“I will never not want you, understand? I love you. I adore you. I admire you. I desire you. You are my heart. My blood, my bones. My everything.”

“I love you. I love you. I love you. Always have, probably always will. Happy?” she said.He stopped when he was standing mere inches away. Reaching out, he captured her face in his hands and smoothed his thumbs across her cheekbones to clear her tears.“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that,” he said.”

“If I let you go are you going to hit me again?”“What do you think?”“Then I’m not going to let you go.”

“Why did you lift your top the other night in my office? Why did you flash your breasts at me like that?” he asked, his voice very low, his grey eyes intent on her.“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Liar,” he said, and then he closed the distance between them and his hands were cupping her face and his mouth was lowering toward hers and her heart was beating so hard and fast it was a wonder it didn’t explode.”

“Thank you,” she said. He looked bemused. “For what?” “For everything. For being amazing in bed and endlessly patient, for sacrificing the Savage Club for me and bringing me all the way around the world simply because you were worried about me, even though it meant you were probably going to spend your holidays alone. For the way you always put your hand on the small of my back to guide me across the street and the way you let me be in charge of the television remote control and the way you have never, not once, judged me or mistrusted me or made me feel small or unwanted.” “Violet, sweetheart...” He blinked and she realized that he was close to tears. Her Martin. Mr. Uptight. Mr. Repressed.”

“Three Denises wobbled in front of her, all of them watching her with fond concern. “You’re a sweetie. I appreciate you cheering me on from the sidelines. But I think I need to go to the bathroom now and throw up.”

“You are unbelievable, you know that? You want to throw around blame, how about you take a good hard look at yourself and your stupid, prematurely middle-aged life? This is the 21st century, not the 1800s. People have sex in positions other than missionary, and lots of women like doing it doggy style. And no, they're not all prostitutes or porn stars-they're people who are in touch with their own feelings and wants and desires. Unlike you, Mr. Sick-Up-Your-Ass." Martin flushed a deep red. "Charming, as always, Violet. Your parents must be so proud.”