“Shaw...has a woman ever asked you to write a poem for her?""Good God, no," Gideon replied with a snicker. "Shaws don't write poetry. They pay others to write it for them and then take the credit for it.”

“She smiled at him, though her hazel-green eyes were wary beneath the brim of a sodden hat. Right at that moment, staring at her across the hall, Gideon Shaw, cynic, hedonist, drunkard, libertine, fell hopelessly in love.”

“Are you a lefty?" he asked with amiable interest."No. But if this hand gets bitten off, I'll still have my good one to write with.”

“You're my woman, and no man or God or ghost will ever take you from me.”

“Then he raised her enough to whisper in her ear, and while his voice was tender, his words were savage. "You're my woman, and no man or God or ghost will ever take you from me.”

“Nikki," she whispered, "are you going to visit my bed tonight?""Is that an invitation?"Emma paused in her playful kissing "would you like it in writing?”

“When she awakened, Hunter was watching her with eyes like dark velvet."You're the last woman I'll ever make love to," he said, stroking her breast, toying with the rosy peak. She stroked his sun-streaked hair and the hard nape of his neck, loving the feel of him against her."Good," she whispered. "Keep me with you, Lara. I don't want to leave you.”