“Ten salespeople, all young, all dressed in generic cotton casual, looked up from their conversations, spotted the money in her hand, and simultaneously stopped breathing-their brains shutting down bodily functions and rerouting the needed energy to calculate the projected commissions contained in Jody's cash. One by one they resumed breathing and marched toward her, a look of dazed hunger in their eyes: a pack of zombies from the perky, youthful version of The Night of the Living Dead. "I wear a size four and I've got a date in fifteen minutes," Jody said. "Dress me." They descended on her like an evil khaki wave.”

“Stop looking at me like that,” she whispered.“I can’t.” I could barely say it. I could barely breathe. I wanted to look at her for the rest of my life. Reaching a hand up, I ran just the tips of my fingers through her hair. Most of it was down, but just a few strands were pulled up away from her face. It was the perfect hair for the perfect dress, worn by the perfect girl.”

“The man towered over her five-foot-four-inch frame by a good ten inches. He was big, dark and deadly-looking, with piercing ebony eyes and long, silky black hair secured in a ponytail. Dressed all in black—leather jacket, cotton shirt and jeans—he blended into the night like a prince of darkness. Rorie shuddered at the thought. Whoever or whatever this man was, he was danger personified.”

“To her it seemed an inevitable thing as much a part of herself as her breathing; and yet it appeared transcendent of self, and she looked up and onwards towards her love--for the eyes of the young are drawn to the stars and the spirit of youth is seldom earth-bound." p146”

“Look at me, Emma."Her eyes are full, the lids heavy. "Graham," she breathes. "I need you to hear me." Cradling her head in my hands, thumbs sweeping her tears away, I stare into her eyes. "I belong to you. There is no one else. All I want is to be where you are.”

“I Love Jodi anderson and all of her books!”