“If you're looking for pity, forget it," Connie retorted. "You've passed up more dates than I care to count. You're married to your work." A pause. "And maybe to the past.”

“So, unless you've embezzled money outright or murdered someone and want me to hide the body, I won't be getting in any deeper than I already am.”

“Did you say five hundred twenty-two people?""Um-hum. I'll kick in some extra cash, if you're running low.""Cash isn't a problem. Space is. I don't need money. I need Shea Stadium.”

“I so want to meet the other women. I hear their voices, their weeping. Maybe they can explain to me why we're here. Or maybe I don't want to know.”

“Someday you'll have to tell me the whole story behind you two.""Maybe. But first, I have to figure it out myself.”

“Did you take me here so we'd relax, or so we'd be on safe ground because we're among lots and lots of people?"He set down his glass, folding his hands on the table and leaning forward. "I took you here because the food and the sangria are great, and because it's far away from offices and hospitals. As for safe ground, I told you, there is none."His voice lowered, took on a rough, provocative quality that sent shivers up her spine. "The crowd's irrelevant. The setting's irrelevant. I want you no matter where we are and no matter who we're with. I think you know that. What I want to do with you can't be done in a restaurant—any restaurant, busy or quiet. It requires total privacy, long uninterrupted hours, and a very big bed." He paused. "Actually, the bed is optional. I could improvise.”

“Derek wished he had more of the right words to offer. But both he and Sloane knew those words didn't exist. So he gave her the only ones he had. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart.”