22
" The idea that he thought more of her than she sometimes thought of herself took her aback.
Trust him, Scamp urged.
Don't be a fool, Dilly said.
Forget about him! Peter exclaimed. I shall save you!
Dude, Leo sneered. Stop being such a tool. She can save herself.
“Everybody remembers their first time.”
“There wasn't any first time,” she said. “We didn't make it that far.”
“Near enough. And I thought you didn't remember.”
“I remember that much.”
He kicked back in his chair. “We used to make out for hours. Do you remember that?”
How could she forget? Their kisses had gone on and on – cheeks, neck, mouth, and tongue. Seconds... minutes... hours. Then they'd start all over again. Adults were too fixed on the final goal to take that kind of time. Only teenagers afraid of the next step exchanged kisses that lasted forever.
….......
“Kissing has turned into a lost art.“
“Do you think?”
“Um.” She took another sip of the rich, heady wine.
“You're probably right,” he said. “I know I'm lousy at it.”
She barely suppressed the urge to correct him. “Most men wouldn't admit it.”
“I'm too anxious to get to the next step.”
“You and every other guy. "
― Susan Elizabeth Phillips , Heroes Are My Weakness
34
" I know you’re armed and dangerous, but I’m asking you to stay at Harp House while I’m gone. This is a polite request, not an order.”
He’d tried to take care of her. “You’re such a girl,” she said.
He answered that by leaning back on his heels and glaring at her, every inch of him the embodiment of pissed-off masculinity.
“That was a compliment,” she said. “Sort of. The whole nurturing thing you have going…? As much as I appreciate your watchdog attitude, I’m not one of those needy females you tend to collect.”
He gave her his baddest badass sneer. “That whip idea you had … I’m liking it more and more.”
She wanted to rip off his clothes and devour him right there. Instead, she sniffed, “I’ll stay at Harp House, girlfriend, just to keep you from worrying. "
― Susan Elizabeth Phillips , Heroes Are My Weakness
39
" The oversize jar that held Regan’s collection of beach glass was stored at the back of his closet, shoved there years ago because, like so much else in the house, it triggered bad memories. But as he pulled it out and carried it downstairs, the edges of his dark mood lifted for the first time all day. The sweet, generous side of Regan’s nature would have loved passing on her precious beach stones to Livia, one little girl to another.
As he descended the stairs that his sister had raced up and down a dozen times a day, something brushed past him. Something warm. Invisible. He stopped where he was and shut his eyes, the glass jar cool in his hands, his sister’s face vivid in his mind.
Regan smiling at him. A smile that said Be happy. "
― Susan Elizabeth Phillips , Heroes Are My Weakness