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Pippa And Jasper Quotes

Browse 9 quotes about Pippa And Jasper.

Pippa And Jasper Quotes

“Closing the door, she turned back to him, taking in the long, muscled length of him on the bed, staring at her. Waiting for her. Perfection. He was perfect, and she was bare before him, bathed in candlelight. She was instantly embarrassed- somehow more embarrassed than she had been that night in his office, when she'd touched herself under his careful guidance. At least then she'd been wearing a corset. Stockings. Tonight, she wore nothing. She was all flaws, each one highlighted by his perfection. He watched her for a long moment before extending one muscled arm, palm up, an irresistible invitation. She went to him without hesitation, and he rolled to his back, pulling her over his lovely, lean chest, staring up at her intently. She covered her breasts in a wave of nerves and trepidation. "When you look at me like that... it's too much." He did not look away. "How do I look at you?" "I don't know what it is... but I feel as though you can see into me. As though, if you could, you would consume me." "It's want, love. Desire like nothing I've never experienced. I'm fairly shaking with it. Come here." The demand was impossible to resist, carrying with it the promise of pleasure beyond her dreams. She went. When she was close enough to touch, he lifted one hand, stroking his fingers along hers where they hid her breasts from view. "I tremble with need for you, Pippa. Please, love, let me see you." The request was raw and wretched, and she couldn't deny him, slowly moving her hands to settle them on his chest, fingers splayed wide across the crisp auburn hair that dusted his skin. She was distracted by that hair, the play of it over muscle- the way it narrowed to a lovely dark line across his flat stomach. He lay still as she touched him, his muscles firm and perfect. "You're so beautiful," she whispered, fingers stroking down his arms to his wrists. His gaze narrowed on her. "I am happy you approve, my lady." She smiled. "Oh I do, my lord. You are a remarkable specimen." White teeth flashed again as she gained her courage, retracing her touch, over his forearms, marveling in the feel of him, reciting from memory, "flexor digitorium superficialis, flexor capri radialis..." along his upper arms, "biceps brachii, tricipitis brachii..." over his shoulders, loving the way his muscles tensed and flexed beneath her touch, "deltoideus..." and down his chest, "subscapularis... pectoralis major..." She stilled, brushing her fingers over the curve of that muscle, the landscape of him... the valleys of his body. He sucked in a breath as her fingers ran over the flat discs of his nipples, arching up to her touch, and she stilled, reveling in her power. He enjoyed her touch. He wanted it. She repeated the stroke, this time with her thumbs. He hissed his pleasure, one wide hand falling to the inside of her knee, sending a river of heat through her. "Don't stop now, love. This is the most effective seduction I've ever experienced.”

“I am concerned that the ladies are ill-treated." "The ladies who frequent the Fallen Angel are not ill-treated." Her brows knit together. "How do you know?" "Because they are under my protection." She froze. "They are?" He was suddenly warm. "They are. We do all we can to ensure that they are well treated and well paid while under our roof. If they are manhandled, they call for one of the security detail. They file a complaint with me. And if I discover a member is mistreating ladies beneath this roof, his membership is revoked." She paused for a long moment, considering the words, and finally said, "I have a passion for horticulture." He wasn't certain how plants had anything to do with prostitutes, but he knew better than to interrupt. She continued, the words quick and forthright, as though they entirely made sense. "I've made a rather remarkable discovery recently," she said, and his attention lingered on the breathlessness of the words. On the way her mouth curved in a small, private smile. She was proud of herself, and he found- even before she admitted her finding- that he was proud of her. Odd, that. "It is possible to take a piece of one rosebush and affix it to another. And when the process is completed properly... say, a white piece on a red bush... an entirely new rose grows..." She paused, and the rest of the words rushed out, as though she were almost afraid of them. "A pink one." Cross did not know much about horticulture, but he knew enough about scientific study to know that the finding would be groundbreaking. "How did you-" She raised a hand to stop the question. "I'll happily show you. It's very exciting. But that's not the point." He waited for her to arrive at the point in question. She did. "The career... it is not their choice. They're not red or white anymore. They're pink. And you're why." Somehow, it made sense that she compared the ladies of the Angel to this experiment in roses. Somehow, this woman's strange, wonderful brain worked in a way that he completely understood.”

“What were you looking at?" She pointed to a bright star. "Polaris." He shook his head, and pointed to another part of the sky. "That's Polaris. You were looking at Vega." She chuckled. "Ah. No wonder I was finding it unimpressive." He leaned back and stretched his long legs out. "It's the fifth brightest star in the sky." She laughed. "You forget I am one of five sisters. In my world, fifth brightest is last." She looked up. "With apologies to the star in question, of course." "And are you often last?" She shrugged. "Sometimes. It is not a pleasant ranking." "I assure you, Pippa. You are rarely last.”

“Upon what grounds do you refuse?" "Upon the grounds that you owe me." "Do you plan to run me before a judge and jury?" he asked wryly. "I don't need to," she retorted, playing her last, most powerful card. "I only have to run you before my brother-in-law." There was a beat as the words sank in, and his eyes widened, just barely, just enough for her to notice before he closed the distance between them, and said, "A fine idea. Let's tell Bourne everything. You think he would force me to honor our agreement?" She refused to be cowed. "No. I think he would murder you for agreeing to it in the first place. Even more so when he discovers that it was negotiated by a lady of the evening." Emotion flared in his serious grey gaze, irritation and... admiration? Whatever it was, it was gone almost instantly, extinguished like a lantern in one of his strange, dark passageways. "Well played, Lady Philippa." The words were soft as they slid over her skin. "I rather thought so." Where had her voice gone?”

