Alone in her shelter, she allowed herself tears. When her shelter cooled to the touch she called to Gull, “Coming out!” She eased her head out into the smoky air, looked over at Gull. She imaged they both looked like a couple of sweaty, parboiled turtles climbing out of their shells. “Hello, gorgeous.” She laughed. It hurt her throat, but she laughed. “Hey, handsome.

Love birds don't always sing pretty tunes.

She was the only woman he was afraid he would beg for.

Roarke cares very much for Beth and for me, and a few select others. But loves? I'm not sure he'd let himself risk quite that unstable an emotion.

No second chance?" A wry smile twisted Carrick's lips. "There might have been, had I not waited so long to take it.

Even a good place gets to be a rut, especially if you're standing in it alone... Alone and lonely have the same root.

I don't let myself believe in writer's block. I feel very strongly writing is habit as much as an art or a craft. And if you write crap, you're still writing.