“You should know,” he says. His whisper is low enough that even angels probably couldn’t hear it beyond the background noise of conversations in the corridor. “I don’t even like you.”

“Honey, you need to get laid. (Selena)Why don’t you speak a little louder, Lanie? I don’t think the guys in Canada were able to hear you. (Grace)Oh, I don’t know. They’re probably headed south even as we speak. (Waiter)”

“Camilla, you…my God,” he whispered against my skin, his voice sounding oddly strained. “Sweetheart, do you even know? You’re so perfect and you don’t even realize.”The endearment seeped into me like a touch, warming me as much as his body did. “Did I say a good thing, Professor?”“Oh, you said an amazing thing. Tonight I’m going to make very, very sure you know how much it means to me.”

“I love you, Desdemona.”“I know,” she whispered. “You don’t have to say the words.”He smiled slowly. “Trust me, you’re going to hear them every day for the rest of our lives.”

“That's why you love me." "I do not love you. I don't even like you." "You will," he said, his voice low and luscious.”

“I know that even now, having watched enough television, you probably won't even refer to them as lepers so as to spare their feelings. You probably call them 'parts-dropping-off challenged' or something.”