Now let's try that again. Ask my wife nice, and maybe I'll let you sleep in the same bed as your teeth tonight.
Here's the deal. I get to marry you. You get to become a Garrett - although, considering what you're marrying into, I'm not certain that's much of an incentive." Dallas to Amy
Driven, damaged and dangerous, FBI agent Mercy Gunderson is one of the best female leads to come down the pike since Eve Dallas. Lori Armstrong delivers the goods with MERCILESS.
Amy, listen to me. What I do. The choices I make. They're mine. Only mine. The consequences of those decisions—mine. "Mine," he repeated when she sighed heavily. "No one else's." Silence. Only the warm wetness of her tears dampening his shirt. It broke his heart.
I guess the answer would be yes." "Got to love that word." He kissed her so sweetly then, it brought tears to her eyes. "Got it in you to say it again?" And then he did the unthinkable. He went down on one knee.
White on rice. Green on grass. Sheets on a bed. Him on her.
He understood that she needed some time to get used to "them." He didn't. He knew exactly what was happening, and he didn't need another week, another month, another year, to get things in perspective. He loved her. It was that plain. That simple.
She flew into his arms. Held on tight as he swung her off her feet and hugged her so hard it hurt. She didn't care. She didn't want him to ever let go.
I generally find subtlety a waste of time.
He hugged her hard. "I love you. My life is so much better with you in it than out of it.
There are definite advantages to single beds." He sat up abruptly and arranged her legs around his waist. "Makes cuddling mandatory.
Amy sat back and grinned. "You just smiled." That was definitely something else she could get used to. Of course, he frowned immediately. "I smile.
Very slowly, she peeked around the tree trunk. Saw a slim, petite figure, flanked by two very large, very dangerous-looking soldier of fortune types picking their way through the bodies and the rubble. "Amy?" Oh, God. It was Amy. "Get away from her," Jenna ordered, stepping out from behind the conifer, wielding the iron pan like a club. Both men stopped. Glanced at her. Glanced at each other over Amy's head. "What?" The biggest one grunted out a surly laugh. "Or you'll souffle us?" Okay. She was definitely going after him first.
Men. <...> They're idiots. It's like they all take a vow of stupidity or something.
Ah, well.” He smiled-another one of those devastatingly intoxicating smiles that did unreasonable things to her body temperature and respiration. With a nod and a respectful, “Ma’am,” he left her in the middle of the room. Feeling like she’d been hit by a tank.
Go to bed," he ordered. "Go to bed... and stay there.
Go away. I told you, I'm not interested." She looked from his lap to his face. "Your nose is growing too.
I existed until I met you. Now I'm alive.
And for a moment there, despite the bruising, despite the snarled dirty hair, despite her sunburned skin and the suffering in her eyes that she refused to let defeat her, she was one of the prettiest things he'd ever seen. ~Dallas and Amy~
Without illusions. I love you because you are fallible and because your poor misguided testosterone-corrupted brain has you doing cartwheels trying not to be. I love you because of all you are and because of all you're not. And because, no matter what, you are all the man I'll ever need.
Marry me, princess. I'll give you my kingdom—small potatoes that it is.
Hey, Tink," Reed called to his wife. He'd given up on the poker game and was cradling the little pink handle that was Mariah Savage in his arms. "Look how cute she is. I think I want one. S'pose we can stop by Walmart and pick up one just like her.?" Chrystal glanced up from her cards and gave her husband a look. "Three o'clock feedings. Smelly diapers. Responsability." "Oh. Right. I'd have to grow up.
Wrangler butts drive me nuts.
Mi Corazon. Mi alma. Son tuyos." My heart. My soul. They are yours, he whispered against the generous curve of her breast as a million sensations, all of them hot, all of them rich, all of them straddling the razor-sharp edge of pain, ripped through his loins like a flash fire and stripped him of everything but consciousness. "Tuyo. Todo que tengo es tuyo." Yours. Everything I have is yours.
Okay, I'm guessing you're gonna give us the bad news first because there's no good news?
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