“Emma snapped from her daze. She sat forward and slid to ground so quickly that Hart was forced to scoot back.He fell to his backside, suddenly struck with the image of how he must look: sprawled on the floor with a cockstand, a pair of pink drawers in his fist. Utterly ridiculous. Corrupt. Depraved. Hart couldn't help but grin.”

“Yes, Hart, I went commando to a diplomatic function,” Harry said, and then motioned to his body. “And now, as you can see, I’m going Spartan so a midget can whack me with a stick.” He bent and picked up his Bongka. “Honestly, Hart. Help me out here. Focus a little.”

“She pulled a deck from a drawer and sat across from Tyler. "What would you like to play?" She looked at Tyler."Strip poker?"Carlie started to rise, her mouth drawn in annoyance, but Tyler stopped her. He was laughing. "Okay, okay. Bad jest. Sorry."She nodded grudgingly. "So. What should we play?"With a twinkle in his eyes, he asked innocently, "Old maid?"She threw the cards at him, then sat there glaring."Well, I suppose that decides it." He grinned wryly, a card sitting on top of his head, the rest scattered in his lap and on the floor. "Fifty-two pickup it is."-Carlie and Tyler”

“If he didn't get his cookie, then Harte would reacquaint himself with his hand.”

“He sat looking down at his hands--his fine strong unscarred hands. Suddenly and unreasonably he thought of another pair of hands--his mother's--with the knuckles enlarged, the skin broken--expressive--her life written on them. Scars. She had them.”

“Then he half raised himself from the ground, threw his arms into the air, and fell forward in his side. He was dead.”