He smiled and tapped my nose. "Two thank-yous in as many days. I don't suppose I'll get to see any, uh, special gratitude?" I scoffed. "Nope. You'll just have to imagine it." He gave me a half-hug and released me. "Fair enough. But I have a good imagination.

Those who have to ask if faith is true are opening up a discussion they may not be ready for.

Mmm. O positive, my favorite.” “Is it? I thought it was a cabernet sauvignon.” “So it is,” said Adrian, straight-faced. “My mistake.

None of you appreciate me. Why is it so hard to believe that I could make a real contribution in these dark rimes?

No," he said, voice thick and husky. His fingers dug into the chair's arms. "You'd better not get too close." I stopped, laughing softly. "You don't strike me as the assaulting type, Mortensen." "Yeah, well, there's a first time for everything.

His fingertips slid down from my face, lightly stroking the line of my neck, down toward my shoulder. Everywhere he touched, a trail of goose bumps appeared. How did he keep doing this to me? Marcus—who made every girl in the world swoon—had zero effect on me. But one whisper of a touch from Adrian completely undid me.

Since...since when?" I finally managed to ask. "Since...forever." His tone implied the answer was obvious.