“There'd never been any closure. There hadn't even been good-byes.”

“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.”

“He never reveals anything personal about himself, and he becomes enraged if I try to steer the conversation in that direction. So I don't. But if I were to speculate, I'd say that he's not just insane, he's still part child himself. He has three sides to him -- the child, the gentleman, and the lunatic.”

“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.”

“In one motion, Connor shrugged off his jacket, flung it aside, and went to her. "Where's the bedroom?" he asked in a heated voice.She tipped her head toward the rear of the apartment. "Back there.""Too far. I'm not sure I can last." He kissed her, a blatantly carnal kiss that reawakened all their earlier urgency, brought it screaming back to life."There's a couch in the living room," Julia managed, pointing to their left and shivering as Connor began unbuttoning her blouse. "That's a lot closer." His lips burned a path from her collarbone to her throat. "Which is bigger, the couch or the bed?""The bed.""Then I’ll last." Connor was pulling her down the hall. "Barely.”

“Decision time. It's too dark for you to see your surroundings. So I'll describe. You choose." He pulled the pins out of her hair, tunneling his fingers through it as it tumbled to her shoulders. "The fireplace is across the hall. There's a shag rug in front of it. The living room's to our right. It has a wide, cushy sectional sofa. The den's to our left. It has a leather recliner that tilts way, way back. Upstairs, there are two bedrooms. The guest room's got a queen-size bed and a huge area rug. The master's got a king-size bed and extra pillows. What's your pleasure?""Where are the condoms?""In the master.""Sold.”

“I don't believe this. And I thought running a corporation was hard? This isn't a wedding; it's a fucking conspiracy planned by pompous, cutthroat lunatics. Worse, they're delusional enough to believe they're visionaries. Wedding planners who want to color-coordinate flowers and bathroom accoutrements? What the hell's a bathroom accoutrement, anyway—toilet paper?”