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“There was a fire in the grate, too far away for Lara to feel its heat. Goose bumps rose on her chilled skin. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to obey, taking one step, then another, the fine Aubusson carpet prickling beneath her bare feet. As she came near him, the firelight shone through the transparent black silk. She knew he could see everything, the flashes of ivory skin, the shape of her body, the dark triangle between her legs.
Her face burned as she stopped before him.
Hunter sat like a statue, his face and hair dappled with light from the dancing flames. "Oh, Lara," he said softly. "You're so damned beautiful, I..." He stopped and swallowed, as if it were difficult for him to speak. His faint smile had died away, and he set aside the wine bottle as if his fingers had become nerveless. He barely seemed to breathe as his gaze swept from her bare feet to her breasts, lingering at the pink tips that strained against the delicate lace.
The room no longer seemed cold, but Lara continued to tremble.
"I made a promise not to touch you," he said hoarsely, "but I'll be damned if I can keep it.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Stranger in My Arms

“For purely psychological reasons, have at least one ultra-glamorous negligee to wear when you're not feeling well. You can feel like the heroine of a Victorian novel being pampered and loved and fed chocolate creams on a horsehair sofa.”
― Anne Fogarty, Wife Dressing: The Fine Art of Being a Well-Dressed Wife

“Last night she'd dared to put on a scandalous garment Helen had given her for the honeymoon. It couldn't really be called a nightgown- in fact, there was hardly enough of it to qualify even as a chemise. It was made of pomegranate-red silk and gauze, fastening in the front with a few coquettish ribbon ties. Helen had used a French word for it... ²Ô±ð²µ±ô¾±²µÃ©±ð... and had assured her it was exactly the kind of thing husbands liked.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra