“Home, Ms. Lane?” His deep voice was gently amused.“I have to call it something,” I said morosely. “They say home is where the heart is. I think mine’s satin-linedand six feet under.”

“And then what? Said, 'Oh, I'm so sorry, Ms. Lane, I didn't mean to wrinkle your lovely blouse. May I press that for you?' Or perhaps you gouged it with one of your pretty pink nails?"I was really beginning to wonder what his hang-up with pink was, but I didn't resent the sarcasm in his voice.”

“Yes, I have loved, Ms. Lane, and although it's none of your business, I have lost. Many things.”

“I heard there are no male sidhe-seers."Where did you hear that?"Around."And which one of those are you in doubt about Ms. Lane?"Which one of what?"Whether I see the Fae, or whether I'm a man. I believe I've laid your mind to rest on the former; shall I relieve it on the latter?" He reached for his belt.Oh, please." I rolled my eyes. "You're a leftie, Barrons."Touche, Ms. Lane," he murmered.”

“Figure out another way to explain me. I don’t care what you come up with. But if you call me your latest piece of petunia again or make uncalled-for references to my mouth and oral sex with you, you and I are through.”He raised a brow. “Petunia, Ms. Lane?”I scowled. “Ass, Barrons.”He crossed his arms and his gaze dropped to my glossy Lip-Venom red lips. “Am I to understand there are called-for references to your mouth and oral sex with me, Ms. Lane? I’d like to hear them.”

“Burns from dropped matches, Ms. Lane? Matches one might have dropped while flirting with a perniciousFae, Ms. Lane? Have you any idea the value of this rug?”I didn’t think his nostrils could flare any wider. His eyes were black flame. “Pernicious? Good grief, is Englishyour second language? Third?” Only someone who’d learned English from a dictionary would use such a word.“Fifth,” he snarled. “Answer me.”

“He raised a brow. 'Petunia, Ms. Lane?'I scowled. "Ass, Barrons.”