Pretend you're mine," he urged, his arms closing around her. "Just for a minute. Pretend there's never been anyone but me, that I'm the one you're promised to. Do it for me....I'll never ask again.

The way I was brought up ‘he needed killing’ is an airtight alibi.

I’ve told you before, I love like a madman,” he said. “Immoderate, jealous, possessive...I’m absolutely intolerable.

For God's sake, Marks, do you think anyone really wants a glance at those dried-up matchsticks you call legs?

Please come to me, Cat, because there's no surviving you. You don't have to love me back. You don't have to be mine. Just let me be yours.

What are you listening to?" "I picked up a DVD for Luke while I was out. Something with Mozart and sock puppets." A grin rose to my lips. "At this stage I don't think Luke can see more than ten inches beyond his face." "That explains his lack of interest. I thought maybe he preferred Beethoven.

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.