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.

If you don't go after what you want, you'll never have it.

...She'd gone past interest, swung into attraction, burst through lust, tripped over affection, and was now skidding out of control into love.

She raised her eyes to his. They had both come from misery, she thought, and survived it. They had been drawn together through violence and tragedy, and had overcome it. They walked different paths and had found a mutual route. Some things last, she thought. Some ordinary things. Like love.

I had the blood and fire rule when my boys were young. You know, unless it's blood or fire, don't bother me.

And still she felt more confident at the prospect of taking on the Russian Mafia than she did attending a backyard barbecue.

Love is very funny business. And sex - well, let's face it, sex is hysterical.