“Today had been a shit day, and it seemed I wasn’t about to climb down off the crap cart any time soon.”
“You need a load of those yellow sticky papers to tattoo no trespassing over his ass, because, seriously, I'm all out.”
“There was this element to Gray, the part that always forced you to avoid his eyes at all costs. He could steal your soul with a look, necromance it, strip it bare, all to run it through his fingers, untangle the strands, then hand it back with a smile knowing every fault and flaw about you. “I’m”
“He sounded so lute-like in the heat of sex, soft, gentle, something that could force you to follow him blindly into the woods and not give a fuck that he led you to be eaten by the big bad wolf. But he wasn’t a big bad wolf. Not yet.”
“Well,” I said, “glad I could be of service, sir.”
“Two-way contract, Jack. That protection is there for you too.” A pause. “It always has been. I’m not about to let either of you get hurt, well, unless it turns you both on.” Was it any wonder I liked this guy? “I”
“Had to be me. Christ knows I attracted the crackpots.”
“I’d say perfectly balanced, but just fucking fuckable was all that came to mind around Gray. “Cosy.”
“But I didn’t relax. “Twenty-four hours, no longer,” said the voice. “And, Jack?” “What?” I spat. “Night, gorgeous.” I”
“Cole talked almost continuously on the drive, chatting away about his car and what we’d do later. Occasionally, I would nod or smile in response to something he’d said, but apart from that, I just sat and listened to him speaking. His voice was smooth and calming. Not talking to him was hard. I desperately wanted to return his quick banter with something smart of my own. But I stayed tongue-tied. As”
“He clearly knew how dangerous it was to have an excited twelve-year-old handling a powerful weapon.”
“She read books as one would breathe air, to fill up and live. She read books as one would breathe ether, to sink in and die.”
“He wanted to achieve something of surpassing beauty that would last. A creation that would mean that he--the mosaic worker Caius Crispus of Varena--had been born, and lived a life, and had come to understand a portion of the nature of the world, of what ran through and beneath the deeds of women and men in their souls and in the beauty and the pain of their short living beneath the sun.”
“...we all face similar pressures to forget the simple truth of who we are. Particularly the truths that don't jive with what we see around us. As time wears us down we can forget who we once were.”
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