She longed to throw something at him. A chair. Herself.

I must be besotted,” he said evenly. “I have the imbecilic idea that you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Except for your coiffure,” he added, with a disgusted glance at the coils and plumes and pearls. “That is ghastly.” She scowled. “Your romantic effusions leave me breathless.

I deserve passion," she said. "I deserve to be loved- in every way. I deserve a man who'll give his whole heart, not the part he isn't using at the moment.

You refuse to listen. Because, like every other man, you can keep only one idea in your head at a time-usully the wrong one.

No its you," she said. How far away her voice sounded, as though it had traveled to London already, ahead of her. "Your ducal self assurance. Everything will give way to you. Even Satan's own storm." "You are definitely improving," he said. "Full mocking sentences.

You are well aware of your effect on women, and I'm sure it gratifies you no end to watch them sigh and salivate over your magnificent physique. I do not wish to spoil your fun, Dain, but I do ask you to consider my pride and refrain from embarrassing me in public." Women...sighing and salivating...over his magnificent physique. Maybe the brutal bedding had destroyed a part of her brain.

I can do one or the other. Lovemaking or thinking. But not both at the same time.