A man’s got to keep up appearances. I’ll be universally detested if everyone realizes how perfect you are.

Did you know I dream about your hair? I use to say it was the color of the sun at sunset, but I'm wrong. It's brighter than the sun, just as you are.

Turn right up ahead," he directed. "It'll take us directly to my cottage." She did as he asked. "Does your cottage have a name?" "My Cottage." "I might have known," she muttered. He smirked. Quite a feat, in her opinion, since he looked sick as a dog. "I'm not kidding," he said. Sure enough, in another minute they pulled up in front of an elegant country house, complete with a small, unobtrusive sign in front reading, MY COTTAGE

Never," he spat out, "kick a man who is pointing a gun at you.

He'd been waiting for a love fraught with passion and drama; it hadn't even occurred to him that true love might be something that was utterly comfortable and just plain easy.

Gregory,” she said, “you cannot leave me here. What if someone finds you and removes you from the house? Who will know I am here? And what if…and what if…and then what if…” He smiled, enjoying her officiousness too much to actually listen to her words. She was definitely herself again. “When this is all over,” he said, “I shall bring you a sandwich.” That stopped her short. “A sandwich? A sandwich?

Caroline Trent hadn't meant to shoot Percival Prewitt, but she had, and now he was dead. Or at least she thought he was dead.