Gaze And Voice Quotes & Sayings

Before Tessa could answer, there was a knock at the door, and a familiar voice. "It's Jem. Tessa, are you there?"
Charlotte sat bolt upright. "Oh! He mustn't see you in your dress!"
Tessa stood dumbfounded. "Whyever not?"
"It's a Shadowhunter custom - bad luck!" Charlotte rose to her feet. "Quickly! Hide behind the wardrobe!"
"The wardrobe? But - " Tessa broke off with a yelp as Charlotte seized her about the waist and frog-marched her behind the wardrobe like a policeman with a particularly resistant criminal. Released, Tessa dusted off her dress and made a face at Charlotte, and they both peeked around the side of the furniture as the seamstress, after a bewildered look, opened the door.
Jem's silvery head appeared in the gap. He looked a bit disheveled, his jacket askew. He glanced around in puzzlement before his gaze lighted on Charlotte and Tessa, half-concealed behind the wardrobe. — Cassandra Clare

You, in the moonlight, in this library, in this dress
" His eyes rove over me, from my frothy pink skirts embroidered with dark pink roses, past the swell of my breasts, up to the creamy skin of my neck. My breath comes fast as his gaze lingers on my lips. He's barely touching me, but it feels as though he's already undressed me with his eyes.
"Its the most beautiful thing. Like a dream." His voice is hoarse and full of wonder.
"Then its my dream, too," I confess as I claim his lips with mine, — Jessica Spotswood

He places one of his long fingers over my lips, silencing me. I can smell my own musky arousal on his digit and I have the strongest urge to take it in my mouth and suck it as I did earlier during my audition. He says nothing but drills into me with those dazzling eyes. I have the strangest feeling that he is looking into my soul.
"Let us see where the wave takes us. I know I am going to enjoy the ride and I can guarantee our mutual satisfaction. Maybe we'll be washed to shore, I just don't know yet, but you can be certain of one thing ... "
I gaze up at him from his chest, breathing in the scent of his masculinity as I do.
"What's that, sir?" I ask, my voice betraying the curiosity I feel.
He looks down at me for a long, hard moment before he answers.
"I won't let you drown. — Felicity Brandon

The cat's not hurting you, Oscar. Get a grip."
"Mistress, make it stop looking at me!"
I pulled up to a stoplight and assessed my posse.
"Cat, stop it. Oscar doesn't want to be your friend." At the sound of my voice, the feline shifted it's gaze to me.
"There," I said to Oscar. "All better."
Keeping its eyes on me, the cat moved with stealthy determination, climbing into Oscar's lap.
"Mistress!"
"Stop it, both of ya'll," I said as the light changed. — Juliet Blackwell

The throw truck driver and car-lot owner stood there, peering at us. Hier voice came through, muffled by the glass. 'You find what you're looking for?'
Grace reached across and rolled down the window. She was talking to him but looking at me, gaze intense, when she said, 'Absolutely. — Maggie Stiefvater

He looked at the mud. "If I pull you free, will you promise to bed me for my pains?"

"Here's what I'll promise, Logan MacKenzie. If you don't get me free, I will come back from the grave and haunt you. Relentlessly."

"For a timid English bluestocking, you can be quite fierce when you choose to be. I rather like it."

She hugged herself to keep her hands out of the creeping mud. "Logan, please. I be you, stop teasing and get me out of this. I'm cold. And I'm frightened."

"Look at me."
She looked at him.
His gaze held hers, blue and unwavering.

All teasing went out his voice. "I'm not leaving. Ten years in the British Army, and I've never left a man behind. I'm not leaving you. I'll have you out of this. Understand? — Tessa Dare

His gaze swept over her, hot and approving, as he lifted her up. "Wrap your legs around me - There. God, yeah, like that - " His voice was a low command, caressing her as much as his hands. "Hold on to me." Then his mouth crushed her own as he pushed her back against the door.
She threaded her hands into his hair as he thrust deep inside of her. He made a rough sound of sheer male pleasure, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as she rocked into him. Again he thrust, slowly at first, teasing until she was begging. It was glorious torment, hot and demanding, just like the man kissing her. — Jill Shalvis

I became simply a pair of eyes, staring through my mask at Char. I needed no ears because I was too far off to hear his voice, no words because I was too distant for speech, and no thoughts - those I saved for later. He bent his head. I loved the hairs on the nape of his neck. He moved his lips. I admired their changing shape. He clasped his hand. I blessed his fingers. Once, the power of my gaze drew his eyes ... — Gail Carson Levine

He holds my gaze, and the look in his eyes is a love letter in itself. When he speaks, his voice is rough. "Will you marry me, Cate?"
I go still, the question hanging in the air. I have never felt more accepted 'for the girl I am, not the girl I want to be' never more loved and respected than I am in this moment. It's a choice, and it's mine to make.
"Yes," I breathe.
Finn slides the simple gold band onto my ring finger. I tilt it, and the ruby sparkles, catching the sunlight. He leans down and brushes his lips against mine, sealing the promise. 'I can't wait to make you my wife.'
'Cate Belastra.' I try it out and despite the solemnity of the moment, despite knowing what this will cost him, I can't help smiling. — Jessica Spotswood

As Stepanov turned to go, Alexander said, "Sir ... " He was so weak he almost couldn't get the words out. He didn't care how cold the wall was, he could not stand on his own anymore. He pressed his body against the icy concrete and then sank down to the floor. "Did you see her?" He lifted his gaze to Stepanov, who nodded. "How was she?" "Don't ask, Alexander." "Was she - " "Don't ask." "Tell me." "Do you remember when you brought my son back to me?" Stepanov asked, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "Because of you I had comfort. I was able to see him before he died, I was able to bury him." "All right, no more," said Alexander. "Who was going to give that comfort to your wife?" Alexander put his face into his hands. Stepanov left. Alexander sat motionlessly on the floor. He didn't need morphine, he didn't need drugs, he didn't need phenobarbital. He needed a bullet in his fucking chest. — Paullina Simons

I'm the first man you saw today," he pointed out, "so I'm officially your valentine."
She let out a harsh laugh. "Because of a silly superstition? I think not."
"Because I want to be," he said in a low voice. "And because you want me to be, too."
Her gaze would have skewered a stone. "Want a drunken debaucher fresh from some whore's bed as my valentine? Not if you were the last man on earth."
She slammed the door in his face.
His brothers laughed, but he ignored them. He couldn't blame her for being angry; he'd given her good reason to be so.
But it didn't change a thing. He'd be damned if he let her go now. One way or the other, Maria Butterfield was going to be his. One way or the other, she would share his bed. — Sabrina Jeffries

Do you like blowjobs? "Did you just ask me if I like blowjobs?" he asked in a low voice. "I swear that's what it sounded like." "Yes." She folded her hands in front of her and met his gaze head-on. "I haven't given nearly enough of them but I'd like to practice. — Cari Quinn

