“But dammit, she was tired. Tired of doing what was expected, tired of feeling like she was missing something.”

“A conclusion is the place you get to when you’re tired of thinking.”

“Men exist because a vibrator can't fix a flat tire. On second thought, I should just buy a AAA card...”

“Because if she had to be off-track and a little lost, then she was going to have fun while she was at it, dammit.”

“Hey,” Shayne said through the door. “You going to stay in there all night, because we’re getting tired of trying to eavesdrop from out here. Can’t hear a damn thing.”

“He didn't see anything."She rolled to her feet. "I was in your bed! We could have scarred him for life!""Grace, we weren't doing anything. Well, I wasn't. You were snoring.""I don't--" She smoothed her dress down and searched out her sandals, shoving her feet into them. She glanced at herself in the mirror over his dresser and groaned. Hair, wild. Lips, swollen. Face, flushed. Nipples, hard."Dammit!" She clapped her hands over them. "It's like they're broken!”

“She was like a drug. The most addicting kind, and he had a problem—he was pretty sure that she was developing feelings for him. He had no idea what to do with that, or with is own feelings, which were definitely getting in his way. This whole "no emotional attachment" thing had gone straight to shit. Because Mallory Quinn was emotionally attached to every person she ever met, and she had a way of making that contagious. He craved contact with her in a way that he wasn't experienced with.”