His thumb went back and forth over the satin, as if he were rubbing her hip as he had when they'd been together, and he moved his leg over so that it was on top of the skirting. It wasn't the same, though. There was no body underneath, and the fabric smelled like lemons, not her skin. And he was, after all, alone in this room that was not theirs. "God, I miss you," he said in a voice that cracked. "Every night. Every day.

I cannae believe you let me touch you.” His voice grew hoarse. “I shall remember this for all my nights.” Tears speared into her eyes. Dearest Virgin Scribe, for all her life, she had waited for a moment like this…. “Do not cry.” His thumb went to her cheeks. “Beautiful female of worth, do not cry.

But every once in a while, from out of the blue, someone reaches the quiet place where you spend your private time and changes the way you see yourself

The weight of the dead was heavier than the pounds of the body.

Too late Bella. Now, it's too late. Show me.

Yeah, but going by that cold tone of voice, she had to wonder whether the best-laid plans of mice and vampires, blah, blah, blah...

When I want you to beg, I'll tell you.