She groaned and rolled her eyes. "Do you ever not get your way?"
He stepped closer to her, his chest an inch from hers until her back pressed against the modular wall of the fitting room. "Rarely." His dark gaze held hers, and the deep rumble of his voice sent heat through her body. "But some things are worth the extra effort. — Lisa Kessler

Dan suddenly tugged at my hand. "C'mon, Bekah. Daddy and Uncle Lloyd are takin' us fishing. Right, Daddy?" "Uncle Lloyd?" I looked at Frank. He shrugged. "Your father suggested it." "You comin' with us, Bekah?" Dan pressed his hands together, as if in prayer. "Please?" "Please, Rebekah?" Frank seemed as anxious as his son for my answer. Elation coursed through me, almost raising my feet from the ground. I opened my mouth to say yes. "Rebekah?" Mama's voice pulled my attention toward the house. "Rebekah Grace, where have you gotten to?" When my gaze returned to Frank, his sunny expression had darkened to a thundercloud. My hands turned to ice, in spite of unhindered sun. "I'm sorry," I whispered. I ran toward the house, toward Mama, all the while hating myself for wishing she'd never come. — Anne Mateer

In New York, he tried in vain to forget her. The first few days were tinged with melancholy and regret and JT thought he would never recover. Anyway: recover why? And yet, with the passage of time, in his heart he understood that he'd gained much more than he'd lost. At least, he said to himself, I've met the woman of my dreams. Other people, most people, glimpse something in films, the shadow of great actresses, the gaze of true love. But I saw her in the flesh, heard her voice, saw her silhouetted against the endless pampa. I talked to her and she talked back. What do I have to complain about? — Roberto Bolano

My, my." Nic's voice cut into her thoughts. "Perhaps you'd like me to leave the two of you alone so you can continue to stare at each other all day long?" Heat came to her cheeks and she tore her gaze away from Theon. "Don't be ridiculous." Nic laughed, but it wasn't filled with amusement like before. It was much drier and less pleasant this time. He leaned forward and whispered so Theon couldn't hear. "Just keep one thing in mind as you embark on this arrangement with your new bodyguard . . ." She looked at him sharply. "What's that?" He held her gaze. "He's not royal either. — Morgan Rhodes

So close. He'd get there. Not today, but soon. He had a task to accomplish here, and the sooner he completed it, the sooner he could rejoin his regiment. He wasn't stopping for anything.
Except sheep. Blast it. It would seem they were stopping for sheep.
A rough voice said, "I'll take care of them."
Thorne joined their group. Bram flicked his gaze to the side and spied his hulking mountain of a corporal shouldering a flintlock rifle.
"We can't simply shoot them, Thorne."
Obedient as ever, Thorne lowered his gun. "Then I've a cutlass. Just sharpened the blade last night."
"We can't butcher them, either."
Thorne shrugged. "I'm hungry."
Yes, that was Thorne
straightforward, practical. Ruthless. — Tessa Dare

How grateful are you?" he whispered, his mouth hovering over mine. His eyes were very alert now, and his gaze was boring into mine.
"That kind of ruins it, when you say something like that," I said, trying to keep my voice gentle. "You shouldn't want me to have sex with you just because I owe you."
"I don't really care why you have sex with me, as long as you do it," he said, equally gently. — Charlaine Harris

His brain had been a glass ball. Nothing in it but echoes. His mother's scent. Father's voice. How Anireh's gaze had held him from across the room, and her eyes said, Survive. They said, Love, and I'm sorry. They said, Little brother.
And then silence. It became silent in Arin's head as he stood on the road. He stopped hearing voices. He thought about how it had seemed strange that Risha would plot the emperor's death, yet refuse to kill him herself. Arin understood now. He knew how it was to have no family: like living in a house with no roof. Even if Kestrel were here, and begged him - Let your sword fall, do it, please, now - Arin wasn't sure that he could make her an orphan. — Marie Rutkoski

A voice may whisper that it was no image, but only imagination; it was a mirage, a fantasy. But as the water settles, with gentle ripples still visible where the arrows went in, the image will return. We will gaze at it once more, and know that in the Lord our labour is not in vain. — N. T. Wright

She wasn't made to be alone."
"I guess none of us are."
Our eyes meet and an electric tingle runs through me.
"She missed you," I say in a whisper.
"Did she?" His voice is a soft caress. His gaze into my eyes is so intense that I swear he sees straight into my soul.
"Yes." Warmth flushes my cheeks. I ... "She thought about you all the time."
The candlelight flickers a soft glow along his jawline, along his lips. "I hated losing her." His voice is a low growl. "I hadn't realized just how attached I'd gotten." He reaches and moves a strand of wet hair out of my face. "How dangerously addictive she could be. — Susan Ee

Next time I walk away," she whispered into his skin, "come with me." She let her gaze drift up to his throat, his jaw, his lips. "When this is all over, when Osaron is gone and we've saved the world again, and everyone else gets their happily ever after, come with me."
"Lila," he said, and there was so much sadness in his voice, she suddenly realized she didn't want to hear his answer, didn't want to think of all the ways their story could end, of the chance that none of them would make it out alive, intact. She didn't want to think beyond this boat, this moment, so she kissed him, deeply, and whatever he was going to say, it died on his lips as they met hers. — V.E Schwab

I love the way you taste, Rebecca," he said, his voice rubbing over my exposed flesh. "I dream about it every night." Then he lifted his eyes and met mine with a gaze so arresting I thought my heart would stop. A wicked smile sliced over his lips. "And now I'll get to taste it every morning. — Ava Lore

Tom ran his thumb over the head, circling lightly, unable to resist leaning down to suck the tip into his mouth. Prophet inhaled sharply, threaded his fingers into Tom's hair. He closed his eyes and groaned when Tom stroked in earnest, lifting his hips off the bed in a big cat-like stretch, letting Tom take control of him again. "Think I didn't get enough?" "Think you need sleep." Prophet's eyes opened as he studied Tom's face. "You're going to put me to sleep this way." "Gonna try," Tom told him, his hand pumping Prophet's cock slowly, then faster when the man refused to tear his gaze away. He couldn't read the man's expression, not until his mouth dropped and his eyes glazed. "Yeah, like that." Prophet's voice was hoarse, body tense. His casted hand reached out to hold on to Tom's biceps, the one with the dreamcatcher. Tom caught him staring at it when he came. — S.E. Jakes

