Sarah MacLean
Sarah MacLean
Sarah MacLeanis a New York Times bestselling American author of young adult novels and romance novels. Her first adult romance novel, Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake debuted on the New York Times Bestseller List, where it stayed for four weeks. Since February 2014, MacLean has written a monthly romance novel review column for The Washington Post. She is a two-time winner of the Romance Writers of America RITA Award for Best Historical Romance for A Rogue by...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionAuthor
Date of Birth17 December 1978
CountryUnited States of America
She took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling for a long moment. A raindrop moved slowly down her neck; he watched as it turned down the slope of her breast to disappear inside the collar of her shirt. He was seriously contemplating becoming jealous of a droplet of water. Yorkshire was obviously damaging to his sanity.
Why now? Why not wait for a man to come along and…sweep you off your feet?” She gave a short laugh. “If the man you speak of had ever planned on coming, my lord, I’m afraid he has obviously lost his way. And, at twenty-eight, I find I have grown tired of waiting.
He was struck dumb at the words though he should not be surprised; his wife kept him in a perpetual state of speechlessness.
Benedick looked to the ceiling as though begging for divine patience. Or for the Lord to strike his sister down. Callie couldn’t quite discern which.
Fortuitous mostly for me,Lady Holloway," she said, her gaze steadfast on her husband. "For without our being childhgood neighbors, I am certain that my husband woud never have found me." Michael's gaze lit with admiration, and he lifted his glass in her direction. "At some point I would have realized what I was missing, darling. An I would have come looking for you.
I've loved him for a decade. And I had him for one day before I made a complete and utter mess of things. Or he did. I'm still not sure about that.
do not like this taste for adventure you have developed, sister.” “I am afraid I cannot guarantee I shall be rid of it anytime soon.
She had wanted more than she could have. She had wanted him, and more... she had wanted him to want her. In the name of something bigger than tradition, bolder than reputation, more important than a silly title.
Even as she’d come to know the real Ralston—the Ralston who was not cut from heroic cloth—Callie had failed to see the truth. And, instead of seeing her own heartbreak coming, she had fallen in love, not with her fantasy, but with this new, flawed Ralston.
It didn’t matter the quality of the writing— Callie’s fantasies about her fictional heroes were entirely democratic.
How could she go on without him? And, at the same time, how could she go on knowing that every moment of their time together had meant so little to him
In fiction, as in real life, love might inspire acts that are at best foolish and at worst life-threatening, but in the best romances, love is the final, secret ingredient that turns mere mortals into heroes and heroines.
So what's your second suggestion?" "Tread lightly." "That's it? That's the best advice you can give me?" "All right, tread very lightly.
But it didn't stop him from loving her just a little. From loving all women-all shapes, all sizes, all walks of life. Their soft skin and softer curves, the way they gasped and giggled and sighed, the way the wealthy ones played their coy games, and the less fortunate ones looked at him, stars in their eyes, eager for his attention. Women were, without a doubt, the Lord's finest creation. And, at twenty-three, he had plans for a lifetime of worshipping them.