“As Wendy watched them they burst into a chord of tinkling, girlish laughter. She felt a smile touch her own lips; not one of them could be under sixty.”

“She watched his lips forming the words, at the same time she heard them under her skin, under her winter coat, so near and full of warmth that she felt herself go hot.”

“As soon as she set foot outside, she could hear the empty conversation and laughter resume. Like sounding brass and tinkling cymbals.”

“Her eyes opened then. They were drowsy, slumberous, staring up at him with a hunger that was impossible to miss.“I felt you,” she whispered, a smile tilting her moist lips. “Watching me. Should I feel you watching me?”Was she asleep or awake?“Of course.” He found the growl building in his throat. “Every time I look at you, baby, I touch you.”

“Her lips touched his brain as they touched his lips, as though they were a vehicle of some vague speech and between them he felt an unknown and timid preasure, darker than the swoon of sin, softer than sound or odor.”

“Your fangs are showing, Miss Lyndon.""Are they?" she asked, reaching up to touch her face. "I shall have to remember to retract them."Charles burst out laughing. "You, Miss Lyndon, are a treasure.""That's what I keep telling everyone," she said with a shrug and a wicked smile, "but no one seems to believe me.”