His feelings for her were as genuine as hers for him.
His somber gaze met hers and then drifted to her lips.
His warm lips found hers as he pulled her close.
He slowly lowered his head, and when his lips touched hers, they were warm and firm.
His big hand engulfed hers gently, yet his grip was strong.
Strong warm fingers touched her hand and a palm slid under hers, forcing her hands apart.
She reaches out and touches the leaves, and the world of growing things is hers, as truly as it is ours, to enjoy while she holds the leaves in her fingers and smells the blossoms, and to remember when the walk is done.
"I'll lock the door," he said, his lips returning to hers and lingering in a way that made her feel weak.
His solemn gaze searched hers for a moment before he spoke.
Indeed, I feel that the success is hers more than mine; for she is my constant inspiration....
But to the old countess those contemporaries of hers seemed to be the only serious and real society.
He pulled her close in an embrace, his lips warm against hers in response to her silent query.
Gathering her in his arms, he pulled her close - his lips seeking hers hungrily.
Since she was not home, they set her portion of the meal aside for later.
Alex pulled her too him, his lips seeking hers hungrily.
Alex's mouth twisted into a wry smile and the dark eyes that sought hers held a trace of humor.
His gaze bored into hers, immediately identifying the source of her apprehension.
He lifted the cup to take a sip and his eyes met hers accusatively.
The moment his lips touched hers, she was wide awake.
Only this time his lips left hers and wandered to her neck, sending her heartbeat into frenzy.
After a few words about Princess Mary and her late father, whom Malvintseva had evidently not liked, and having asked what Nicholas knew of Prince Andrew, who also was evidently no favorite of hers, the important old lady dismissed Nicholas after repeating her invitation to come to see her.
Beside his problems, hers seemed trivial.
She used a few combs to pull hers into a French bun.
Neither did she, but she wasn't claiming that they were hers, either.
Immediately his gaze riveted on hers, searching for every emotion.
He released her hand, but his eyes still held hers in a hypnotic trance that made her think of Dracula.
He nodded, the topaz eyes probing hers suspiciously.
Yet, one backward glance at the hard lines of the face over hers reminded her that there was more than the gentle side to him.
One hand on her waist, the other holding hers lightly, he gracefully swept her around.
His warm lips left hers and started down her neck, forcing a moan from hers.
His lips found hers, warm and searching for a response.
"And because," Pierre continued, "only one who believes that there is a God ruling us can bear a loss such as hers and... yours."
She only felt a soft hand taking hers firmly, and she touched with her lips a white forehead, over which was beautiful light- brown hair smelling of pomade.
His large, glittering, masculine eyes were so close to hers that she saw nothing but them.
Slowly he lowered his head to hers and his lips found hers - warm and questioning.
She had created this problem and now it was hers to face alone.
She snuggled close to him and his lips found hers again.
His piercing gaze held hers for a moment, and then his expression softened ever so slightly.
Hers wasn't the only life that had nearly been taken today.
As his fingers traced a warm tingly path to the back of her dress, hers traced his lips.
Instead, he assisted her, his lips seeking hers urgently all the while.
She left him there to think about his actions - only he would probably stew on hers instead.