Of course.” She fluffed her hair. “I don’t want to brag, but I’m very high maintenance.” “Uh, I think low maintenance is what’s desirable.” “Low maintenance is what’s forgettable. You might want to write that down, underline it, circle it and put a star by it. It’s golden.” With barely a breath, she added, “Now let’s find out if we’re compatible, shall we?
Gena ShowalterOnce I learned, I went online and ordered every romance novel I could find. They're fairy tales for grown-ups.
Gena ShowalterBeing with a man incapable of telling a lie – a whole lot of awesome. Being with a man who could taste when you lied – sucked the big one.
Gena ShowalterThis means nothing,” she said. “Less than nothing,” he lied. “I’ll hate myself later.” “I hate myself now.
Gena ShowalterYou are mine,” he rasped. “Only ever mine. I accept all that you are, and we can be together.
Gena ShowalterI'm not sure why we want each other," she grumbled. "Nor am I, but the fact remains that we do want each other." "Maybe I'm just shallow. You're quite pretty." "For now, that will do." Infuriating man. Couldn't take an insult the way she intended. -Annabelle and Zacharel
Gena ShowalterYes, you make yourself useful, angel boy. Meanwhile, I’ll be in the bathroom.” William’s jet-black hair was dripping wet and plastered to his face. There was a fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist, displaying muscles that rivaled Paris’s own, and a tattooed treasure map that led to his man junk. Looking at his, you could see the makings of a temper so savage anyone who miraculously survived an encounter with him would end up needing therapy. And diapers. “I’ve got to finish deep conditioning my hair.” Or maybe not so savage.
Gena Showalter