I’m marrying you, not your uterus.
If you die, angel, it means I’m already dead.
Her gaze met his, her blue eyes filled with confusion and terror – and love. If Julian hadn’t already been in love with her, that would have done it.
Bit it was her scent that just about killed him. Clean skin. Woman. And something more – something that made him feel like dispensing with five thousand years of civilization, dragging her off to a cave somewhere, and filling her with babies.
Dorkangelo” – Marc Hunter.
Have you always been this skilled with women?” – Joseph to Iain.
You dinnae have me yet!
He wanted to tell her that if it were simply a matter of crossing the river Styx and trading places with Beau, he’d be gone in a heartbeat.
She thought he was about to kiss her again. Instead, he slowly sank to his knees, grasped her waist, and pressed his lips to her belly. Her stretch marks. He was kissing her stretch marks.
Forget you are a man. Loose the animal you hide inside.
I have a love-hate relationship with Facebook. It enables me to talk to readers from all over the world, but it also makes it far too easy to waste huge amounts of time.
I know from experience that I make the best decisions when I’m into the story and inspired by the story, not when I’m sitting there trying to plot.
I do try to plot about a chapter ahead once I get going. I have a list of upcoming scenes with little notes about them. But sometimes the story changes and I don’t end up following that.