I don't care how much evidence the state presented. I've never for one moment believed he murdered that waitress.

For a moment he could have sworn he smelled violets, which was very peculiar, since he had no idea what violets smelled like, except somehow he knew they smelled just like Lady Emma.

Anything worth having is worth fighting for.

She gestured toward his very fine chest with her pencil. “On the off chance I find out after we’re married that your declaration of abiding love and devotion has been an elaborate con job perpetrated by you, Bodie, and Scary Spice…” He massaged her arch. “I definitely wouldn’t lose too much sleep over that.” “Just in case. You will give me all you worldly goods, shave your head, and leave the country.” “Deal.” “Plus, you have to hand out your Sox tickets so I can burn them in front of your eyes.

His gaze was a lot steadier than her heartbeat. “She’s the reason for those whispered phone calls I used to overhear, isn’t she?” “Don’t be silly. I was talking to my lover.” “She told me she lives at a place called Brookdale. After I hung up, I did a little research on the Web. Your talent for obfuscation continues to amaze me.” “Hey, I haven’t obfuscated in weeks. Makes you go blind.

They've drunk everything in the house, including a pitcher of African violet plant food I'd just mixed up and was stupid enough to leave on the counter." Tremaine punched Eddie in the shoulder. "I told you it tasted weird." Eddie shrugged. "Tasted okay to me.

In case you still haven't figured it out, he loves you. Your tiger will be back in the morning, and you can thank me anytime. Now, do I have to paint another picture for you, or do you think you can take it from here by yourself without screwing up?