Iris And Raphael Quotes

“She moaned, long and low, wanting to arch, to thrash, to scream. Instead she opened her mouth and bit his shoulder, tasting salt.
Tasting want.
Then she gasped. "Please."
"What do you want?" he whispered in her ear, an incubus, dark and alive and in her. "Tell me. What do you need?"
"I..." Her mouth opened, wordless.
"Tell me," his smoky voice curled around her.
"You."
He chuckled, dark and low.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“This?" He thrust short and hard into her, the impact sending jolts of pleasure through her body. "Yes, that," he murmured to himself as if pleased, and did it again.
And again.
Until the heat between them combusted. Until she felt hot liquid wash over her limbs. Until she looked up and wondered why she'd ever thought his gray eyes emotionless.
He was watching her with passion. With lust.
With so much love.
She felt tears in her eyes.
He groaned above her, his hips jerking without rhythm, but all the while he watched her with those eyes.
And when he at last stilled and rested his sweaty forehead against hers, he whispered, "I love you.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“For a moment she studied the sketch. It had been done in pencil and the artist was very skilled. The single sharp line that edged her nose, the delicate shading on her bottom lip, the suggestion of light reflected off her forehead.
In the sketch she lay asleep and peaceful- and beautiful. Iris had never thought of herself as beautiful. That word was for the lauded belles of society. The women who walked into ballrooms and made conversations stop.
But in this sketch she was beautiful.
And in the corner were the initials R.d' C.
This was how he saw her.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“She felt enthralled by him, enthralled by her own sexuality. He bared something in her that she hadn't even known was there before she married him.
Something base, primal. Had it always been there, this fierce drive to feel? Or was it something that had been engendered by his touching her?
Her touching him?
She knew that she should be wary of this part of herself. Ladies were often exhorted to ignore any animal urges. To be polite. Formal. Cold.
But the flames of her desire, meeting and burning higher with his compulsion, were intoxicating.
It felt wonderful.
Too good to ignore. Too good to give up.
And when his fingers traced the wetness of her vulva, into the depths of her pleasure, she cried out, her eyes still caught with his.
He smiled, crooked and sinister because of his scar, but a smile nonetheless. A smile that wasn't exactly nice or gentlemanly.
But a smile that was all for her.
Only her.
No man- no one- had ever looked at her so before.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“I want to make you weep. I want all your pleasure, Iris, all your pain, everything you are. Come for me."
And she felt herself bow with the stark white bliss of her epiphany, the shattering realization of his words and his hands and his mouth. She was gasping for breath, shaking, lost, unseeing. The center of her being pulsing with pleasure.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“His nostrils flared and he couldn't wait any longer. He lifted her bodily, moving her farther up on the bed, placing her head and shoulders against the pillows, and then pushed up her chemise, crawling between her spread thighs and settling to enjoy what he'd found.
There. There she was, her pretty, pretty pink cunny, all coral lips and wispy dark-blond curls. He hiked her trembling legs over his arms, ignoring her gasp of shocked surprise. He glanced up at once and saw wide, wondering eyes gazing back at him. Her gentlemanly first husband had evidently never done this to her.
More fool he.
Then he bent and feasted.
His nose pressed into her mound, inhaling her woman's scent, his cock grinding hard into the bed, his tongue licking into tart and salt and her.
Oh God, her.
She squealed at his first touch and tried to squirm away, but he held her fast with his hands on her hips. He almost smiled against her tender flesh, his teeth scraping oh so gently. She might be startled, might be outraged and shocked, but she liked it.
Perhaps even loved it- what he was doing to her.
She was moaning now, low in her throat, making little mewling sounds, so erotic and sweet, her hips twitching against his lips, trying to get more. He opened his mouth, covering her, breathing over her. He stiffened his tongue and speared into her as far as he could reach, his jaw aching. She cried out at that and he felt fingers tangling in his hair.
He withdrew his tongue and moved to her clitoris, taking the small bit of flesh gently between his teeth and pulling. She froze, trembling all over, and he could hear her gasping breaths. He opened his mouth and licked her. Softly. Tenderly.
Thoroughly.
And at the same time he shoved two fingers into her, feeling her wet walls contract against his knuckles, smelling the rise of her arousal.
She arched under him, her soft thighs thrashing restlessly, making no sound, but he knew.
