Yanking his inner manwhore back to the land of polite conversating, he forced his hands to stop

I miss you.…” He stroked the indentation of the gown where her waist would have been—should have been. “I miss you so much.

[Devina] “You know, Adrian, you ever get bored with being a Goody Two-shoes, you could come over to my side.” “Because you have cookies, right.” Those black eyes returned to his own. “And so much more.” “Well, I’m on a diet. Sorry—but thanks for the invite.

Rule number four for me as a writer? Plotlines are like sharks: They either keep moving or they die. ~J.R. Ward

Giving in to a shrill instinct, she ran around the side of the building. Butch was marching toward his car as if he were carrying an unstable load, and she rushed to catch up with them. “Wait. I need to ask him a question.” “You want to know his shoe size or something?” Butch snapped. “Fourteen,” Wrath drawled. “I’ll remember that at Christmas, asshole.

What are the rules," The cop said. "There are none." Vishous spread his stance and braced himself. "Do whatever you want...but you have to break me. You've got to tear me apart.

I’m talking to you more than I speak with my mahmen.” “I thought your mother was dead.” “She is.” “You have a very low standard for communication.