We have to actually choose a name," Kane murmured above her head. "We can't keep calling him 'baby.' When he's fifteen he might resent it.

You're the kind of man my mother warned me about.

He tasted passion. He tasted emotion. He tasted a world he’d never imagined, one he could never enter. It was right there in front of him, suddenly open to him. Unexpected. Exciting. Scary.

Are you going to win every argument?" He was pretty certain he'd asked her that once before. May be twice. "Only the important ones.

But I'm not any better at relationships than you are. We'll find our way together, even if we're fumbling around in the dark for a while.

I have traveled all over the world and gone to the highest peaks, and the densest jungles. The Carpathain Mountians will always be my homeland, but my home is a woman. Solange Sangria. You are home to me. Your body is my home. Your mind. Your heart and soul. It matters little to me where we are.

Everyone knows ladies love Cajuns. It's in our blood and our language is the language of romance." "Your language is the language of bullshit. You're just a couple of good ole boys with pretty faces. Women just ought to know better.