Hey,Gary," Savannah said, "do you want to go on a vampire hunt?"
Greogri swung around to pin her with his brilliant silver gaze. Do not even start. He used the beauty of his voice like the weapon it was, compelling and mesmerizing.
Savannah blinked, then smiled sweetly up at him. "Really,Gary. I saw it one of those tour brochures. Isn't that the perfect place to look for those society types? They must hang out around those kinds of things?"
"A vampire hunt?" gary echoed incredulously. "For real?"
"I have the brochure at home." She studiously avoided Gregori's furious gaze.
She wore the little secret smile again, the one that always drove Gregori crazy, turned him inside out, and melted his heart. She was up to no good. He had no doubt of it. It has occurred to me that you need a good spanking.
Her smile grew smug. I said I was willing to try anything once, lifemate, but i think it best if we wait until we are alone,don't you? — Christine Feehan

Go to dinner with me?" His voice whispers against my ear. I start to shake my head when his fingertip lightly traces the birdcage tattoo on my arm. My eyes shut at the sensation. His touch. "I dream about you almost every night." Join the club, buddy, I want to tell him. I dream about me every night, too ... well, until I met him. Now I dream too damn much about him. "Just one date and I will leave you alone if you never want to see me again. Deal?" I open my eyes to gaze into his. There are too many things happening at once. Everything within me says to tell him no. Nothing good can come of this. I know what I have to tell him. "Dinner, not a date," I say, looking him square in the eyes. Holy hell! What did you just do, Keller? Really? Seriously? He grins, not hiding his happiness at my words. I step away, allowing him time to button his shirt up. "Dinner then dessert, and, Keller, it will definitely be a date," he says, — Nicole Reed

Bree stared down at Bernardo's still form. The monitor was the only sound in the room apart from his deep breathing. Alessandro had gone down to the cafeteria with Will and Gianni to grab something to eat before they left for home. Bree lied and told him that she wanted to check in with Tina and her mother Roxanna for a few minutes before they left. Even unconscious, the son of a bitch was formidable and Bree felt nervous around him. "Why don't you do everyone a favour and just die already?" Bree said. No response. Bree sneered and shook her head, turning to leave. "You could always smother me with a pillow," a groggy voice said behind her, making her heart nearly stop. Bree whirled around wide-eyed and met Bernardo's dark gaze. She forced herself to shrug and crossed her arms. "Do you think Alessandro would forgive you for murdering his father?" Bernardo asked. They both knew the answer to that. — E. Jamie

Ara?"
She jerked her face up. "Huh? Where were we?"
But his expression had grown serious, the lesson forgotten. He interlaced his fingers and said, "We are bound."
"Bound?"
He collected a piece of rope, knotting it.
"Oh, you mean bound?"
He gave a nod, then drew in the sand.
An infinity symbol? "Clever demon, how did you know that ... ?"
He was gazing at her with a question in his eyes.
"Bound forever?" And somehow she met his gaze and lied, "Yes, demon. Bound forever."
As if to make her feel guiltier, he gathered her into his arms, cupping her face against his broad chest. His voice a deep rumble, he said, "Carrow is Malkom's."
She wanted to sob.
"Yes?"
"Yes," she answered, wishing that it could be so simple between them. Demon meets girl. Girl might be falling for demon. — Kresley Cole

Wolfy, is it? And what do you know about my turning?"
"I asked around when I figured out I was your ... mate."
He stood, crossing to her. "Well, let's hear it."
"Basically, you'll lose your mind, turning animalistic, hunting me down until you claim me repeatedly, biting my neck and marking me as your possession. Nothing will stop you- no cage can hold you. Did I miss anything?
"Aye, Lousha." His gaze raked over her and his voice deepened. "The fact that you're going to like it. — Kresley Cole

Before I go,I'd like to tell you something." Her voice was cool over flowing vowels. "It isn't often one finds one's first impression was so killingly accurate.The first night I met you,I thought you were a rude, arrogant man with no redeeming qualities." The wind blew her hair across her eyes and with a toss of her head she sent it flying back so that she could keep her icy gaze on his. "It's very gratifying to learn just how right I was ... and to be able to dislike you so intensely." Chin high, Gennie turned and walked to her car. — Nora Roberts

Closing my eyes, I exhaled softly. "You want to see me, but I'm not sure you really want to. I don't look like - "
"I know what you look like," he said, his voice low as his gaze met and held mine. "I have two eyes and I've been checking you out often. Enough that it would probably make you uncomfortable if you knew. I fucking adore what I see." He drew my hand to his groin, folding my palm over the rigid length. "I want what I see. — J. Lynn

He's not even singing," Tobin whispers to Daphne. They sit on the other side of the half circle of chairs in the music room. It's amusing that he thinks I don't know what he's saying. I can't actually hear their words over the singing, but I have spent the weekend mastering the art of lipreading. What isn't amusing, however, is that Tobin has caught on to the fact that I'm merely moving my own lips along with the rest of the choir. Daphne looks up at me. I stare down at the songbook in my hands. Maybe I should try singing along, but I don't know how to make my voice do what hers does, even if I want to. I feel her gaze leave me and I glance back at her.
"Maybe he's just intimidated," Daphne says. "It's his first day in the program."
My hands grow hot at the idea that she thinks I am afraid. I take a deep breath, tempering myself before I set the songbook on fire. — Bree Despain

Where are you now? What roads are you treading? We have so many new roads now, right across the steppe all the way to the Altai and Siberia. Many brave souls are toiling there. Perhaps you're among them? You left, my Jamilia, across the wide steppe without a backward glance. Perhaps you are weary, perhaps you have lost faith in your self? Just lean on Daniyar's shoulder. Have him sing to you his song of love, of life, of the earth. May the steppe come alive and blossom in all its glory. May you recall that August night. Keep on, Jamilia, have no regrets; you've found your hard-sought happiness.
When I gaze at them long enough I can hear Daniyar's voice. He is calling to me, too, to take the highroad, which means it is time for me to get ready. I shall cross the steppe back to my village and find fresh colours there.
May Daniyar's song resound and may Jamilia's heart beat with every stroke of my brush. — Chingiz Aitmatov

I know what this is," he whispers, his voice faint above the music. I've known it from that first night I saw you at the show, but now there's no doubt in my mind."

My gaze is entwined with his. Our eyes are locked and the key is gone. My heart feels full in my chest, heavy but in a good way.

"It's love," he says, letting the words slip freely from his mouth. And when they do, they fill the air and multiply like musical notes in a cartoon.

"Love," I say as the record crackles and skips.

"Love," he whispers back, weaving his fingers in mine.

