“I think I like you,” he said as he turned and moved to sit in the chair across from her.“What a beautiful thing to say to the woman you’re trying to seduce.”

“He ran the back of his fingers along her flushed cheek. His touch was soft, and she leaned her head in his direction. “My beautiful girl,” he said.She took in his expression. “You think I’m beautiful?”“I don’t think you’re beautiful, Haven,” he said. “I know you are.”

“She tried to break from his hold, and he tightened his grip. “You’re safe. I killed the rogues.”The woman stilled and searched his face, the wildness still heavy in her blue eyes. “You’re a wolf.”He smiled and nodded. “And you’re a tiger.”“A white tiger.”To match her white-blond hair. “And a beautiful one.”

“You want to hide,” he says. “I know. Because you feel like you’re not allowed to think the things you think. Or feel the things you feel.”“Welcome to the human condition,” I say wryly.”

“He said he was - this is exactly what he said - he said he was sitting at the table in the kitchen, all by himself, drinking a glass of ginger ale and eating saltines and reading 'Dombey and Son', and all of a sudden Jesus sat down in the other chair and asked if he could have a small glass of ginger ale. A small glass, mind you - that's exactly what he said. I mean he says things like that, and yet he thinks he's perfectly qualified to give me a lot of advice and stuff! I could just spit! I could! It's like being in a lunatic asylum and having another patient all dressed up as a doctor come over to you and start taking your pulse or something…”

“I don't like compliments, and I don't see why a man should think he is pleasing a woman enormously when he says to her a whole heap of things that he doesn't mean.”