I'm highly aware that some impulses are harder to ignore than others. I'm aware that fear of consequences causes us to guard our secrets. But it's our actions when faced with temptation that define who we are. It's our courage in admitting what we've done wrong that makes us forgivable.

I cast a glance in my new admirer's direction. "You may call me Your Highness," I said. "Or Empress Beauty." He chuckled. I wasn't kidding.

I'd stood my ground against him. I wasn't going to jump when he said jump. I was more likely to give him the finger.

Apparently, dancing for him and throwing herself at him weren't enough. Apparently, she had to nearly commit murder to arouse him enough to attack her.

„You,” the female on the bed said, her timbre shaded with irrittion. „New guy. Angel Boy. Colonel Curls, or whatever you want to be called. I'm done asking, so now I'm commanding. Free me.

Have you ever seen a witness? That's what she called herself. Not a ghost, those don't exist, and not an angel, those do, but a witness." "No." "Ever heard the term?" "Outside of a legal trial, no.

I’ll carry you over my shoulder if I must, just as I did last night. If I’m forced to do it, however, I cannot guarantee you’ll make it out of this cell with your clothes on. Understand? ------ It appears I am the one who will not make it out of here with my clothes on.