You aren't worried are you?" "Why should I be worried? It's just another day in the neighborhood. You know - bombs, fires, people shooting at you. Why should I be worried? Especially since we could be clothes shopping or boarding a plane. I'm not in the least worried." "Hmmm," he mused allowed. "I read about this in the relationship manual. It's called womanly sarcasm and usually means a man is in deep trouble.

You’re mine, Isabeau. You’ll always be mine. Make no mistake about it. Whether you choose to forgive me and give us a second chance, or you don’t, you’ll be my only.

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

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

Have you ever heard of a condom? Don't Carpathians have condoms? Because I'm thinking that if you're all that worried, a condom might be just the thing." His smile was slow in coming. "I had not thought of that. As a rule Carpathians do not need such things.

And maybe that was love. Being so vulnerable and allowing someone else in so far they could hurt you, but they also give you everything.

He wanted to wake up every morning to her. Go to sleep with his body wrapped tightly around hers. He wanted her to have his child—his children. He knew he wanted to live out the rest of his life with her by his side and when he died, he wanted to die in her arms.