The real question is, can you love the real me? Not the perfect person you want me to be, not that image you had of me, but who I really am.

Cute? You think he's cute? What's cute about him? ... Well, yes. He's got that smile, that really bad boy smile, and a great backside. On page eighty of the relationship manual, it clearly states, you cannot look at another man's backside, especially if you think it's great.

Do you have a camera?" Jackson asked. "We could get some pictures and may be take a print or two if we're lucky." Jonas shook his head. "We'd probably get a bunch of ghosts and that would just freak me out.

I just want some time, Mikhail, to think things through. It’s frightening, the way I am about you. I think about you every minute; I want to touch you, just to know I can, to feel you beneath my fingers. It’s as if you crawled into my head and my heart, even my body, and I can’t get you out.

She didn't want soft and gentle. She needed his rough possession, claiming her, branding her, taking her in a firestorm of heat and flame that would end the world around them, leaving them nothing but ashes, clean and fierce and forever welded together.

I am not going to say you are right because I could not take it if you smirked." "I do not smirk," Vikirnoff claimed. "Yes, you do. And I detest that after all these centuries, you are making sense. Frankly, its scary." "It is only that you are not making sense sunce you acquired a lifemate. I hope that does not happen to all men. It would be a shame." "Your sense of humor is not improving," Nicolae pointed out dryly. "I do not have a sense of humor." Vikirnoff answered. "I had not noticed," Nicolae teased.

She stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were dark, almost black, filled with pain. She'd let someone do that to her. She'd known all along she felt things too deeply. She became attached. She didn't want a lover who could walk away from her, because she could never do that - love someone completely and survive intact if her left her.