“I'll tell Mom I'm bringing someone and that we'll be late.""Yeah. It'll give your date time to find another partner." That lethal edge was back in his voice.Her stomach muscles tightened. "Zach?""Might as well get this out in the open." He pulled the car into a small layby and turned to brace his hand against the top edge of her seat. "I'm not real good at sharing.”

“No,” he responded, reaching out to trace the shell of her ear. “They grew back even more beautiful. Blue edged with silver.” Elena laughed at the scowl in his voice.”

“Why is it”—she shivered as he kissed the top of her spine, went lower—“that I always end up naked while you remain dressed?”A husky masculine chuckle, his lips moving over her shoulder, his hands on her hips. “Because I'm a smart man.”

“What about your freedom?" he whispered in her ear over a minute later, bracing his hands palms down on the wall beside her head. He made no move to stop her as she stroked and petted every inch of that sinfully gorgeous chest, all hard muscle and gleaming skin overlaid with silky-rough strands of dark hair. "Idiot." She nipped his jaw with her teeth. "The only freedom I ever wanted was the right to love you.”

“Ransom thought her girly tendencies the funniest thing ever, constantly teased her over them, but the last time he'd opened his big mouth, she'd gotten her own back by pointing out that his long black hair sure did look well conditioned.”

“Do you know where Jason is?” she asked Dmitri when they exited the morgue.Dmitri pressed the car remote to unlock the flame red Ferrari parked in the employees-only lot. “Tired of your Bluebell already?” A tendril of champagne circled around her senses, cut with something far harder.Never had she felt that harsh edge in Dmitri’s scent. She pitied the woman he took to his bed today.“Yeah, that’s it. I’m building a harem.”

“I’ll get you another red dress.”She wiped the backs of her hands over her cheeks at the snarl. “You will?”He glared down at her. “Yes. But you must not cry. I won’t get you any dresses if you cry.”“I don’t normally cry.”“You will never do it.”“Well, I’m afraid I may sometimes,” she said apologetically. “Women need to cry.”Lines formed between his brows. “How many times in a year?”“Maybe five or six,” she said, thinking about it. “But really, it’s usually a very small cry and not in front of anyoneAt that, his scowl grew even darker. “I will permit you to cry four times a year. And you will do it when I am here.”