He knew.
He curled the fingers inside her and stroked her wet, silky inner walls as he pulled them back.
Then he shoved them again into her, hard and firm, repeating the motion as he suckled her clitoris.
She moaned- loud in the quiet room- and pushed against him, and he felt her tremble and suddenly grow wetter. She shuddered helplessly and he was drunk on her release, his cock a heavy, near-painful throb.
He turned his head and kissed the inside of her soft thigh, listening to her pant.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“She nudged his arm to wash under it, where his dark hair grew in a swirl.
Where the scent of his masculinity was the strongest.
She shouldn't find this erotic. A lady shouldn't find this erotic.
And yet she did.
His lifted arms made the muscles move over his ribs stand out in intriguing ridges, and she wanted- rather badly, in fact- to lean down and inhale his scent.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“Her breath caught as she swept over his nipple with the cloth. Did he feel that? Did it feel any different from the rest of his skin? Did he feel as she did when cloth brushed over her bare nipples?
She dared to peek from under her lowered eyelashes.
His nostrils were flared, his eyes mere slits.
And his nipple was erect now, a sharp little peak on his chest.
It might've been from the cold of the water and the air.
Perhaps.
She washed down his side and to his waist where the coverlet lay, watching as he sucked his stomach in at her touch. There was a whorl of black hair about his navel that trailed into the depths of the sheets.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“For a moment she simply stood there in the dark corridor, her heart stopped, the duke roaring huskily behind her like some beast out of one of her childhood nightmares.
Despair wrapped chilly fingers around her throat.
Then she brought her hand before her face and looked at the ruby ring on her little finger. Delicate. Lovely. Eternal.
She breathed again.
Dyemore was no beast. No Bluebeard. No fairy-tale nightmare.
He was a man- a man in pain.
And she was going to pull herself together and help him.
She was already moving toward the stairs.
He hadn't liked the sheets. Something to do with the cedarwood scent had driven him to this crisis. Nicoletta had tried to give her the worn-out sheets- the ones not stored in the cedarwood cabinet. Therefore she needed to go down and find those sheets and return to her husband.
No, it was more than that.
Dyemore had saved her at great risk to himself, and she'd rewarded him by shooting him. He'd nearly died from that wound- continued to be ill from that wound. She owed the man.
And more still.
It didn't matter that he was maddeningly autocratic, unsmiling, and abrupt. Or even that she found him to be the tiniest bit frightening. He'd asked her about her childhood. Engaged her in discussion. Was interested in her opinions on Polybius's "Histories"- and even when he didn't agree with those opinions, he'd respected them.
His cool gray eyes as he'd watched her face during their debate had been intent and focused, as if she was the only thing he cared about at the moment. She'd had his entire attention.
And that? That was worth fighting for.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“Iris tasted of red wine- the red wine she must have drunk at dinner- and all the reasons he shouldn't do this fled his mind. A vital chain broke in his psyche and everything he'd held back, everything he'd restrained with all his might, was suddenly set free. He surged into her mouth, desperate for the feel, for the taste of her, his wife, his duchess, his Iris. She was soft and sweet and warm and he wanted to devour her. To seize her and hold her and never let her go. The deep unfathomable well of his urges toward her frightened him, and he knew that if she became aware of them, they would frighten her as well.
But that was the thing- she 'wasn't' aware of them. She thought she was simply consummating their marriage or some such rot, God help them both.
She gripped his naked arms and the beast within him shuddered and stretched, claws scraping against the ground.
Dear God, he wanted this woman.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“Come with me, sweet girl."
She blinked up at him, wide blue-gray eyes a little dazed.
He covered her mouth again before she could speak- either to consent or decline- and drew her slowly backward, step by step, toward the bed, until he hit it with the backs of his legs. He broke the kiss, looking down at her, her wet ruby lips parted, her cheeks flushed pink.
She looked edible.
"Raphael," she whispered, his name on her lips like a plea, and something within him broke.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“Iris," came a low, smoky snarl from the doorway. "Come here."
She felt Hugh's arms tighten around her as she glanced over her shoulder.
Raphael stood on the threshold, Ubertino, Bardo, and Ivo behind him. Her husband's eyes were so icy a gray that from where she stood they nearly shone.
'Oh.'
His gaze flickered from her to the man holding her. "Unhand. My. Wife."
