Everyone striving to be witty and sought-after, everyone talking and no one listening.

Annabelle gave him a chiding smile. “If you’re implying that I’m spoiled, I assure you that I am not.” “You should be.” His warm gaze slid over her pink-tinted face and slender upper body, then sought hers again. There was a note in his voice that gently robbed her of breath. “You could do with a bit of spoiling.

I didn't know how to stop wanting him. It wasn't that I had any hope—I knew I'd never see him again. But that didn't stop me from comparing every other man to Hardy and finding them all lacking. I had exhausted myself loving him.

You know what it is you smell on him, Haven? Testosterone. It's leaking out of his pores.

Whereas I will be with a wicked, handsome Rom who will keep me warm all night.

In the fairy tale you mentioned last night, I would probably be the villain. But it's possible the villain would treat you far better than the prince would have.

I’ve won his heart, but it’s like owning a house in which most of the doors are permanently locked. He wants to shield me from all unpleasantness. And it’s not really marriage—not like the marriage you have with Cam—until he’s willing to share the worst of himself as well as the best of himself.