And when I set my head on his pillow, and our bodies become one, for the first time in my life I feel as if everything in this crazy, complicated world makes complete and utter sense. — Sarah Jio

Stu stops munching, looks up at me from under his shaggy hair.
"So, can you read?" He slides a section toward me.
I cock my head toward the paper. The letters are small, blurry drawings. The alphabet might as well be Chinese or Arabic. Strange that I can't read or speak, though I still have language inside my head. Words are a consolation, but not a tool.
"Guess not. You want me to read stuff out loud to you?"
I would, but not right now. If I wanted to show interest in the newspaper I could cross the table and rub against his shoulder. Instead I gaze at him over the bowl of milk.
"It's so weird," he says in a hesitant voice. "You don't look like a cat. When you stare at me, you look like Eliza."
That's the nicest thing he could have said. With a happy lightness to my step I move between the bowls, over his napkin ring and spoon, until I stand on the edge of the table and nip at his prickly chin. This is my way of saying: Hi, there. I like you. — Simone Martel

You think you need me, little firecracker?" The gruff question travels all the way through me, and I have to press my thighs together to stop the tremor in me. "Baby, the way you need me can only barely cover half of the way I need you." The unexpected sadness in his voice yanks my gaze back to his. — Katy Evans

His steady gaze was even softer than his voice. It reached out to the broken parts of her like a caress. The type of touch that moves through damaged flesh, past fractured bones and into a person's wounded soul. — Stephanie Garber

Over recent years I had increasingly lost faith in literature. I read and thought this is something someone has made up. Perhaps it was because we were totally inundated with fiction and stories... All these millions of paperbacks, hardbacks, DVDs and TV series, they were all about made-up people in a made-up, though realistic, world. And news in the press, TV news and radio news had exactly the same format, documentaries had the same format, they were also stories, and it made no difference whether what they told had actually happened or not...

Fictional writing has no value, documentary narrative has no value. The only genres I saw value in, which still conferred meaning, were diaries and essays, the types of literature that did not deal with narrative, that were not about anything, but just consisted of a voice, the voice of your own personality, a life, a face, a gaze you could meet. What is a work of art if not the gaze of another person? — Karl Ove Knausgard

Tori chanced a glance out of the corner of her eye to the man at her side. His attention appeared riveted to the road in front of them. Good. He probably didn't even notice. His head suddenly swiveled her way as if he sensed her gaze. He winked at her. Winked! "I gotta say your stamina is impressive." His voice held a warm, teasing lilt. "I didn't think you'd make it past Mrs. Cooper's chicken farm with that iron-poker spine, and here you lasted three times as long." Tori stiffened, then realized the irony of the action and settled for pursing her lips instead. "I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about." Mr. Porter chuckled. "And here I'd always thought you the honest type." Tori — Karen Witemeyer

You also," he said, lowering his voice, "haven't yet
thanked me for saving you from sitting in the flower bed."
She didn't even look up. "It was entirely your fault that I nearly did. If you hadn't sneaked up on me, I wouldn't have been in any danger of landing in the weeds." She glanced briefly at him, a touch of color in her cheeks. "A gentleman would have coughed or something."
Vane trapped her gaze, and smiled - a slow, Cynster smile. "Ah," he murmured, his voice very low. He shifted fractionally closer. "But, you see, I'm not a gentleman. I'm a Cynster." As if letting her into some secret, he gently informed her: "We're conquerors - not gentlemen. — Stephanie Laurens

Do you sleep in your suits, too?"
He dragged his gaze from the sweater she held up to her and completed a slow perusal starting at her totally reasonable three-and-a-half-inch metallic silver heels, up her bare calves, across the fitted pear-green pencil skirt, over her winter-white cashmere sweater and stopping briefly on her lips before reaching her eyes. She'd been stark naked, pressed up against a sixteenth-floor window, having one of the best orgasms of her life from a lover-s tongue and hadn't been as turned on as she was at that moment. Fire licked its way across her skin, flicking at all of her sensitive spots until her entire body vibrated.
"Do I sleep in my suits? Do you really want to know?" he asked, his voice low with just enough dominating arrogance in it to make her shiver. — Avery Flynn

Matilda?" he said softly as he lowered his head to mine, his eyes shifting to gaze at my lips, then back to my eyes.
He was going to kiss me.
( ... ) "Y-yes?" I breathed.
His lips were almost on mine. His body bent over me, closer, closer. I thought I'd burst for want.
I held my breath and closed my eyes.
His fingers squeezed the back of my neck, gentle and possessive.
"If you make me late," he murmured, his breath warm across my mouth, "I will throttle you."
Wait. What?
My eyes snapped open.
( ... ) By the time I pulled my thoughts together, he was already out the door. His voice floated back to me. "Move, Matilda. We're late."
That was it? No kiss? What was wrong with that man? He was sending off more mixed signals than a three-armed traffic cop. — Devon Monk

Annabelle gave him a chiding smile. "If you're implying that I'm spoiled, I assure you that I am not."
"You should be." His warm gaze slid over her pink-tinted face and slender upper body, then sought hers again. There was a note in his voice that gently robbed her of breath. "You could do with a bit of spoiling. — Lisa Kleypas

I am not in the habit of explaining myself. I have made a concession to you in doing so. Choose now how you will proceed."
I refuse your claim on me, she answered in the only way he allowed her to communicate. I will take my refusal to our people and plead with them for the mercy you evidently don't have in you. I will not be tied to you!
He bent over her, a dark, imposing figure exuding power. His silver eyes glittered at her. "Hear me, Savannah. If you believe nothing else about me, believe this. You belong to me, with me. No one will ever attempt to take you from me and live.No one." His voice was low,beautiful,and all the more deadly for it.
Her violet gaze was held captive by his pale one.She believed him. And not even her father,the Prince of their people, had a chance of destroying him. — Christine Feehan

I love you, Aria," he murmured in her ear.
The tender husk in his voice enshrouded her. She would live the rest of her life pleasing him to hear the softness in his voice and see the love in his gaze. — April Vine

It seems like he's keeping my foot within his grasp for longer than necessary when I see his eyes wander up my legs again. I tingle in every spot his gaze touches.
His voice sends shivers up my spine when he asks, "Have you ever been fucked, Eve?"
My eyelids flutter and I let out a small surprised gasp at his question, breath gushing from my lips. I'm not exactly a virgin, not too far off though, and I can safely say that I have never been fucked in the way that Phoenix is insinuating. Most of the sex I've had has been the fantasy kind. Our eyes lock and he moves his hand from the heel of my foot up along the back of my leg, massaging my shin.
I actually moan when his fingers press in, releasing the tension from a knotted muscle. His mouth opens as he watches me.
"I don't think that's a very appropriate question to ask of a friend," I finally manage to croak out.
He smiles darkly. "I told you I was bad news. — Raine Anthony

The only genres I saw value in, which still conferred meaning, were diaries and essays, the types of literature that did not deal with narrative, that were not about anything, but just consisted of a voice, the voice of your own personality, a life, a face, a gaze you could meet. What is a work of art if not the gaze of another person? Not directed above us, nor beneath us, but at the same height as our own gaze. Art cannot be experienced collectively, nothing can, art is something you are alone with. You meet its gaze alone. — Karl Ove Knausgard