Raphael's face was set and stern, entirely frozen over and it occurred to her- strange thought at the moment- that she'd never heard him really laugh. He'd made only that cawing sound- not joyous laughter at all. Had he ever laughed since he was a boy? Or had his father destroyed all laughter in Raphael that night?
It was a terrible thought.
Out of the corner of her eye, Iris saw Riley and Jenkins, Hugh's men, sidle closer to her and Hugh.
Raphael tracked their movement.
The potential for violence seemed suddenly very high.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“Do you remember that I said I have something to show you?"
Back when they were entering the house. Before she'd seen Hugh. Before their argument. "Yes?"
He pushed open the door to her bedroom. "Look."
She went inside and saw Valente sitting on the floor in front of her fireplace with a basket. He had a silly grin on his face.
She glanced over her shoulder to Raphael. "What-?"
Her husband tilted his chin toward Valente and the basket. "Go and see."
At the same time she heard an animal whimper.
Her lips parted and she picked up her skirts to hurry to the basket. It was lined with a soft blanket and inside was the sweetest little blond puppy, looking very sorry for itself.
Iris stared, torn. Did Raphael think a 'puppy' would be an adequate substitution for him?
The moment the puppy saw her it began whimpering and yipping, trying to climb from its wicker prison, but its legs were too short to make the attempt and it ended by falling backward, revealing that it was female.
It was hardly the puppy's fault that she was angry with Raphael.
"Oh," Iris breathed, sinking to her knees on the carpet opposite Valente. "She's perfect."
Somehow the words made tears start in her eyes again.
She picked up the puppy, which wriggled in Iris's hands until she held the small animal against her chest. The puppy promptly began licking Iris's chin with a tiny pink tongue.
Iris looked up at Raphael through her tears. "What is her name?"
He shook his head. "She has none that I know of. You must give her one."
Iris stood, cradling the still-squirming puppy carefully, and went to her husband. "Thank you."
She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the lips, trying to convey all she'd said before. All he'd pushed aside.
'Stay. Stay. Stay.'
Raphael took her arms gently and kissed her, angling his face over hers. He embraced her as if she were a lifeline.
As if he wished to remain with her forever.
The puppy yelped and he took a step back, breaking the kiss.
Drawing away from her without effort.
He walked out of the bedroom.
Iris closed her eyes to keep her sorrow and tears in. She kissed the top of the puppy's silky head and whispered in her ear, "Tansy.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“His nostrils flared just a little bit, and the lines bracketing his mouth grew deeper. He snarled with his beautiful, twisted lips and she thought, half on the edge of falling again, she thought he looked like a demon making love to her. A demon fighting for his life or light or possibly redemption.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“She had known that he could move quickly. Still it was a shock when she found herself pressed against the back of her seat, his face inches from her.
"God's blood, woman, how much control do you think I have?" he whispered, his clove-scented breath brushing her face. "You must think me a saint by the way you harangue me despite my warnings. Listen and listen well: I am no saint."
"But I don't need a saint," she breathed, her voice trembling. "I don't want a saint. I want you."
"God forgive me," he snarled, and pulled her mouth to his.
His kiss wasn't gentle. He opened her lips with his tongue, invading her angrily. Passionately. How had she ever thought this man uninterested in bedding her?
His big, hot body pressed her against the seat and he scraped his teeth over her bottom lip.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“He opened his eyes to see her licking her lips nervously. "I... er... We should remove your banyan. At least the upper portion."
If he were a man given to mirth he might've grinned then. She was playing in the flames of his control. Did she not understand her own peril?
But her blush had deepened and she was deliciously out of sorts.
He simply could not resist- either his own urges or her innocent befuddlement.
He spread his arms and said gravely, "Be my guest.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“She placed the soapy cloth on his shoulder, briskly stroking over smooth skin, trying not to notice how firm the muscles beneath her fingers were.
She kept her gaze strictly on her hand.
Still, it was impossible to ignore the elegant sweep of his collarbone, the bulge of his upper arm, the way a single vein ran along the inside of his forearm...
She realized that her hand had slowed along his arm. The room was very quiet. Nicoletta had left with the dirty water and Ubertino was somewhere, perhaps fetching more clean water. She and the duke were alone in the bedroom with her hands on his body.
She daren't raise her eyes to his.
