Letting go of a dream was supposed to be heartbreaking, not liberating. Maybe that meant it hadn’t been a good dream for me after all.

In the office, he was miles above me. In the bedroom, he was on his knees below me. And afterward, when the work day was over and the dust had settled, we landed on level ground.

All the unspoken things that were said with glances and implications. One of the things he liked best about being in a relationship: It always felt like a conspiracy of two.

Your book does not exist until you’ve written it.

They spoke three languages between them, and there weren’t enough words to convey what they’d take to the grave, what they’d had a chance to taste before fate inevitably closed in. Dom.

If I was going to shoot you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. What’s your name?” The Italian lifted his head enough to meet Sergei’s gaze. “Who wants to know?” Sergei rolled his eyes. “The guy who’s going to decide whether you wake up tomorrow in a hospital, a jail cell, or a morgue.” He.

I want you. I’m supposed to want you dead, but I just want you. Dom.

They got ninjas working as strippers in this town or something? Well.

I want you, Spencer. Your trust. Your surrender. Your courage. That’s all... strong stuff. Felt like you were made for me – never freaked out, no bad habits from some arsehole that I had to train out of you. You went into it with everything, all out, and there was nothing you wouldn’t have given me if I’d asked for it. That’s huge for me, Spencer. I’ve never really had that, and now that I’ve had it, I don’t want to lose it. I don’t want to lose you, Spencer.

If there was anything I wanted from a man, it was knowing our relationship was worth going to hell and back to save. I wanted someone for whom I’d be willing to do that, and I wanted someone who was willing to do that for me.