Hunting humans for sport? Eating them?" the bitterness in his voice cut through me. "Yeah, I caught that part."
"That doesn't have anything to do with you?
He lifted his eyes, gaze shuttered. "No?"
"Not unless being a werewolf transforms you into a wolf AND a redneck moron. — Kelley Armstrong

And you threaten to abandon us to Voldemort if we do not comply with your wishes."
Harry's voice was razor-sharp. "I regret to inform you that you are not the center of the universe. I'm not threatening to walk out on magical Britain. I'm threatening to walk out on you. I am not a meek little Frodo. This is my quest and if you want in you will play by my rules."
Dumbledore's face was still cold. "I am beginning to doubt your suitability as the hero, Mr. Potter."
Harry's return gaze was equally icy. "I am beginning to doubt your suitability as my Gandalf, Mr. Dumbledore. Boromir was at least a plausible mistake. What is this Nazgul doing in my Fellowship? — Eliezer Yudkowsky

There are indeed all sorts of men/ who visit here: those who want/ nothing but to talk or hear the soft tones/ of a woman's voice; others prefer/ simply to gaze upon me, my face/ turned from them as they touch/ only themselves. And then there are those,/ of course, whose desires I cannot commit/ to paper. — Natasha Trethewey

Does he ever eat cotton candy for breakfast?"
He stepped around the counter to face us, lowered his gaze, and took a sip from the black mug in his hands.
"No," I said. "He's very much like the Big Bad Wolf. He eats little girls for breakfast."
He spoke from behind the cup, his voice deep and as smooth as butterscotch. "She's wrong. I eat big girls for breakfast. — Darynda Jones

Why are you all buttoned up like that?" Cameron ran his gaze down the blackberry-shaped buttons of her bodice.[ ... ] "You were happy to bare all last night," Cameron said. He let his mallet handler hover an inch from her chest. "Your bodice was down here."
Ainsley cleared her throat. "Low neckline for evening, high for morning."[ ... ]
"This doesn't suit you," Cameron said.
"I can't help the fashion, Lord Cameron."
Cameron poked the top button with his gloved finder. "Undo this."
Ainsley jumped. "What?"
"Unbutton your damned frock."
She nearly choked. "Why?"
"Because I want you to." Cameron's smile spread across his face, slow and sinful, and his voice went low. Dangerous. "Tell me, Mrs. Douglas. How many buttons will you undo for me? — Jennifer Ashley

What if you were a teacher but had no voice to speak your knowledge? What if you had no language at all and yet there was something you needed to say? Wouldn't you dance it? Wouldn't you act it out? Wouldn't your every movement tell the story? In time you would be so eloquent that just to gaze upon you would reveal it all. And so it is with these silent green lives. — Robin Wall Kimmerer

His gaze slid toward the back of the sanctuary and collided with Joanna, standing silently in the doorway. You ... Crockett's voice tapered off.
For a moment, all he could do was stare. Her rapt attention, the tiny smile that brought into relief the freckles dusting her cheekbones, the way the light passed through the doorway behind her to see her hair ablaze beneath the prim straw bonnet she wore. Yet it was her inner light that captured him the most. The serenity of her features. The glow in her blue eyes. This was a woman of authentic spirituality. No wonder the Master Weaver had chosen her to be the central thread to anchor his new tapestry. — Karen Witemeyer

You're a demigod," he said hoarsely.
It was the first thing he said.
"Yeah," I replied, my voice breathy. "Is that ... um, okay with you?"
His gaze flicked up to mine, and he arched a brow. "Do I need to kiss you again?"
My lips twitched. "Maybe. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

Did you really think I might have drawn that picture?" Emma swallowed a self-conscious lump in her throat, then lifted her chin. "I own the notion did cross my mind. But can you blame me? After all, you knew what the piece looked like and you gave me prodigious cause to suspect you in the past." He inhaled deeply. "I suppose you are right. But that was a long time ago. I have no interest in tricking you now. Nor in frightening you, nor any other dishonorable motive, I assure you." The warm tenor of his voice did odd things to Emma's stomach. She blinked, unable to meet his gaze. "Emma, look at me." She forced herself to meet his remarkable green eyes and saw the sincerity burning there. He said, "You have my word, Emma. I did not do this." He had called her Emma. She liked the sound of her name on his lips. Nodding, she said, "I believe you. — Julie Klassen

PLAY ME.
My gaze flicked to the hand. The fist was curled around a small tape recorder. I moved the fingers - still warm - and pressed play. A male voice started to speak.
"Do I have your attention?" the voice asked.
I knew that voice. But I couldn't believe I was hearing it.
"Noah's alive," Jude said. — Michelle Hodkin

How did you know? That she wasn't the one for him?" Now he's staring at his hands, slowing rubbing them together. "They just didn't have that ... natural magic. You know? It never seemed easy."
My voice grows tiny. "Do you think things have to be easy? For it to work?"
Cricket's head shoots up, his eyes bulging as they grasp my meaning. "NO. I mean, yes, but ... sometimes there are ... extenuating circumstances. That prevent it from being easy. For a while. But then people overcome those ... circumstances ... and ... "
"So you believe in second chances?" I bite my lip.
"Second, third, fourth. Whatever it takes. However long it takes. If the person is right," he adds.
If the person is ... Lola?"
This time, he holds my gaze. "Only if the other person is Cricket."
Chapter 27
Pg 273 — Stephanie Perkins

She gulped her whiskey sour. The bar was hot tonight.
CJ circled back to check on them. "You ladies doing okay?"
"Define okay." Natalie's whiskey seemed to be talking. Because the whiskey was the only thing that could've put that husky, suggestive tone in her voice. Yep, that was all the whiskey.
He propped his elbows on the bar, which put his face level with hers, and fixed his undivided attention on her. There went her lady bits fanning themselves. With a few added whimpers. They remembered what his hands and body and lips felt like too.
"Content." His voice was low and raw, his gaze penetrating and unwavering. "Happy. Completely, one hundred percent satisfied."
Her mouth went dry while the rest of her went up in needy flames that made her want to scratch the all-but-gone rash he'd tended so well on Monday.
"Nope," Natalie squeaked. "Not okay then. — Jamie Farrell

The Devil's coarse, mangled penis rose from between Heather's legs. She was lifted inches off the ground by its turbid protrusion. Boring its vile gaze into April, it said in a voice as deep as a canyon and old as time itself, "For you. — Hunter Shea

She tried again. "Did you ever tell anyone? Does your mom know?"
He lifted her hand to his mouth and rubbed her knuckles across his lower lip, his gaze locked with hers. "No," he promised. "I swore I wouldn't, not even her. I think she knows something, or at least she thinks you have the worst luck ever, since you found all those dead girls." He lowered his voice. "She was really worried about you after the shooting last year. You're like a daughter to her." He leaned close. "Of course, that makes it kind of creepy when I do things like this."
He kissed her. It was intimate. Not soft or sweet this time, it was deep and passionate, stealing Violet's breath. — Kimberly Derting

Morpheus's gaze flashes to mine, then back to the chess piece wrapped in his magic. "Stop crying," his quirky voice scolds. "Queens don't cry. I taught you better than that."
I bite my quivering lip, and tiny Alice strokes the caterpillar's face. "But you're crying ... "
Morpheus lowers a wing and shades his cheek along with the transparent glimmer of his jeweled markings. "Well" - his shrill voice cracks slightly - "contrary to my preferences for lace and velvet, I'm not the queen. So I can cry all I like. — A.G. Howard

She shut her eyes to block out the image. This was all kinds of madness. "Tanner."

