“She might not bring much gold from a fat pasha locally, but there are men in Israel who would pay handsomely for her safety. Even kill for it.”“And die for it?” Though he tilted his head in intrigue, he could not read Caine’s expression. “What about here?” he asked softly, searching his features. “Any of those men here?”

“Maybe he loves her. Maybe he wishes to have her forever, maybe he wishes that she could be his bride. Even then he might lose much to be with her-his properties, his position. But next to his love for her, what meaning do they have? He would be a fool to treasure dead gold more then a live heart.”

“Please," Meg whispered. "I don't want any trouble here."He released his hold on her. As though she might say something further, she parted her lips slightly. Then she walked out of the church."Touch her again, and I'll kill you," Daniel said.Clay wondered if he should tell her brother that he'd be doing him a favor if he killed him… because his heart had just died.”

“A lovely young Italian girl passed by. Byron tilted his head to a very odd angle, half-closed his eyes and composed his features to suggest that he was about to expire from chronic indigestion. Dr Greysteel could only suppose that he was treating the young woman to the Byronic profile and the Byronic expression.”

“She dug around in her bag, found what she was looking for, and brought the little stuffed dog back to bed with her. Childish, yeah. She didn't care. He was soft and cuddly-unlike Jones-and she had a need for soft and cuddly right now. She'd like to meet a woman who could breeze through a shotgun blast and not need something to hold on to. Even if it was just an old stuffed pup.(...)She swallowed hard,then caught her breath when he opened his eyes, turned his head on the pillow toward her. He searched her face in the dark."Come here," he whispered.When she hesitated, he reached for her. "The dog can come, too.”

“Though here his voice faltered, because he knew as well as she did what came next, what words came next. If he could speak them, he might even convince her they were true, as his father had convinced his mother that Browning summer. It was the worst lie there was, imprisoning and ultimately embittering the hearer, playing upon her terrible need to believe. He could feel the I love you forming on his lips. Would he have said it if she hadn't interrupted?”