She took his hand in hers and ran the cloth over the veins that roped the back. His fingers were long and strong, and they dwarfed hers, the nails square and pale. She carefully washed each one and then cupped his hand in hers to wash his palm. It was an intimate act. A... caring act. One a mother might perform for a child.
Or a woman might perform for her lover.
Iris caught her breath and straightened to rinse the cloth.
When she turned back her gaze caught his.
He was watching her, his crystal eyes half-lidded, his twisted lips parted.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“One gray eye opened, staring at her warily. She felt as if she were looking at a wild thing- some animal much more powerful than she, deciding whether to trust her or to devour her.
He must have made a decision, one way or the other, for he placed a heavy hand on her shoulder and stood. His face was gray, highlighting the livid scar, and she wondered what had happened to make him so wounded- both on his face and his soul.
She rose as well, keeping her shoulder under his arm, wrapping her smaller arms around his waist to steady him. "Come. It's only a little way to the bed, Your Grace."
"I prefer that you call me Raphael." When she was this close, pressed against his side, his voice seemed to resonate through her.
She glanced at him, startled, but he had his head up, his eyes straight ahead. "Then I will, if that is what you wish."
She waited for a sarcastic retort, but he merely shot her a sideways glance before climbing into the bed. He hesitated for a fraction of a second as he was laying his head on the pillow. Had she not been watching- had she not seen the breakdown only minutes before- she would have thought nothing of it.
Then it was over and he lay still. "Will you come to bed with me?”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“Have you no sense?" he snarled. "I tell you that you are 'in danger' and to stay inside the abbey, and that causes you to go tripping about the countryside?"
She tried to step back. "I merely-"
"No." He yanked her into his chest, his face within inches of hers, his breath hot on her lips. "No explanations, no excuses. I've had enough of your carelessness, madam."
Her eyes widened and for a second she was almost afraid.
Something in Raphael's face twisted and changed. "What you do to me-"
He slammed his mouth onto hers, forcing her lips apart and thrusting in his tongue.
She mewled helplessly as he bent her back over his arm. Her senses were filled with the taste of coffee and the scent of cloves and she couldn't think.
He lifted his mouth from hers so abruptly she could only stare up at him, dazed.
Then she heard the sounds of wheels on gravel.
A carriage jolted down the drive at a fast clip and halted in front of the house.
Raphael swung her to the side and partially behind him, his grip on her arm still firm.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“Iris lay there, her eyes closed, her golden hair spread on the pillow, half-turned toward him.
She must've been exhausted to have fallen asleep so swiftly.
The candlelight sent shadows spilling from the tips of her eyelashes, made her brow and cheeks glow, and left the valley between her breasts in darkness. She was so lovely it felt like a hook digging into his heart, tearing a jagged hole.
He turned and went to his traveling trunk, then knelt to open it. Inside, under a layer of folded banyans and pairs of breeches, he found his sketchbook and pencil case. Then he picked up a straight-backed chair and set it down next to the bed.
And began to put on paper what he couldn't say in words.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“God.' She'd tasted of oranges and honey and he'd felt her shake beneath his hands. He'd wanted to strip her right there in the carriage with his men riding outside.
She was driving him mad. He couldn't look at her anymore without feeling the pull. And yet he could not send her away- everything inside him rebelled at the thought. She had to stay with him so that he could protect her.
So that she could illuminate his darkness just a little.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“Tell me the truth, Raphael. Now. Tonight. No more evasions and lies. What is it you feel for me? Is it affection- or merely indifference?"
He finally moved then, snatching the sketchbook from her hand and tossing it to a chair.
He wrapped one arm around her waist and fisted her hair with the other hand, bending over her until she had to grasp those broad shoulders or fall. "Believe me, Wife, the last thing I feel for you is indifference."
Then his mouth was on hers, devouring her, his hot tongue demanding that she part her lips and let him into her depths.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“I want to be with you however you wish. I want that closeness. And I want that joy."
She lifted her chin and met his gaze- even with her cheeks aflame.
Something softened in his face. "I think you deserve much more."
She shook her head. "No. We may not have married in the conventional way- I may not have chosen to wed- but I choose you now."
A corner of his lips quirked up. "Then I'm content to take you to bed tonight, madam."
She arched an eyebrow at him pointedly. "Content?"
