Hey,” he said softly. He moved closer to the bars, pressing his face between them. “I always said you were jailbait, but this is ridiculous.

I'm worried he's going to ... do something crazy." "He lives in a hole in the ground, dresses funny, and occasionally eats his assistants," Eve said. "Define crazy.

Yes," he said. "I am sure. I double-checked everything after you went home yesterday. I even made a few improvements, just in case." The first part of that reassured her. The second part... not so much. "What kind of improvements?" "Oh, nothing, really. Mostly just streamlining. You really did very well; I certainly don't want you to think that I am one of those people who has to be in control all the- Oh, well, I suppose that's actually true- I do have to be in control all the time. But only because I am in charge, of course.

It's been the toughest week of my life, not touching you. Not talking to you. Waiting to see what you were going to do." He kissed her again, a warm, damp touch of lips, exquisitely controlled. "But it doesn't matter whether you stay or go. I'll still need you. So if you want to go off to Boston, Ill wait. Right here, whenever you need me.

Seriously,” Shane said, “this kind of is the worst situation we’ve ever been in, right?” “Speak for yourself,” Michael said. “I got myself killed last year. Twice.” “Oh yeah. You’re right—last year really sucked for you.

If you ask me if I’m imagining it again, I’m going to punch you out, Dead Man Walking.” Michael raised his eyebrows and glanced at Eve. “He doesn’t sound crazy.” “Er,” she clarified, “crazier. He sounds like he’s back to normal, which is baseline crazy.

Here's a tip...If you leave a girl crying you're probably not doing your Don Juan routine right, asshole.