Devil in Spring

The word “mistress” sounds like a cross between mistake and mattress.

Men are like chocolate bonbons. The ones with the most attractive outsides have the worst fillings.

Their marriage would be a partnership, just like their waltzing . . . not perfect, not always graceful, but they would find their way together.

“Pandora,” he said huskily, holding her against his violently thumping heart. “I love you more than I can bear. You’re everything to me. You’re the reason the earth turns and morning follows night. You’re the meaning of primroses and why kissing was invented. You’re the reason my heart beats. God help me, I’m not strong enough to survive without you. I need you too much . . . I need you . . .”

Smiling, Gabriel took her head between his hands and looked into her eyes. “Your kiss thrilled me beyond imagining,” he whispered. “Every night for the rest of my life, I’ll dream of the afternoon in the holloway, when I was waylaid by a dark-haired beauty who devastated me with the heat of a thousand troubled stars, and left my soul in cinders. Even when I’m an old man, and my brain has fallen to wrack and ruin, I’ll remember the sweet fire of your lips under mine, and I’ll say to myself, ‘Now, that was a kiss.’”

Good God, she really did walk in circles. A pang of tenderness centered in Gabriel’s chest like an ache.

He wanted all her circles to lead back to him.

She played with the unselfconscious ease of a child, this woman of radical thoughts and ambitions. She was beautiful. Complex. Frustrating. He’d never met a woman who was so wholly and resolutely herself.

He was so large and substantial that she felt like a small wild creature who’d just found refuge

She was full of life, burning like sunflowers in the rime of autumn frost.

A woman will always surprise you with what she’s capable of. You can spend a lifetime trying to discover what excites and interests her, but you’ll never know it all. There’s always more. Every woman is a mystery, not to be understood but enjoyed.