He didn't see anything." She rolled to her feet. "I was in your bed! We could have scarred him for life!" "Grace, we weren't doing anything. Well, I wasn't. You were snoring." "I don't--" She smoothed her dress down and searched out her sandals, shoving her feet into them. She glanced at herself in the mirror over his dresser and groaned. Hair, wild. Lips, swollen. Face, flushed. Nipples, hard. "Dammit!" She clapped her hands over them. "It's like they're broken!

Half the people in Lucky Harbor were in love with him. The other half were men and didn't count. -Tara on Ford

You had a package. It was torn, so I looked in.” She lifted one of a stack of firefighter calendars, with his own mug and half-naked body on the cover. “Nice,” she said, a ghost of a smile crossing her lips. “Mr. 2008.” He bit back a sigh. “It’s for charity.” “And you definitely contributed.

Smile. it's the second best thing you can do with your lips.

Accept that some days you’re the bug, and some days you’re going to be the windshield.

Oh boy. His chest was smooth and warm and hard as stone, and she wanted to both touch and nibble. And lick. Could she pretty please lick?

Who’s there?” “The scratcher of your itch,” he said. She opened the door a crack and stuck her nose out. “Was that supposed to be romantic?