My breathing was shallow and my hands were fists. 'Oh, yes, I'm going to have to kill you Barrons.' I said coolly, Partly because, for the most miniscule sliver of an instant, while looking at those handcuffs, I'd imagined myself climbing back into bed and pretending I wasn't cured yet.

I was in Cancun, Mexico, sitting in a disappearing-edge swimming pool, on a bar stool that was actually under the water, watching palm trees sway in a sultry breeze against the unmistakable aqua splendor of the Caribbean Sea; drinking coconut, lime, and tequila from a scooped-out pineapple, with salt spray of breaking surf and sun kissing my skin. Translation: I'd died and gone to heaven.

You can't go forward if you're looking backward. You run into walls that way.

Never underestimate a well-dressed bimbo.

Kid, you might just annoy me into killing you.

His coworker was velvety-skinned, a sexy boy-on-the-cusp-of man.

Beautiful women rarely possess sufficient depth of character to survive without their pretty feathers.