Moving between her thighs, he stretched out above her, then thrust into her. Once. Because, as he did everything, he acted without hesitation or apology to claim her entirely. Her eyes went wide and her breath caught. Holding her gaze, he pressed himself deeper, barely easing back before pressing deep again.

i'm going to marry you. i thought you'd like to know in case you wanted to buy a dress or something.

I think of my books now as suspense novels, usually with a love story incorporated. They're absolutely a lot harder to write than romances. They take more plotting and real character development.

Don't ever be afraid to live. Because though dying is easy when compared to living

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t believe you. You can’t be a cop.” “Not a cop.” “Federal agent?” “FBI.” “Even more unlikely.” “J. Edgar rolls over in his grave every day, but that’s the way it is.

Even knowing the ending was sad, I wouldn't have deprived myself the beauty of the story.

You can only write by putting words on a paper one at a time.