He shook his head and eyed Roarke. "You don't look like a cop." "I'm not and thank you for noticing.

I loved the process of writing.

The man that put that hurt look in your eyes, could be worth everything, or nothing at all.

The vulnerability undid him even as the strength brought him pride. And the whole of her brought him love beyond the measuring of it. Of all he'd craved in his life, all he'd dreamed of having, all he'd fought to gain by fair means or foul, he'd never imagined having such such as she as his own. Never imagined himself the man he'd come to be because she was.

Somethings in life are out of your control. you can make it a party or a tragedy. Or, you could refuse to take the next step. You could refuse to take what you wanted most because you're afraid some day you might lose it.

Her killer wrote a note on that stationary." "A note." Now Renquist's eyebrows lifted. "Well. That was rather arrogant of him, wasn't it?

For once, he slept first. She lay in the dark, listening to him breathe, stealing a little of his warmth as her own body cooled. Since he was asleep, she stroked his hair. "I love you," she murmured. "I love you so much, I'm stupid about it." With a sigh, she settled down, closed her eyes, and willed her mind to empty. Beside her, Roarke smiled into the dark. He never slept first.