Matilda opened her eyes at the sound of her voice. It was deep and ragged, almost a growl. Maybe a plea.

"Tanner, what?" he asked, his voice as husky as hers as he flicked his gaze to her face. "Tanner, stop? Tanner, leave?" He slid a hand low on her stomach, the muscles beneath tensing in anticipation. "Tanner touch me?"

A lazy finger stroked the skin just above the waist band of her boxers, the sensation coursing white hot need straight between her legs. — Amy Andrews

No. No!" he says.
"I ... " He looks wildly around the room. For inspiration? For divine intervention? I don't know.
"You can't go. Ana, I love you!"
"I love you, too, Christian, it's just - "
"No ... no!" he says in desperation and puts both hands on his head. "Christian ... "
"No," he breathes, his eyes wide with panic, and suddenly he drops to his knees in front of me, head bowed, long-fingered hands spread out on his thighs. He takes a deep breath and doesn't move. What?
"Christian, what are you doing?"
He continues to stare down, not looking at me.
"Christian! What are you doing?"
My voice is high-pitched. He doesn't move.
"Christian, look at me!" I command in panic. His head sweeps up without hesitation, and he regards me passively with his cool gray gaze - he's almost serene ... expectant.
Holy Fuck ... Christian. The submissive. — E.L. James

Miss Caulfield, I beg your forgiveness." His voice was low and his gaze seemed to seek hers quite closely. "I intended you no harm, in truth. Still, I was unpardonably dishonorable to assail you and then tease you and then rescue you and then tease you yet again. Can you forgive me, or will those eyes like stars stare with accusation at me throughout the remaining weeks of this fete?"

-Vitor — Katharine Ashe

He opened his eyes again, raking his gaze up and down my body before coming to rest on my crotch. "Quite simply," he said, "I'd like to lick your cunt. I'd like to hear you scream my name."

The world seemed to sway. "Don't... don't you have groupies for that sort of thing?" I asked breathlessly.

"I'd rather have you."

I swallowed. "I don't know what to say."

"You can start by saying yes, please, Kent. Eat my pussy."

My skin tingled with his words. I wondered why he wasn't the one singing, front and center. That voice could carry me away, anywhere he wanted me to go...

Oh, this was a problem. This was a huge problem, and I wasn't about to make it any better. My mouth was dry, but the words came out clear enough:

"Yes, please, Kent. Eat my pussy."

"I thought you'd never ask," he said. — Ava Lore

They had left the demigod they now called the Voice in a government creche in orbit. The Archipelago had facilities for newly born artificial sentients - a revelation that still astonished and unsettled Marya when she thought about it. The Voice had gone willingly into the maw of the jewellike orbiting structure; as the doors closed she had looked back, but Marya could read nothing in her gaze - neither hope nor fear. — Karl Schroeder

He opened her door, helped her to the ground, and held
her before him. "You're cold."
Unable to meet his gaze, Kara spoke without thinking.
"N-no, it's not that."
His brow furrowed for a moment and then he seemed to
understand. He grinned, a sexy know-it-all grin, and ran a
finger down her cheek. "I'm glad I was able to provoke a
reaction."
Her sexual frustration became irritation. She glowered at
him. "How is it you remain so unaffected?"
His eyebrows rose, and he gave a snort. "Unaffected?"
Without warning, he cupped her bottom, pulled her hard
against him, and she felt the unmistakable evidence of his
arousal. He was rock-hard, huge.
Her inner muscles clenched - hard - and the air rushed
out of her lungs. "Oh!"
He thrust against her, his eyes dark with obvious male
hunger. His voice was deep and husky. "Nothing about you
leaves me unaffected, Kara. — Pamela Clare

His thumb smoothed over the tiny red marks the pins had made on her palm, and he brought her hand to his face to kiss the little sore spots.
His voice curled hotly inside her palm. "Your hand smells like lemons."
She opened her eyes and stared at him gravely. "I scrub my hands with lemon juice to remove the ink stains."
The information seemed to amuse him, and lights of humor mixed with the heat in his gaze. — Lisa Kleypas

Just take the weapon you hold in your hand and drive it through his heart," Valentine's voice was soft. "One simple motion. Nothing you haven't done before."
Jace met his father's stare with a level gaze. "I saw Agramon," he said. "It had your face."
"You saw Agramon?" The Soul-Sword glittered as Valentine moved toward his son. "And you lived?"
"I killed it."
"You killed the Demon of Fear, but you won't kill a single vampire, not even at my order?"
Jace stood watching Valentine without expression. "He's a vampire, that's true," he said. "But his name is Simon. — Cassandra Clare

Raphael came through the door like a child's nightmare, his eyes glowing an almost solid silver with wrath, his gleaming fangs fully extended, blood painting his mouth a brilliant red, dripping from his chin to shine wetly against the tattered remains of his black shirt. His huge chest was heaving with the fury of his breath, and his hands curled into claws as his gaze found her and he growled a warning. 'Release her, human.'
'Who are you? the man rasped, fear taking away his breath, coarsening his voice.
'Release her.'
The man tightened his grip, 'Come closer and she dies.'
Rachael's mouth widened in a terrifying smile, 'You think to bargain with me? — D.B. Reynolds

The bent head, the averted eye, the faltering voice, the wincing figure- these, and not the unshrinking gaze and frank reply, are the true signals of passion. — Arthur Conan Doyle

Tell them I'm like you," Gavriel said as they began to slow down.
Aidan laughed. "I think they can see you're not like us anymore."
"No," he said. "Tell them you know me. That I'm like you, one of you. From the party. Tell them."
"Wait," said Winter. "Wait. Is he saying he wasn't at the party? Did you meet him by the side of the road? Did you pick up a hitchhiker who coincidentally turned out to be a vampire?"
Gavriel fixed his gaze on Winter. "You know me," he said, and a chill went up Tana's spine. "You've known me since outside the rest stop, when I turned and the light hit my face."
"What does he mean?" Midnight asked.
"I don't know," Winter said in an odd voice. "Nothing. — Holly Black

