Y.S. Lee

“For several moments, Mary couldn't hear anything over the violent pounding of her pulse.”

“Read as widely and as deeply as you can. You have to be a reader before you can be a writer.”

“Calmly, slowly, she reached behind with her left hand and came up against — yes, fabric. Fine linen, to be precise. So far, so good: she was inside a wardrobe, after all. The only problem was that this linen was oddly warm. Body warm. Beneath the tentative pressure of her palm, it seemed to be moving...With terrifying suddenness, an ungloved hand clamped roughly over her nose and mouth. A long arm pinned her arms against her sides. She was held tightly against a hard, warm surface."Hush," whispered a pair of lips pressed to her left ear. "If you scream, we are both lost.”

“I’m so sorry. I don’t think the etiquette manuals cover this sort of situation.” He leaned in close, his lips all but grazing her neck, and inhaled. “Mmm. You smell good, too.”She nearly choked. Took a step backwards, until her back met cold stone. “Th-thank you.”“That’s better. May I kiss you?” His finger dipped into her shirt collar, stroking the tender nape of her neck.“I d-don’t th-think that’s a good idea.”“Why not? We’re alone.” His hands were at her waist.Her lungs felt tight and much too small. “Wh-what if somebody comes in?”He considered for a moment. “Well, I suppose they’ll think I fancy grubby little boys.”

“He smiled. "I suppose I thought we'd have a madly impractical, terrifyingly modern sort of marriage. One based on love. Not to mention dangerous undertakings and hair's-breadth escapes from burning buildings, high ledges and exploding sewers.""And bickering.""Always that, yes.""Assuming I want to marry at all.""True. I know of no good way of forcing you to do anything.""And you're mad enough to think it could work - one day?"He cupped her face in his hands. His smile was so brilliant it seemed to illuminate the room. "I think it would be heaven."She trembled, then. "You have a very strange idea of heaven.""Kiss me and see.”