“Don't you want to be neighbors?""No." he said. "I want to be lovers. Sleep-together lovers. Wake-up together lovers. One bed."Oh, God, she was going to fall in love. She could feel it happening.”

“No. Thank you she said in a voice that said he could go to hell and take his jacket with him.”

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice tight. “But if I’d known there was going to be a firearms examination at the end of the kidnapping, by God, I would have studied for it!”

“You’re staring at my ass.”“Yes, I am.” It’s what he did in the mornings, when she woke up and spent the first hour lying around in bed.”

“He wanted to paddle her himself, then shake her, then sit her down in a chair and explain to her why she must never, ever get herself in a situation where she could be shot at again—and then throw himself at her feet.”

“You stole my heart, Regan,"he told her. "And I don't particularly want it back.”

“It worried him. Like him, she had to be exhausted. She smelled like gasoline; her clothes were torn. She had a small white bandage on her forehead where the EMT had cleaned her cut. Dirt smudged her face, her arms, her legs. He knew she still didn't have any underwear, and for the first time, he felt bad about it. Real bad. He wanted to protect her, make her feel secure, keep her from harm—and all he'd done was lose her underwear and practically get her blown up.”