“Potholes and bumps? Welcome to the world. Every road gas them. They're there to be navigated, avoided, driven over, or through to the other side. Don't keep driving into the pothole.”

“Her hand shot out, gripped his arm. "M.J. and Bailey?""Your friends are fine." He felt her grip go limp. "They've had an eventful holiday weekend, all of which could have been avoided if they'd contacted and cooperated with the police. And it's cooperation I'll have from you now, one way or the other."She tossed her hair back. "Where are they? What did you do,toss them in a cell? My lawyer will have them out and your butt in a sling before you can finish reciting the Miranda." She started toward the phone, saw it wasn't on the Queen Anne table."No,they're not in a cell." It goaded him, the way she snapped into gear, ready to buck the rules. "I imagine they're planning your funeral right about now.”

“Why don't you ask me up for a drink?""A drink? There's not much of a variety, but you're welcome.""It's nice to be asked occasionally." Before he could tuck his hand safely in his pocket, she took it, threaded their fingers together. "You have free time now and again yourself," she said easily. "I wonder if you've heard of the concept of dates. Dinner, movies, drives?""I've some experience with them," He glanced at his pickup as they turned his quarters. "It you've a yen for a drive, you can climb up into the lorry, but I'd need to shovel it out first."She huffed out a breath. "That, Donnelly, wasn't the most romantic of invitations.""Secondhand lorries aren't particularly romantic, and I've forgotten where I parked my glass coach.""If that's another princess crack-" She broke off,set her teeth. Patience, she reminded herself. She wasn't going to spoil things with an argument. "Never mind.We'll forget the drive." She opened the door herself. "And move straight to dinner.”

“This is perfect!" Gennie shouted over the motor as Grant's boat cut through the sea. "It feels like we could go all the way to Europe."He laughed and ruffled her wind-tossed hair. "If you'd mentioned it before, I'd have put in a full tank of gas.""Oh, don't be pracitcal-imagine it," she insisted. "We could be at sea for days and days.""And nights." He bent over to catch the lobe of her ear between his teeth. "Full-mooned, shark-infested nights."She gave a low laugh and slid her hands up his chest. "Who'll protect whom?""We Scots are too tough.Sharks probably prefer more tender-" his tongue dipped into her ear "-French delicacies.”

“Looking up, she watched the balloons dance at the tops of their strings. Hanging by a ribbon at the end was a little white card.She wouldn't even open it, she told herself.She knew who they were from anyway. Who else? No,she wasn't going to open it.In fact,she was going to find a pin and pop every last balloon. What were they but a bunch of hot air? It was ridiculous.To prove a point, Shelby let the strings go so the balloons drifted up to the ceiling. If he thought he was going to win her over with silly presents and clever little notes...he was absolutely right, dammit.Shelby jumped up, swearing when she missed the strings by inches.Hauling over a chair,she climbed into it and grabbed the card.The yellow's for sunshine, the pink's for spring.Share them with me.Alan."You drive me crazy," she muttered, standing in the chair with the balloons in one hand and the card in the other. How did he know,how could he know just the sort of thing that would get to her? Strawberries and pigs and balloons-it was hopeless. Shelby stared up at them, wishing she didn't need to smile.”

“Don't you fancy having one of your dresses in the Smithsonian, Shelby?""Your humor's always been on the odd side, Grant.""Thanks.”

“You did that on purpose.""Did what on purpose?""Wore the don't-touch suit and the sex goddess perfume at the same time just to drive me crazy.""Listen to the suit, Quinn. Dream about the perfume.”