I can smell you, Ms. Lane," he said, even more softly. "The only blood on you is from your veins, not your womb." My head whipped to the left and I stared at him. Ok, that was one of the more disturbing things he'd ever said to me.

What are you? A man with a rope? Ha-ha.

You've been doing something bad since the moment you met me, lass.

I'm a bartender. I like recipes. They're concretes. Was the drink recipe for seduction one shot charm and two shots self-deception, shaken, not stirred?

The wound you refuse to dress is one that will never heal. You gush lifeblood and never even know why. It will make you weak at a critical moment when you need to be strong.

How dare the embodiment of her worst nightmare come packaged as her hottest fantasy?

He didn't just occupy space; he saturated it. The room had been full of books before, now it was full of him.