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Quote by Roy T. Bennett

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The Light in the Heart

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Roy T. Bennett
Roy T. Bennett

Roy T. Bennett is a renowned author known for his profound philosophical thoughts and inspirational works. His writings span across various domains such as life philosophy, self-improvement, and spiritual growth, and have resonated with a wide audience. more

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“She liked seeing John smile. He was usually so serious and guarded. The flash of boyish teasing warmed her heart. She’d liked the faintly possessive stamp of that kiss, too. Although she’d never imagined she would enjoy any man showing possessive tendencies around her again, there was something healthy and respectful, and completely new about the way John liked to hold her hands or take her arm, to subtly touch her—or kiss her. It was like falling in love for the first time all over again. He made her feel important. He listened. He got angry…on her behalf. John made her feel like a woman worth caring about, not a punching bag or vessel for sex or thing a man owned the way Danny had. He made her believe that with the right man—with John himself, perhaps—that it was okay for her to love again. - (Maggie)”

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“You're Miss F's boyfriend?" Danny looked up in disbelief, his gaze following Jim around the room. "You're real?" Tommy echoed the same surprise. "Dude, I thought she was some sad old lady like my mom, making up stories about her dead boyfriend." "Shut up, Tommy." Jim paused near her desk. "You talked about me? You said I'm your boyfriend?" "Dead boyfriend," Danny corrected. "Shut up." Natalie and Jim silenced the frightened vandals in unison. "We were reading Romeo and Juliet," she explained, trying to diminish the importance of the boys' nervous rambling that had revealed far more than she cared to. "Talking about love and tragedy." "They were like, from rival gangs," Tom informed Jim unnecessarily. "Enough, Tommy." The seventeen year-old chose now to remember something she'd taught in class? "These are the two boneheads who've been giving you grief?" Natalie nodded."I thought I'd handled it." Jim holstered his gun and pulled out his phone. "I don't know if I'm flattered to learn that you claimed to love me, or pissed off to hear that you think of us as a tragedy.”

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“Come on, tough guy.” “You can get fresh with me in the snow and threaten me with a gun all you want. But if you really want my help, you’ll put your weight on me and move your feet.” “In about two minutes, my extremities are going to be so numb I won’t be able to do anything for either of us—even if you do shoot. So move.” He couldn’t have been rescued by some meek, mousy thing who’d do what he said without the attitude? He tapped the butt of the gun against her shoulder. “That’s pretty bold talk for a woman who’s got no advantage.” “Uh-huh. I’m not the one bleeding to death.”

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“That’s not why I’m here. I’ve got a mission. I made a promise.” His chest expanded with a deep, ragged breath. “Ah, hell. Quit looking at me like you either want to shoot me or eat me up. I’m trying to do the right thing here.” Max’s rejection instantly sent her back to the times in her relationship with Richard when he’d rebuffed her advances. “I wasn’t very good, was I? I’m sor—” “Do not let that man come between us.” Max swiped his hand over his mouth and jaw and spun away. Just as quickly he faced her again and grabbed her wrist. “You call me whatever crass SOB you want to.” He pulled her hand to the front of his jeans and cupped it over the unmistakable warm bulge behind his zipper. “This is what you do to me. I don’t know why you and me fit together this good. If I could take you to bed right now and finish this, I would.” He released her and backed away, raising his hands in apology. “But that’s not what I’m here for. Neither one of us needs that kind of complication in our lives. I have to keep the mission in mind. I’m a cop. I have to think like a cop, not a...” “Not a what?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. But he didn’t fill in the blank. “It’s not your job to deal with me. I’m damaged goods, Rosie. You can do better than me.”

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“Would you feel safer if I stayed tonight?” “I don’t know.” “Yeah, you do. Everything else aside, would you feel safer?” He tapped his cheek to ask her to look him in the eye and answer. “Up here, honey.” She did look up into those expectant blue eyes. Yes. In every way that mattered, she felt safe with Max. Rosemary nodded. “Say it, Rosie. Don’t make me think I’m bullying you into this.” “I’m not inviting you into my bed. But you are awfully warm, and I can’t seem to shake this chill and...” She hugged her arms around her waist but bravely held his gaze. “I don’t want to be alone tonight. Would you stay with me?” The taut line of his mouth relaxed. “I like a clear set of rules, too. So no hanky-panky, but you wouldn’t be adverse to a little cuddling? You know, so I can keep an eye on you and you could borrow some body heat?” “That would be enough for you?” He brushed a copper tendril off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “That would be perfect.” Rosemary smiled. “Then I can live with those rules, too.”

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“Niall’s nostrils flared with a patience-inducing breath before he whispered, “Seriously? Are you packing today?” Duff’s overbuilt shoulders shifted as he turned to whisper a response. “Hey. You wear your glasses every day, Poindexter. I wear my gun.” “I wasn’t aware that you knew what the term Poindexter meant.” “I’m smarter than I look” was Duff’s terse response. Keir chuckled. “He’d have to be.” Duff’s muscular shoulders shifted. “So help me, baby brother, if you give me any grief today, I will lay you out flat.” “Zip it. Both of you.” Niall, Duff and Keir Watson”

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“You can’t wear that outfit around Fiona.” “I earned the right to wear this uniform.” “And you should be commended for that. But my donation to the KCPD Widows & Orphans Fund gives me the right to decide how you dress around my daughter. I don’t want her frightened or put off by the military-looking attire. She likes jewel-tone colors. Do you have anything like that you could wear? Jeans or slacks are acceptable over the holidays.” “Jewel-tone…?” Her unadorned cheeks were blushing again. Temper, he suspected, not embarrassment. “Do you want me to paint my gun fuchsia pink? - (Quinn & Miranda)”

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