Innocence isn't something you should discard like an old shoe. It has a physical value - a passionate value - all its own." His frown deepening, he kept his gaze fixed on his leader's ears. "Innocence shouldn't be tarnished, it shouldn't be crushed. It should be made to bloom. I know." Those last two words were as much realization as assurance. "Getting innocence to bloom takes time, takes care and attention and expertise." His voice deepened. "It takes passion and desire, commitment and devotion to coax innocence from bud to bloom, to encourage it to unfurl into full flower without a single petal bruised. — Stephanie Laurens

She smoothed her skirt around her knees. "This Scarlet ... you're in love with her, aren't you?"
He froze, becoming stone still. As the hover climbed the hill to the palace, his shoulders sank, and he returned his gaze to the window. "She's my alpha," he murmured, with a haunting sadness in his voice. — Marissa Meyer

You can find yourself a decent,
honorable man, one to love you, respect you, cherish you. Someone with
morals, with a decent job and a good future. That's what you think you
want, isn't it? Not some white trash from Alabama. Not some ex-con
who's running the scam of a lifetime. You're so good and decent, the very
thought of me disgusts you, doesn't it?" His voice was low and seductive
as he pushed the words at her.
She met his gaze with what she hoped was a fearless one of her own.
"Yes," she said.
"Then tell me, Rachel," he said, letting his hand toy with the loose
neckline of her tunic, "why aren't you out somewhere, fucking your little
gentleman's brains out? Why are you here with me, quivering when I
touch you? — Anne Stuart

Ellysetta Baristani is my shei'tani." His eyes found hers. "My truemate." A murmur of voices rippled through the crowd.
"Please tell the court what a truemate is."
"A truemate is the person who holds the other half of a Fey's soul." His gaze never left hers, and Ellie felt the magic of his voice wrapping her in imperceptible weaves of longing. "It is the most sacred bond known to any Fey, more sacred than that between a king and his subjects, more sacred even than that between a mother and a child. — C.L. Wilson

The intensity in his gaze created a flutter low in my belly. When he spoke, his voice was rough, sending a series of chills up and down my spine. "I don't know what made you change your sleeping attire, but I just want to let you know that I am a hundred and fifty-five percent behind it." All I could think was that he liked what he saw and that was a good sign. "Actually, if you want to dress like that whenever we're alone - to eat dinner, watch the TV, read a book or whatever, I also support that. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

My anxious gaze swept the theater.
"Don't worry. I told them it was Sunday," Ayden said as we sat down.
"And they believed you?"
"Of course." He passed me the popcorn and took off his jacket. "I'm the master of deception."
"Uh-huh. So, when did you become a Hitchcock fan?"
"After I saw Psycho," answered a voice clearly not Ayden's.
We turned to stare at Blake.
And Jayden.
And Tristan.
And Logan.
All sitting behind us.
I smirked at a sheepish Ayden. "Oh yeah, master of deception. — A&E Kirk

Dont panic, Allison," soothed a low, quiet voice, stopping me from doing just that. I jerked my gaze to the door ... and there he was, standing beside the frame, watching me. "I'm right here. — Julie Kagawa

I don't want to talk about it," she said. Once again he was close. Too close. So damn close. "At all," she added, hearing with some alarm that her voice had softened. Everything had softened, at just his proximity. "Ever," she whispered, and found her gaze locked on his mouth.
He had a really great mouth.
"I don't want to talk, either," that mouth said very seriously. And then he lowered his head and kissed her. — Jill Shalvis

Because every time you said my name, it would touch
your lips." His voice lost its hard edge, grew as dark and
smoky as his gaze. "Like a kiss. — Connie Brockway

Room peering out, a gun in one hand, his other hand curled around the window drape. "Dad?" said Tyler in a shaky voice. Wingo held up a hand to quiet his son. He lingered at the window for a few more minutes, his gaze running up and down the streets, to the tops of the buildings and — David Baldacci

How do we recognise another person? At its most basic, by shape, by colour, by outline, by dark and light, by smell. Or by nuances of tone, by the way the face looks in repose, the cadences of the voice, full of small interior knowledge, the way they hold their mouth while listening, or the way their gaze holds yours. By what their eyes say when they are not speaking. — Marion Coutts

Four wanders through the crowd of initiates, watching us as we go through the movements again. When he stops in front of me, my insides twist like someone is stirring them with a fork. He stares at me, his eyes following my body from my head to my feet, not lingering anywhere - a practical, scientific gaze.
"You don't have much muscle", he says, "which means you're better off using your knees and elbows. You can put more power behind them."
Suddenly he presses a hand to my stomach. His fingers are so long that, though the heel of his hand touches one side of my rib cage, his fingertips still touch the other side. My heart pounds so hard my chest hurts, and I stare at him, wide-eyed.
"Never forget to keep tension here", he says in a quiet voice.
Four lifts his hand and keeps walking. I feel the pressure of his palm even after he's gone. It's strange, but I have to stop and breathe for a few seconds before I can keep practicing again. — Veronica Roth

Cecy," he said, and closed the distance between them, though it was not much, and then he was kissing her-his hands awkward around her shoulders at first, slipping on the stiff taffeta of her gown before his fingers slipped behind her head, tangling in her soft, warm hair. She stiffened in surprise before softening against him, the seam of her lips parting as he tasted the sweetness of her mouth. When she drew away at last, he felt light-headed. "Cecy?" He said again, his voice hoarse. "Five," she said. Her lips and cheeks were flushed, but her gaze was steady. "Five?" He echoed blankly. "My rating," she said, and smiled at him. "Your skill and technique may, perhaps, require work, but the native talent is certainly there. What you require is practise." "And you are willing to be my tutor?" "I should be very insulted if you chose another," she said, and leaned up to kiss him again. — Cassandra Clare

Bree arched, trying to stretch out her muscles and Alessandro gave her a dirty look as if she was displaying herself to him on purpose. Well, maybe she was a little. Even though he blocked her from the hotel attendant's gaze with his body in the doorway, Bree was sure to cover herself with the blanket. Alessandro turned around, pulling in the tray with him and his eyes flared hungrily as he looked down at her. "You look like a beautiful debauched angel," he said, his voice rough with desire. "And you're what, the demon that's corrupted me?" Bree asked raising an eyebrow and letting the blanket fall down to her waist, baring her to him. "It's my life's work, you know?" Alessandro grinned, going down on to his knees and leaning over her. Bree placed a hand on his chest, halting him. "Is that coffee, I smell?" she asked. "The debauched angel is kind of hungry." She bit her lip and smiled up at his frustrated face. — E. Jamie

