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Quote by Francis J.DuCoin

“A Smile with confidence is enough to win the opponent without any game. Smile at-least a day, and it requires only 12 muscels.”

Quote by Francis J.DuCoin

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Francis J.DuCoin

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“I did dream about you," she confessed. Derek smoothed his hand over her chestnut hair and brought her head closer to his. "What was I doing in your dreams?" he asked against her lips. "Chasing me," she admitted in a mortified whisper. A delicious grin curved his mouth. "Did I catch you?" Before she could reply his lips were on hers. His mouth twisted gently, his tongue hunting for an intimate taste of her. Closing her eyes, Sara made no protest as he took her wrists in his hands and twined her arms around his neck. He stretched one of his legs out to rest his foot on the seat. Caught in the lee of his powerful thighs, she had no choice but to let her body rest on the hard length of his. Leisurely he fondled and kissed her, wringing succulent delight from every nerve. As he began to slide his hand into her bodice, the thick wool fabric of her gown resisted his efforts. Foiled in his attempt to reach her breasts, he pushed a lock of hair aside and dragged his mouth over her throat. She stiffened, unable to hold back a whimper of pleasure. The carriage swayed and jolted suddenly, forcing their bodies closer with the impact. Derek felt himself approaching a flashpoint beyond which there was no return. With a tortured groan he pried Sara's voluptuous body away from his and held her away, while he struggled to emerge from a scarlet fog of desire. "Angel," he said hoarsely, nudging her toward the opposite seat. "You... you'd better go over there." Bemused, Sara nearly toppled to the floor from his gentle push. "But why?" Derek lowered his head and tunneled his fingers into his black hair. He started as he felt her hand brush the nape of his neck. "Don't touch me," he said, more roughly than he intended. Raising his head, he stared into Sara's perplexed face with a crooked smile. "Sorry," he muttered. "But if you don't move away, sweet, you're going to be lifting your heels for me right here.”

ArousalSexual TensionSara And DerekDerek CravenIn My Dreams
Book:Dreaming of You
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“Tell me how it was different." Derek shook his head. "You're the one with the fancy words. I can't explain it." "Try," she insisted, tugging threateningly at his wiry chest curls. "In your own words." He covered her plucking fingers with his own, pressing her hand flat. "It was just better, all the way through. Especially this part." He cuddled her closer. "I've never felt so peaceful afterward." "And happy?" she asked hopefully. "I don't know how 'happy' feels." He sought her mouth for a brief, hard kiss, and his voice turned to rough velvet. "But I know I want to stay inside you forever.”

Sara And Derek
Book:Dreaming of You
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“She was swamped by a feeling of utter hopelessness as she waited for him to destroy her with a few caustic words. But he continued to watch her silently, his face unreadable. It seemed almost as if he were waiting for some cue from her. The dilemma lasted for several seconds, until Sara solved it by bursting into tears. She jerked her hands up to her face, blotting her streaming eyes. "I'm so sorry," she gasped. Suddenly he was next to her, touching her shoulders and arms lightly and then jerking his hands back as if burned. "No, don't. Don't. You're all right now." Gingerly he reached out to pat her back. "Don'y cry. Everything's fine. Bloody hell. Don't do that." As she continued to weep, Derek hovered over her in baffled dismay. He excelled at seducing women, charming and deceiving them, breaking down their defenses... everything but comforting them. No one had ever required it of him. "There, now," he muttered, as he had heard Lily Raiford say a thousand times to her crying children. "There, now." Suddenly she was leaning on him, her small head testing at the center of his chest. The long skeins of her hair draped everywhere, entangling him in a fine russet web. Alarmed, he lifted his hands to ease her away. Instead his arms slid around her until she was pressed against him length to length. "Miss Fielding," he said with great effort. "Sara..." She nestled deeper against him, muffling her gulping sobs in his shirtfront. Derek swore and furtively pressed his lips to the top of her head. He concentrated on the chilly night air, but his loins began to throb with an all-too-familiar pain. It was impossible to stay indifferent to the feel of her body molded to his. He was a bloody charlatan... no gentleman, no chivalrous comforter of women, only a scoundrel filled with raw desire. He smoothed his hand over her hair and urged her head into his shoulder until she was in danger of being smothered. "It's all right," he said gruffly. "Everything's fine now. Don't cry anymore.”

CryingComfortingSara And DerekDerek Craven
Book:Dreaming of You
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“Promise me you won't cut your hair." Sara couldn't believe he was being so ridiculous. "If I did, it would grow back." She advanced on him and made a quick grab. His arm shot up in the air, holding the turban well out of her reach. "Promise," he insisted. "If you knew the price that had been paid for that turban, you wouldn't treat it so cavalierly!" "I'll pay it a hundred times over, for your promise." An incredulous smile flitted across her lips. "Why?" she asked, combing a hand through the wild ripples of her hair. "Does my appearance mean so much to you?" "It's not that. It's..." Derek dropped the turban to the floor and circled her slowly. "I like to watch you braid it... and the way you let a few curls on your neck after you've pinned it up... and when you brush it out at night I know I'm the only man who sees it loose and long over your back. It's a part of you that only I can have.”

HairSara And DerekDerek Craven
Book:Dreaming of You
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