Roarke, what's going on here?' 'Lieutenant.' He leaned forward, touched his lips to hers. 'Indications are we're having a romance.

Do you know how many ways love can hit you? So it makes you happy, or miserable? It makes you sick in the belly or hurt in the heart. It makes everything brighter and sharper, or it blurs all the edges. It makes you feel like a king or a fool. Every way love can hit you, it's hit me when it comes to you.

I don't think I am a traditional romantic who thinks about candlelight dinners and wonders if my husband is going to bring me flowers, though I'm delighted if he does. I'm more practical-minded. I find it incredibly romantic that my husband does the dishes.

Why were there no buoys in life to show you the way?

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.

You didn’t hurt me, the situation did. And now that I know why I felt that way, it won’t hurt.

It's an exceptional thing to have someone in your life who knows and understands you so well. Who loves who you are. A very exceptional thing.