I was stunned to see that he looked stunned himself, which was an exorbitant display of emotion for Barrons.

I flash him number seventeen of my thirty-five Looks of Death.

He gives me a look that says, “Dude, if I knew that do you think I’d have enlisted your puny help?” I snicker. “Something funny here.” “You. All prickly and pissed ’cause there’s something you don’t know. Got to call on the megaservices of the Mega.” “Ever occur to you I’m using you for reasons your inferior human brain can’t begin to understand.

Gazelles didn't lie down with lions, at least not unbloodied and alive.

And then what? Said, 'Oh, I'm so sorry, Ms. Lane, I didn't mean to wrinkle your lovely blouse. May I press that for you?' Or perhaps you gouged it with one of your pretty pink nails?" I was really beginning to wonder what his hang-up with pink was, but I didn't resent the sarcasm in his voice.

If you're trying to force the story to be a straight up romance, it's going to be weird for you.

One day you will kiss a man you can't breathe without, and find that breath is of little consequence.