Age had taught him patience. Youth had taught me to get frustrated at the lack of progress.

…well just call me Hannibal Lecter. With cleavage.

You hold the ones you love close and fight the battles you can win, and that, Kitten, is how it is.

Beautiful and diabolical. You make me impatient indeed to claim you.

I was sitting cross-legged in bed, trying without success to pretend I'd misunderstood the image I'd glimpsed. Yeah, right. Because Vlad had been between my legs looking for a set of keys he'd lost.

People can perfect whatever facade they want, but everyone holds their sins close to their skin.

I'd address his way of trying to discourage Ian later. After all, he could have come up with something other than saying I was a whiny, smelly, trumpet-snoring bad lay.