A little bit of Crash Test…
I’m revising right now. :)
Her lips curved into a smile, the heated adrenaline she always felt when presented with a battle spreading through her chest, her limbs. “You need me. Say it.”
“No. If I’m going to even consider doing this, you admit it. To me, and to yourself. You never would back then, but now…now I’m not a scared college student trying to hold onto my position at school.” She met his eyes without flinching. “Admit that you need me.”
“You were never a scared college student,” he bit out. “You were an angry one. Angry you’d been caught out and desperate to do anything to keep it secret.”
“Well, now you’re sounding a little desperate.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and cocked her hip to the side. “So, at least say please.”
His lip curled into a sneer, a muscle in his jaw ticking. He was weighing his options. “Please.”
She titled her chin up and smiled, the sort of smile she knew would make his blood boil. “Good boy.”
Remembrance (Jude Deveraux)
I cannot begin to tell you how much I agree with this. It infuriates me that there is a general conception that women are so moronic and infantile that they cannot separate fiction from reality, and that the reading of romance will somehow create the expectation that a duke/spy/SEAL/vampire is our only viable romantic partner, and anything less will result in a catastrophic mental collapse. I’m looking at you, Flaubert.
Women know the difference between fiction and reality. What romance does is teach us the value of valuing ourselves, and I refuse to be ridiculed for that.