A fiction writer is never entirely alone. Her characters are constantly whispering in her ear.

They were like two pieces of a failed star, drawn together by a shared history and a memory of illicit kisses.

I've found it wise to enjoy any time of truce, while recognizing it for what it is. A truce.

Whoa, Rebecca," Talia said smiling even wider, "Walking on the wild side, are we?" Raisa seemed to think the situation needed more explaining. "He - uh - I'm tutoring him." "She is," Han said solemnly. "She's very good. I'm learning a lot." Pearlie snickered. "What's she teaching you?" "Well," Han said, "we're jumping around a lot.

And, like a fool, she kissed him back. Kissed him a way that would leave no doubt about the way she felt about him. Kissed him because she knew the chances were slim she'd have very many kisses like that in her lifetime. Which is a sad thing when you're only seventeen.

She had never felt more alive than when she lay dying in Han Alister's arms.

But I don't want your throne." "Then what do you want?" "You.