“It's just that... since we met, I have been rather... well, fascinated by..." You. Say it, he willed, not entirely certain what he would do if she did, but willing to put himself to the test. She took another breath. "By your bones." Would she ever say anything expected? "My bones?" She nodded. "Yes. Well, the muscles and tendons, too. Your forearms. Your thighs. And earlier- while I watched you drink whiskey- by your hands." Cross had been propositioned many times in his life. He'd made a career of refusing women's requests. But he had never been complimented on his bones. It was the strangest, sexiest confession he'd ever heard. And he had no idea how to respond.”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Cross, but in this conversation, you are superfluous." He gave her his most frightening stare. "I assure you, I am anything but that." "Am I right in understanding that you have neither the time nor the inclination to speak to me at this particular moment?" She had backed him into a corner. "Yes." She smiled. "There it is, then. As I find myself with both, I believe I shall begin my research now. Without you." She turned her back on him.”

“May I help you?" She did not look up. "You've miscalculated column F." What in hell? "I have not." She pushed her glasses up her nose and tucked a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear, entirely focused on the ledger. "You have. The proper calculation should be one hundred and twelve thousand, three hundred forty-six and seventeen pence." Impossible. He stood, moving to look over her shoulder. "That's what it says." She shook her head, placing one long finger on the tabulation line. He noticed the tip of the finger was slightly crooked, leaning a touch to the right. "You've written one hundred twelve thousand, three hundred, forty-five and seventeen pence. You-" She looked up at him, eyes owl-like behind her spectacles as she took in his height and his bare chest. "You- you've lost a quid." He bent over her, deliberately crowding her and enjoying the way her breath caught at his nearness. "That is a six." She cleared her throat and looked again. "Oh." She leaned in and checked the number again. "I suppose you've lost your handwriting skills, instead," she said dryly, and he chuckled as she reached for a pencil and repaired the number. He watched, riveted to the callus at the tip of her second finger, before he whispered low in her ear, "Are you an accounting fairy sent in the dead of night to check my figures?" She leaned away from the whisper and and turned to look at him. "It's one o'clock in the afternoon," she said, matter-of-factly, and he had an intense desire to take her spectacles from her face and kiss her senseless, just to see what this odd young woman would say.”

“He showed her things she'd never known about things she'd always thought she understood. And she adored it... even as it terrified her. Even as it made her question everything she thought true. She resisted the thought, her gaze rising to one large wall of the club, where the Angel's namesake fell in beautiful glass panels from Heaven to Hell, from good to evil, from sainthood to sin. It was the most beautiful window Pippa had ever seen, the work of true artisans, all reds and golds and violets, at once hideous and holy. It was the angel himself who fascinated her, the enormous, beautiful man crashing to Earth, without the gifts he'd had for so long. In the hands of a poorer artist, the detail of him would have been less intricate, the hands and feet and face would have been shaped with glass of a single color, but this artist had cared deeply for his subject, and the swirls of darks and lights in the panels were finely crafted to depict movement, shape, and even emotion. She could not help but stare at the face of the fall- inverted as he fell to the floor of the hell- the arch of his brow, the complex shade of his jaw, the curve of his lip. She paused there, thinking on another pair of lips, another fall. Another angel. Cross. Emotion flared, one she did not immediately recognize. She let out a long breath. She wanted him- in a way she knew she should not. In a way she knew she should want another. A man destined to be her husband. To be the father of her children. And yet, she wanted Cross. This angel.”

“What tempts you, Pippa?" "I-" She hesitated. "I care a great deal for meringue." He laughed, the sound bigger and bolder than she expected. "It's true." "No doubt you do. But you may have meringue anytime you like." He stood back and indicated that she should enter the carriage. She ignored the silent command, eager to make her point. "Not so. If the cook has not made it, I cannot eat it." A smile played on his lips. "Ever-practical Pippa. If you want it, you can find it. That's my point. Surely, somewhere in London, someone will take pity upon you and satisfy your craving for meringue." Her brow furrowed. "Therefore, I am not tempted by it?" "No. You desire it. But that's not the same thing. Desire is easy. It's as simple as you wish to have meringue, and meringue is procured." He waved a hand toward the interior of the carriage but did not offer to help her up. "In." She ascended another step before turning back. The additional height brought them eye to eye. "I don't understand. What is temptation, then?" "Temptation..." He hesitated, and she found herself leaning forward, eager for this curious, unsettling lesson. "Temptation turns you. It makes you into something you never dreamed, it presses you to give up everything you ever loved, it calls you to sell your soul for one, fleeting moment." The words were low and dark and full of truth, and they hovered in the silence for a long moment, an undeniable invitation. He was close, protecting her from toppling off the block, the heat of him wrapping around her despite the cold. "It makes you ache," he whispered, and she watched the curve of his lips in the darkness. "You'll make any promise, swear any oath. For one... perfect... unsoiled taste." Oh, my. Pippa exhaled, long and reedy, nerves screaming, thoughts muddled. She closed her eyes, swallowed, forced herself back, away from him and the way he... tempted her. Why was he so calm and cool and utterly in control? Why was he not riddled with similar... feelings? He was a very frustrating man. She sighed. "That must be a tremendous meringue." A beat followed the silly, stupid words... words she wished she could take back. How ridiculous. And then he chuckled, teeth flashing in the darkness. "Indeed," he said, the words thicker and more gravelly than before.”