What have you gotten me into?" I hissed at him. "Me? What have you gotten yourself into? Couldn't I have just picked you up at the police station for underage drinking, like most fathers?

Bringing children into it was just low, I decided. At least heʹd left puppies out.

As he looked at me, he seemed to send a message of his own: that he would still fight for me, that he would fight until he collapsed to keep them from taking me.

Roza." His voice had that same wonderful lowness, the same accent . . . it was all just colder. "You forgot my first lesson: Don’t hesitate.

My nails dug into his back, and he trailed his lips down the edge of my chin, down the center of my neck. He kept going until he reached the bottom of the dress’s V-neck. I let out a small gasp, and he kissed all around the neckline, just enough to tease.

We're going on a, um, windmill tour later this week." If I'd wanted to shut them all up, I'd definitely succeeded. They all looked stunned. Adrian spoke first. "I'm going to assume that means he's flying you to Amsterdam on his private jet. If so, I'd like to come along. But not for the windmills.

Sometimes the greatest tests of our strength are situations that don't seem so obviously dangerous. Sometimes surviving is the hardest thing of all.