“Until recently, I believed all horses were alike. They’ve been giant, four-footed animals with ugly dispositions and alarmingly large teeth for so long that it’s a bit startling to notice how different they are from each other. Mara’s mare, for instance, is a chestnut bay except for a wide white blaze down her nose that makes her seem perpetually surprised. My huge plodding mount is a dark brown near to black creature, with the most unruly mane I’ve ever seen. Her shaggy forelock covers her right eye and reaches almost to her mouth.Mara’s mare head-butts her in the chest. Grinning, Mara plants a kiss between her wide, dumb eyes, then murmurs something.“Have you named her?” I ask.“Yes! Her name is Jasmine.”I grimace. “But jasmine is such a sweet, pretty flower.”Mara laughs. “Have you named yours?”“Her name is Horse.”She rolls her eyes. “If you want to get along with your mount you have to learn each others’ languages. That means starting with a good name.”“All right.” I pretend to consider. “What about Imbecile? Or Poops A Lot?”

“Gently, I reach forward and close her eyes with my fingertips, hoping it will make her seem merely asleep. But the stillness of sleep is nothing at all like the stillness of death.”

“Kate smirked."What?""Your horse looks pink.""So?""If you paste some stars on her butt you'll be riding My Little Pony.""Bugger off." I patted the mare's neck. "Don't listen to her, Sugar. You are the cutest horsey ever. The correct name for her color is strawberry roan, by the way.""Strawberry Shortcake, more like it. Does Strawberry Shortcake know you stole her horse? She will be berry, berry angry with you."I looked at her from under half-lowered eyelids. "I can shoot you right here, on this road, and nobody will ever find your body.”

“What's your name?''Names!' she sniffed, rolling her eyes. 'People always want names, don't they? They're mad about naming. I will let the moment name me.' she eyed Jack expectantly.'You want me to name you?' he asked.'People from the other side are very dull,' she sighed.'Give yourself a name for me. I don't need naming for myself, do I?”

“Whatever her name was, she was pretty. She had a thick, careless braid of chestnut hair, a quick smile, and dark, merry eyes. She wore some kind of a fuzzy lavender pullover, and when she crossed her legs and lifted her guitar onto her lap, she had an interesting way of tucking the foot of the bottom leg back under her chair that made Hector feel melty. He looked away in self-preservation.”

“She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and bit her bottom lip. I found it to be such an erotic gesture that it aroused me. My eyes began making love to her in the dark. Unseen hands passed over her curves, quietly descending...trembling at her great beauty. I didn't even know her, but I wanted her. My gaze danced over her every curve, from her nose and lips, to her breasts and hips, surreptitiously. She had no idea of my thoughts. Shadow sex.”

“With his current mood, Elizabeth realized, she was going to have to make her own opening. Lifting her eyes to his enigmatic golden ones, she said quietly, “Ian, have you ever wanted something very badly-something that was within your grasp-and yet you were afraid to reach out for it?” Surprised by her grave question and her use of his name, Ian tried to ignore the jealousy that had been eating at him all night. “No,” he said, scrupulously keeping the curtness from his voice as he gazed down at her alluring face. “Why do you ask? Is there something you want?” Her gaze fell from his, and she nodded at his frilled white shirtfront. “What is it you want?” “You.”