Miss Finch, it's not wise for officers to quarter in the same house with an unmarried gentlewoman. Have a care for your reputation, if your father does not."
"Have a care for my reputation?" She had to laugh. Then she lowered her voice. "This, from the man who flattened me in the road and kissed me without leave?"
"Precisely." His eyes darkened.
His meaning washed over her in a wave of hot, sensual awareness. Surely he wasn't implying ...
No. He wasn't implying at all. Those hard jade eyes were giving her a straightforward message, and he underscored it with a slight flex of his massive arms: I am every bit as dangerous as you suppose. If not more so.
"Take your kind invitation and run home with it. When soldiers and maids live under the same roof, things happen. And if you happened to find yourself under me again ... " His hungry gaze raked her body. "You wouldn't escape so easily."
She gasped. "You are a beast."
"Just a man, Miss Finch. Just a man. — Tessa Dare

You damn fool!" one of the men grated in angry concern as they both squatted down on their haunches and peered anxiously at her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Bracing herself on her forearms, Lauren lifted her chagrined gaze from the man's shoes to his face. "Auditioning for the circus," she told him dryly, "And for an encore, I usually fall off a bridge."
A rich chuckle sounded from the other man as he took her firmly by the shoulders and helped her to her feet. "What's your name?" he asked, and when Lauren had told him,he added worriedly, "Can you walk?"
"For miles," Laruen assured him unsteadily. Every muscle in her body was protesting, and her left ankle was throbbing painfully.
"Then I guess you can make it as far as the building so we can have a look at the damage," he said with a smile in his voice. — Judith McNaught

I'm not ashamed of wanting you. And yes, I've missed touching you, and holding you, and I want that again. But that isn't all I've missed about you since you left town." He placed his palms on the sides of her face, bringing her gaze back to his. "I've missed the way you glance around when you think your karma is going to zap you. I miss watching you walk and the way you push your hair behind your ears. I miss the sound of your voice, and that you try to be a vegetarian and can't. I miss that you believe you're a pacifist even as you shock me on the arm. I've missed everything about you, Gabrielle. — Rachel Gibson

What are you looking at, Matthias?" The low thrum of her voice vibrated straight through him.
He kept his eyes on the ceiling, whispering softly. "Nothing."
"Matthias, are you praying?"
"Possibly."
"For restraint?" she said sweetly.
"You really are a witch."
"I'm not proper, Matthias."
"I am aware of this." Miserably, keenly, hungrily aware.
"And I'm sorry to inform you, but you're not proper either."
His gaze dropped to her now. "I - "
"How many rules have you broken since you met me? How many laws? They won't be the last. Nothing about us will ever be proper," she said. She tilted her face up to his. So close now it was as if they were already touching. "Not the way we met. Not the life we lead. And not the way we kiss. — Leigh Bardugo

FROM A WILD NIGHT'S BRIDE by Victoria Vane:
His gaze glued to the bed, Ned made a mechanical backward retreat to the center of the room where he had a clearer prospect of its crowning glory. His vision rose to the top of the headboard, to the heraldic shield seated betwixt the carved figures of a lion and a unicorn. His gaze slid with dread to the engraved scroll beneath. Dieu Et Mon Driot. God and my right, the motto of the king. His chest seized. The room began to spin. He looked to Phoebe, aware that the blood was draining from his face, and that his voice emerged as a strangled sound. "May the same God save me ... for I'm going to be hung, drawn, and quartered for spending last night rutting in the King of England's bed!" coming April 27, 2012 from Breathless Press — Emery Lee

I want your hands on my head."
I nod and edge back to make room for him. "Does it calm your racing thoughts?"
He shakes his head, then takes my hand and spreads it open over his wide chest, his voice textured as he traps my gaze with his. "It calms me here. — Katy Evans

It used to be that when I made mistakes like this or came close to losing my life, I would just call Miguel. He'd drop it all to come to me - his movies, media engagements no matter how big they were, and even his criminal activities went on hold for me. It made me think he cared.
Miguel canceled an appearance on the Dave Letterman show just because he called me and thought my voice sounded like something was wrong.
He directed his gaze to the bruises decorating my face. "You said you weren't hurt."
With those big arms, he picked me up and slammed the door behind us. "When I ask you if you're okay, you tell me the truth. — Kenya Wright

Forgive our gawking," said a man with a vicious scar running down his face. "Galen is usually eating so much he has no time for speech."
Laughter filled the hall, and Reaghan glanced over to find Galen shaking his head as he smiled.
"Eating?" she asked.
"Doona pay Malcolm a bit of attention," Galen said, his gaze indifferent and his voice heavy with nonchalance. "He lies. — Donna Grant

You're a terrible cook. That I'll grant you. You can't hold your liquor, either. And you have questionable taste in men. So no, you're not perfect." His voice sank to a husky whisper, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. "But you're close. Close enough to restore a man's faith in miracles. — Tessa Dare

Enzo looks up at me. Suddenly, the blackness in his eyes seems to fade, replaced by the familiar warm brown of his irises, the red slashes, the glow of life. I see a hint of his old self there, fighting through the darkness of the Underworld to gaze at me one last time. It is the look he'd given me when we used to dance.
This is the real Enzo.
"Let me go," he whispers. It is his voice. It is the voice that once comforted me, gave me strength. And as I try to take in his words, the final tendrils of the tether linking us unravel from around my heart, freeing me. — Marie Lu

Very well." In a voice as cool and detached as if he were critiquing a work of art, he said, "Starting at the top: your brow is marked with intelligence, your gaze is direct, your features are delicate, your skin is fair, your voice is refined, your speech reflects education ... " He paused. "Even the way you hold your head is elegant." I was suddenly, excruciatingly self-conscious. I dropped my gaze, my face on fire. "Ah, yes," he said softly. "And then there is your modesty. No milkmaid could have blushed like that." To my mortification, I felt my blush deepen until the tips of my ears were tingling with the heat. "Shall I continue?" he asked with a hint of a laugh in his voice. "No, that is quite enough, thank you. — Julianne Donaldson

We may have to get creative before this is over," he said, his voice turning even deeper, huskier than before. That statement had her gaze snapping back to meet his. "Creative?" she ventured cautiously. "I didn't come prepared for this." She caught his drift and had to be grateful that her sister had provided a solution. Thankfully, they wouldn't have to resort to too much creativity - which 'she' wasn't prepared for. — Sharon Swan

Jesus! We can't just sit here and twiddle our thumbs. Who's the brains of this outfit, anyway?"
"I think that was Shaw," Carl said wryly as his mind landed on an idea. "Before he went mad' that is. Now I suppose it's you, God help us. "
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Shawn asked in a hurt voice. "I've not gone mad!"
"Uh huh. What's the plan, Dixie?" Carl asked as he spared Shawn a glance before turning his gaze back on Remy. Remy blinked at him.
"You can't put him in charge," Shawn protested. "We'll be in the shit and he'll stop to get an ice cream, for fuck's sake!"
"What's wrong with ice cream?" Remy asked in an insulted voice.
"I think you missed the point of the comment," Thiago muttered as he sat down in the kitchen besid Nikolaus. — Abigail Roux