It’s Adrian Ivashkov logic. Don’t try to understand it. Just roll with it.

Not everything about me is cute." "That's true, some things are cute. The rest are sexy. Astonishing, agonizingly sexy. It's a wonder I can get anything done at all, when all I ever think about is the way your lips taste or how your fingertips feel on my skin or how your legs are..." "Adrian, shut up.

Was Deirdre right about me purposely wanting relationships that were impossible?

I stared. "Canadian Satanists? You're sending me to a group of Canadian Satanists?

I stopped. She was bleeding after all. Perfect lines crossed her wrists, not near any crucial veins, but enough to leave wet red tracks across her skin. She hadn;t hit her veins when she did this; death hadn't been her goal.

I'm glad you're better," he said. His mouth sounded like it was almost in my hair, just above my my ear. "When I saw you fall..." "You thought, 'Wow, she's a loser.

I'm just confused. I can't read your signals. One moment you're hot, the next you're cold. You tell me you want me, you tell me you don't. If you picked one, that'd be fine, but you keep making me think one thing and then you end up going in a completely different direction. Not just now—all the time.