Strangely enough, it wasn’t Gabe who was haunting my thoughts, though. That job belonged to a pair of sinfully black eyes that had lost their edge when they studied me, turning as soft and sultry as silk.

I shouldn't have been looking at lingerie. It naturally made me think about sexy things. Like kissing. Like Patch.

I love you more than I think I should.

Wow. Nice bike,” I said. Which was a lie. It looked like a glossy black death trap.

I'm not good," he said, piercing me with eyes that absorbed all light but reflected none, "but I was worse.

I already know my size. I don't need reminding.

I’m not going anywhere near a motel with you.