“She was flustered; he could see it in theway she kept twisting her fingers together. Did she think he was going to throw her downon the seat and rape her? After all, he was a renegade Indian, and capable of anything.Then again, the way she looked, maybe this was the most excitement she'd ever had.”

“Milla was always aware, on the dimmest edge of her consciousness that Diaz constantly watched her.She also knew that he was a man who never gave up, who never lost sight of his goal. Exactly what his goal was wasn’t always clear to her, but she had no doubt he was perfectly clear in his own mind what he wanted.He wanted her. She knew it, and yet she couldn’t imagine how they could ever be together again. The rift between them, to her, was final and absolute. He’d betrayed her in the most wounding way possible, and forgiveness evidently wasn’t her strong suit. She had found that grudges weren’t heavy at all; she could carry them for a very long time.Diaz wasn’t taking care of her out of the goodness of his heart. He was taking care of her the way a wolf cared for its wounded mate.”

“She had no sense of time, of what day it was, or anything beyond the bed she was on and the unceasing battle she fought with the Great Bitch of Pain.The nurses talked to her, too, explaining over and over what had happened to her, what they were doing, why they were doing it. She didn‟t care, so long as they delivered the drugs that kept the Great Bitch at bay. Of course, there came a time—way too soon, by her way of thinking— when her surgeon ordered a decrease in the drugs. He wasn‟t the one in agony, with his sternum cut in two, so what did he care? He was the one wielding the saw and scalpel, not the one on the receiving end. She had only a vague idea which of her visitors was the surgeon, but as her mind began clearing she memorized some particularly salty things she wanted to say to him. Okay, so he'd had to cut her sternum in half, but cutting her drugs in half? Bastard.”

“Just as he’d done to her, she slowly moved up and down, caressing him with her body, drawing out his response. He ground his teeth together, fighting not to come when she was just as determined he would.Frustrated, she wondered why he was holding back—until she heard herself moan, and realized the friction was working on her, too.The battle there in the shower was in close-combat conditions. With the clinging grip of her body she tried to wring a climax from him, locking her legs around him and pumping hard. He slowed her down with that one arm around her hips, grinding her against him and sending her response rocketing.”

“She started to tell him so, but the words vanishedunsaid when he abruptly thrust his hands under her skirt, all the way to her waist. Marygave a startled shriek and jerked back, almost oversetting the chair. He glared at her, hiseyes like black ice."You don't have to worry," he snapped. "This is Saturday. I only rape on Tuesdays andThursdays.”

“She felt both relaxed and protected with him, at least from outside forces. Nothing, it seemed, could protect her from him, and tonight she wasn’t even certain she wanted to be. Claimed, and mated. She was his, but was he hers? And if he was, what in hell did they do about it?“I don’t even know what you want,” she said fretfully, beginning to lose herself in rising sensation.“This,” he muttered in a dark, rough tone. “You.Everything.”

“She should have remembered her past experiences in the relationship wars and not let herself get so excited. Evidently her hormones had overruled her common sense and she had become drunk on ovarian wine, the most potent, sanity- destroying substance in the universe.”