He wore jeans and a t-shirt that outlined his lean frame.
As the two stared each other down, she wasn.t sure who had the better chance of winning: Gabriel, an Immortal sworn to serve Death, or Darkyn, the leader of all the demons in Hell.
He was muscular and tall, clothed in dark jeans, a snug grey T-shirt that hugged his biceps and stretched across his chest and back and then sagged at his slender torso and hips, and a round black medallion that fell from his T-shirt as he leaned over her.
That's Roman wormwood--that's pigweed--that's sorrel--that's piper-grass--have at him, chop him up, turn his roots upward to the sun, don't let him have a fibre in the shade, if you do he'll turn himself t' other side up and be as green as a leek in two days.
His warm hands slid under her jacket and explored her back through her T-shirt.
T-shirt, sweater, gloves.
His visitor wore a T-shirt and had hair the color of last night's sunset.
He wore nothing more than a T-shirt and jeans.
Shaking her head, she pulled out a t-shirt and jeans, tossing them on the bed.
His back was to her, his arms crossed, and his t-shirt stretched tightly across his thick back and shoulders.
He wore jeans and a snug t-shirt that outlined his muscular frame.
Any other day, she'd have stared at his hard body and the way his jeans hugged his muscular thighs and the round globes of his backside, or the T-shirt that fit so well.
"Don't have time, don't want the drama," he replied and swiped his T-shirt from the ground.
She wore a T-shirt and shorts that revealed her shapely, soft legs.
He wore a snug T-shirt that displayed the roped forearms covered in tattoos.
The jeans, T-shirt, and sandals would suffice.
She wore jeans and a T-shirt, and her blonde hair fanned out over a pillow.
Damian pulled off his sweater to reveal a black T-shirt and tucked weapons into his cargo pants, boots, and pockets.
"Han said you were out doing battle last night," she said, noticing the shredded T-shirt on the floor.
Curly brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she wore jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt that was tight over her swollen belly.
There were no trench coats outside of the underworld he'd consider wearing, but he pulled on a soft black t-shirt and strapped a few sheaths to his body.
Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, he resembled a college student on break.
He was out of place, a bright light in the corner of the dimly lit room, dressed casually in jeans, T-shirt and hiking boots.
With a sigh, she cleaned up the area as well as she could and pulled off the sweater, as it was warm enough in the study with her T-shirt.
They gazed at each other for a long moment, her shock and exhaustion too deep to fear the man who radiated power and control, even in a simple T-shirt.
Jeans and T-shirt, Kris, really?
He whipped off his T-shirt and wrapped Katie's arm.
He wore all black, though he was dressed more simply than she'd seen him, in dark jeans and a black long-sleeved T-shirt and heavy boots.
The Amazonian picked out a couple of T-shirts, her thick upper arms exposed in the tank top and jeans.
Hours later, she dropped onto the plush guest bed, clad in a T-shirt and underwear after a hot shower.
She flushed and pulled her T-shirt over her bare legs, resting her chin on her knees.
Even when she knew she was dreaming, she couldn.t wake herself up or shake the fear that this time, Rhyn wasn.t going to come.
He wasn.t backing down.
"This isn.t right," she said, her throat tightening.
Can.t we just run away, right now?
I couldn.t live if I lost you.
He hadn.t left her.
Nothing safer than hanging out with someone who can.t be killed.
Her running partner, Ully, wasn.t there.
"I haven.t seen you since we arrived," she said.
His grip tightened around her, but he didn.t bite her.
She.d lose her sister, her only family, and Rhyn hadn.t yet proven he could keep her safe.
"You can.t say it," he said, satisfaction in his voice.
"You didn.t get your kiss," she objected, her blood humming with need and frustration.
You weren.t joking.
TO MR. CHARLES T. COPELAND December 20, 1900.
This story, "Frost Fairies," appeared in a book written by Miss Margaret T. Canby, entitled "Birdie and his Fairy Friends."
The Frost Fairies [From "Birdie and his Fairy Friends"] by Margaret T. Canby
Bianca put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
He quickly changed her out of her clothes and into one of his own long T-shirts, fearing her clothing would be bugged.
Unlike the others dressed for a white tie event, he was dressed in leather pants with a tight black Pearl Jam T-shirt, his hair braided, a chain from his spiked belt to his wallet, and heavy black boots.
Doubtful the model's clothes would fit, Sofia moved deeper into the bathroom to dress in jeans too long for her petite frame and a t-shirt too snug to be comfortable.
The old man began to sing, in the cracked voice of old age: Malbrook s'en va-t-en guerre.
There she changed into jeans, a T-shirt and sneakers.
A tall, toned woman who looked like she did Pilates for a living stood in the hall in tight black leather pants and a tight pink T-shirt that drew attention to her large breasts.