back where we started. We could take them together, he replies. You and I—working as a team. We would be unstoppable! To that, I only send him an image of the lamp, and he curses. I quickly relay to him the deal I made with Nardukha. Zhian stews in his jar, his impatience hammering through my thoughts. When I finish, he spits, So do it! Let me out! I glance around, making sure we’re alone, then lift the jar high before dashing it against a rock. The pottery shatters, as does the charm that held Zhian captive inside. A burst of smoke fills the air, red and angry. It swells and thunders. “Quiet!” I hiss. “They’ll come!” I do not fear mortals! “Then you’re an idiot. If it weren’t for me, they’d still have you bottled up in their crypts.” My father would not allow it! Zhian swirls around me, his wind pulling at my hair and my black cloak. Dragon heads materialize in the smoke, snapping and hissing dangerously close to my face. He would burn their city for my sake! He would sink their ships and wreck their walls!”

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“Zhian rages about a bit longer, cracking trees and whipping up whirlwinds of dust. Then, at last, he assembles himself, taking the form of an enormous, human-like figure, nine feet tall with hooves and horns. It’s one of his favorite forms, modeled closely after his father. He wears only a leopard-skin loincloth, and his chest swells with muscle and pride. In his hands is a long chain, from which dangles a spiked morning star. Curl-of-the-Tiger’s-Tail, he purrs, his black eyes glittering. Smoke-on-the-Wind. Girl-Who-Gives-the-Stars-Away. You have chosen a beautiful form. Subtle, but desirable.”

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“You are blessed and favored, satisfied with God's favor and filled with His blessings. God's wisdom is more precious to you than silver, and its value is greater than gold. You trust in God's power to heal, and Jesus, the Divine Doctor, heals all sickness and disease in your life. You are taught by the Lord, established in holiness and righteousness, and protected by the blood of Jesus. No evil befalls you, and no plague or terror comes near your dwelling. You are surrounded by God's favor, shielded from harm, and brought into divine health, wholeness, and vitality. God's secrets are revealed to you, and you understand heavenly things. You walk in the revelation of God's truth, and His mysteries are no longer hidden from you. You are anointed with the blood of Jesus, blessed abundantly, and you bring glory to God and your family. No weapon formed against you shall prosper, and every evil arrow sent your way is returned to the sender. Every tongue that rises in judgment against you is condemned, and deceitful, gossiping, slanderous, and accusatory tongues are silenced. Every satanic opposition, dark power, and witchcraft agent coming against you and your children is destroyed at its roots by the fire of God and the blood of Jesus. You are redeemed from the curse of the law, and sickness, disease, pain, and poverty have no power over your life. You are set free from the law of sin and death, and you reign as a king in life through Christ. Your spiritual life is blessed, your health is perfect, your mind is renewed, and your finances are blessed. Success and prosperity follow you, and divine angelic protection is upon your life. You are covered with the blood of Jesus, and the enemy has no power or right over you.”

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“Old Hubert must have had a premonition of his squalid demise. In October he said to me, ‘Forty-two years I’ve had this place. I’d really like to go back home, but I ain’t got the energy since my old girl died. And I can’t sell it the way it is now. But anyway before I hang my hat up I’d be curious to know what’s in that third cellar of mine.’ The third cellar has been walled up by order of the civil defence authorities after the floods of 1910. A double barrier of cemented bricks prevents the rising waters from invading the upper floors when flooding occurs. In the event of storms or blocked drains, the cellar acts as a regulatory overflow. The weather was fine: no risk of drowning or any sudden emergency. There were five of us: Hubert, Gerard the painter, two regulars and myself. Old Marteau, the local builder, was upstairs with his gear, ready to repair the damage. We made a hole. Our exploration took us sixty metres down a laboriously-faced vaulted corridor (it must have been an old thoroughfare). We were wading through a disgusting sludge. At the far end, an impassable barrier of iron bars. The corridor continued beyond it, plunging downwards. In short, it was a kind of drain-trap. That’s all. Nothing else. Disappointed, we retraced our steps. Old Hubert scanned the walls with his electric torch. Look! An opening. No, an alcove, with some wooden object that looks like a black statuette. I pick the thing up: it’s easily removable. I stick it under my arm. I told Hubert, ‘It’s of no interest. . .’ and kept this treasure for myself. I gazed at it for hours on end, in private. So my deductions, my hunches were not mistaken: the Bièvre-Seine confluence was once the site where sorcerers and satanists must surely have gathered. And this kind of primitive magic, which the blacks of Central Africa practise today, was known here several centuries ago. The statuette had miraculously survived the onslaught of time: the well-known virtues of the waters of the Bièvre, so rich in tannin, had protected the wood from rotting, actually hardened, almost fossilized it. The object answered a purpose that was anything but aesthetic. Crudely carved, probably from heart of oak. The legs were slightly set apart, the arms detached from the body. No indication of gender. Four nails set in a triangle were planted in its chest. Two of them, corroded with rust, broke off at the wood’s surface all on their own. There was a spike sunk in each eye. The skull, like a salt cellar, had twenty-four holes in which little tufts of brown hair had been planted, fixed in place with wax, of which there were still some vestiges. I’ve kept quiet about my find. I’m biding my time.”

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Book:Paris Noir: The Secret History of a City
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