I think that its out very differences that make us a perfect match,” he said, and his jaw moved under his fingertips. “You’d die of boredom with Thomas within a year. If I found a lady with a temper similar to mine, we’d tear each other apart within months. You and I, though, we’re like bread and butter.”She snorted. “That’s romantic.””Hush,” he said, his voice quivering with laughter, but also with an undertone of gravity. She cradled his jaw as he said, “Bread and butter. The bread provides stability for the butter; the butter gives taste to the bread. Together they’re perfect.” Her eye brows drew together. “I’m the bread, aren’t I?””Sometimes.” His voice was a thread of rumbled sound, low and ominous. She could feel his words as they drifted over her palm. “And sometimes I’m the bread and you’re the butter. But we go together–you understand that, don’t you?
― Elizabeth Hoyt,
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