He was struck dumb at the words though he should not be surprised; his wife kept him in a perpetual state of speechlessness.

I had a perfect life in my reach once, and it was a crashing bore. Perfect is too clean, too easy. I don't want perfect any more than I want to be perfect. I want imperfect.

I . . . hit him . . . elsewhere.” “Where?” “In his . . .In his inguine.” “Oh, dear God.” It was unclear whether Ralston’s words were meant as prayer or blasphemy. What was clear was that the woman was a gladiator. “He called me a pie!” she announced, defensively. There was a pause. “Wait. That’s not right.” “A tart?” “Yes! That’s it!” She registered her brother’s fists and looked to Simon. “I see that it is not a compliment.” “No. It is not.

We are a motley bunch. But we more than make up for it with tenacity." ~ Ralston to Simon

You plan to be a challenge, do you?" Juliana smiled angelically. "I agreed to remain, my lord. Not to remain silent.

But it didn't stop him from loving her just a little. From loving all women-all shapes, all sizes, all walks of life. Their soft skin and softer curves, the way they gasped and giggled and sighed, the way the wealthy ones played their coy games, and the less fortunate ones looked at him, stars in their eyes, eager for his attention. Women were, without a doubt, the Lord's finest creation. And, at twenty-three, he had plans for a lifetime of worshipping them.

I, for one, have no interest at all in having my heart stolen.