Jonas. Their rock. Shattered into so many shards. Holding himself together through the sheer force of will.

I write for the love of writing. If I never published another book, I would still be writing stories.

Then I guess we cannot miss the famous festival in New Orleans," he found himself saying, just to take the shadows from her eyes. She was silent a moment, her fingers twisting in the blanket. "Do you mean it, Gregori? We can go?" "You know how much I love crowds of humans," he said, straight-faced. She laughed at him. "They don't bite." "I do," he said, the words low and soft, his silver gaze at once possessive.

King-sized? It would take up all my space. I need wide-open spaces." She glanced at Kane for help, but he was rolling around on a matress and moaning in a loud, orgasmic manner. She rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh.

I have to figure out why I worked at a job I hated for years. I have to find out why I can’t see what everyone else sees in me. I don’t feel beautiful. When I look in the mirror, I never saw beautiful. For this to happen to someone like me, it’s devastating, Jonas. I don’t want you to think it’s vanity, it isn’t. I can’t see me and I need to be able to do that. I need to find out what I’m like and what I want. I have to be comfortable in my own skin before I can be in a relationship the way you want.

There was a certain feminine satisfaction in having the last word, delivering her line smartly, and breaking the connection between them quickly and decisively.

My camping days are over, but I might consider glamping.