Her perfume or soap or whatever it was reminded him of sandalwood and something else. Oh, right...orgasms.

Nothing that passes between us will ever be wrong. Come back to me.

But then, gifts are like beauty, are they not. It is in the eye of the recipient that they find their seat, not in the hand of the giver.

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.

We also mark what's ours. And as I'm not going to see you for twelve hours, I think I'll leave a little more all over you.

The smile he gave her was wistful, just a little lift to his mouth. "You are a fighter." ""Yes. Always. And sometimes I'm a whole army.

May I take your vein for a moment? I find myself... curiously depleted" Okay, right. Talk about your Johnny-on-the-spots: He locked them in and all but tore off his arm and threw it at her.