It was a strange thing, this feeling of empathy. He'd never experienced it before. He realized that what hurt this woman hurt him as well, that what made her bleed caused a hemorrhage of pain within his soul.

I pretty much started out writing full time. I was an at-home mom and when my youngest entered kindergarten, I started writing. I was 35, and before that I really hadn't written at all. Which means, I guess, that a) it's never too late to start a writing career (or any career you really want) and b) it's OK to get to your mid-30s and still not know what you want to be when you grow up.

Good.” He straddled her, caging her with his body. “Were it up to me, all of London would know what we do here. -Griffin to Hero.

All her life she'd been warned that men were slaves to their desires, that they held their impulses in barely controlled check. A woman--a lady--must be very, very careful of her actions so she did not put spark to the gunpowder that was a man's libido.

Do you love me Hero?" His pale green eyes were full of torment. "Do you love me like I love you?

Dear God. She ached, wanting something that she knew was a sin. Wanting a man who was sin itself.

Every word you have ever uttered, is engraved upon my heart. -Lazarus to his mother.