If we hooked up, he could write me ballads and stuff. You gotta admit, nothing's sexier than a guy who writes music.

All I can think about is bed.” “We’re sharing the same thought.” “You’re thinking about bed too?” “I’m thinking about YOU in MY bed.

You should shower," I said. "Right now." "I smell that bad?" (Patch) Actually, he smelled that good.

My arms hurt from how tightly Patch held me. “Now that’s what I call a scream,” he said, grinning at me.

I could get you to smile like that, and without sales tax." I whirled around to find the real Patch standing in the fitting room behind me. He was wearing jeans and a snug white tee. His arms were folded loosely over his chest, and his black eyes smiled down at me. Heat that wasn't entirely uncomfortable flushed through my body. "I could make all kinds of pervert jokes right now," I quipped.

Your past wouldn’t frighten me,” I said, buckling my seat belt across my lap. “I’m guessing I’d be more appalled than anything.

Vee said," I'm trying to read the title he's holding…hang on…How to Be a Stalker." "He is not checking out a book with that title." But I wasn't so sure. "It's either that of How to Radiate Sexy Without Trying.