His lips curled even more. "Honored, thrilled, excited." He hid his mouth behind his wineglass. "There. Have I answered to your expectations?" He sipped his wine, but kept his crystal eyes on her over the rim.
She felt a jolt between her legs. He was so... compelling when he let the ice melt in his eyes. When he let himself relax into that half smile.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“He caught her and drew her against him, pressing kisses into her mouth as he murmured, "So beautiful So beautiful."
He sat up to pull the covers over them both and then he took her into his arms as he lay back down.
The fire crackled and the few candles still lit guttered and she thought, as her mind began to drift, that perhaps her feelings for her strange, dark husband might be more than just affection.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“I believe in you, my darling. I believe in you."
He closed his eyes.
And when he opened them the ice had melted. He was looking at her with tears in his crystal eyes.
"Iris, my Iris," he whispered, and drew her lips to his.
He kissed her like a man dying. Like a man taking his last breath.
As if he cherished her.
And something in Iris blossomed open and expanded in her chest and seemed so full it would make her burst. She wasn't sure she could contain this feeling, this emotion, she had for him.
Her husband.
She 'cared' for this man- rather a lot. Perhaps even 'more' than cared for him.
The thought should frighten her, but all she felt was happiness.
Happiness.
"Iris." He sounded desperate. Undone. And she realized his hands were shaking as he held her.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“He rose up suddenly and turned her, so that she lay on the bed. He pushed up her skirts, found the ties to her panniers, and yanked them off and threw them to the floor.
Then he was on her again, trailing his mouth down her neck, biting at her collarbone.
She ran her fingers into the hair at the back of his head, grasping, trying to hold on as he moved on her so intently.
He'd always been in control when he'd made love to her. Now he seemed moved by a sort of compulsion.
An animal need.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“He loved her, he knew that now. 'That' was what that longing, this never-ending want was.
How she believed in him- despite all that had happened, despite all that he was- he did not know, but he was grateful.
He angled his head, taking her sweet lips with his, drinking her succor, her faith in him. She was his light, his hope, guiding the way out of the depths of his Stygian despair.
"Iris," he murmured against her wet lips, "my radiant wife, my love, my life. I promise I will try to live up to your belief in me. I do not think I can do otherwise, for I would repine and die were I to leave you. I would be blind and alone, howling in the darkness. I would go mad without you."
He captured her mouth again, forcing her lips open, sliding his tongue into her, claiming her as his own.
Dark to light.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“She leaned forward, her expression determined. "Do you mean to sleep with me tonight?"
He looked at her.
She was like a dog that would not leave a bone. She sat across from him in his mother's old yellow dress- the same dress she'd worn ever since he'd risen from his sickbed. He couldn't wait to clothe her in brocades and velvets. To present her with everything she deserved as his duchess.
Now her rose-pink lips were pressed into a line as she awaited his answer, her brows drawn together. She watched him very seriously.
And dear God, he wanted to kiss her. To pull her from her chair and taste her sweet mouth again. To make love to her until she gasped and panted.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“Raphael walked into the breakfast room at the unfashionable hour of half past nine the next morning and kissed his aunt on her soft cheek. "Good morning, Zia."
"Up at last," was her tart reply as she peered at him over her gold spectacles.
The remains of Zia Lina's breakfast was already on the table, and he knew well that she'd probably been awake for over an hour.
"Perhaps I've grown soft," he said, sitting across from her.
Or perhaps he'd woken to silken limbs and a tangle of golden hair and simply wanted to linger for a while in that warm feminine embrace.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“Late that afternoon Raphael stood at the window of his study, looking out over the back of his garden. He could see small blue flowers blooming along the gravel paths, but for the life of him he could not recall what their name was.
Somehow he knew that Iris would be able to name the tiny blue flowers.
He pushed the thought aside. He'd lived over thirty years without Iris in his life and never felt the lack. Yet now she was gone merely hours and he was gazing out the window, mooning after her.
He could shove her from his mind.
He must shove her from his mind.
But he still saw her tearstained face. Heard her pleading with him. Remembered her saying, "I love you."
He closed his eyes.
She was haunting him.
It was as if she were in his blood now, a part of him as surely as the veins running under his skin, the lungs that let him breathe air. She'd permeated him until he could no more separate her from himself than tear the heart from his body.
She was essential to his life.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire