Lori Dunn

“Do you think the penis ever gets tired?"

Whose?

Anybody's. I mean anybody with one. Does the penis ever just think: for God's sake pal, give it a rest? Or is it all: Woo-who!! Here we go again!”
― J.D. Robb, Fantasy in Death

“Roarke: The bodies of the three men were found floating in the Chattahoochee River.

Eve: I think it'd be embarrassing to be dead in the Hoochie-Coochie River.

Roarke: Chattahoochee

Eve: What's the difference?

Roarke: Quite a bit, I'd think.”
― J.D. Robb, Promises in Death

“I hear the cock woke you up."

Eve choked on her coffee. "What?"

"Not that kind of cock." Sinead sent a sparkling look over her shoulder. "Though if that's true as well, good for you. I meant the rooster.”
― J.D. Robb, Indulgence in Death

“What a woman you are,” he murmured, and she heard the emotion in it, the
way the Irish thickened just a bit in his voice. And saw it in those vivid eyes when he drew back. “That you would think of this. That you would do this.”
He shook his head, kissed her. Like the breath, long and quiet.
“I can’t thank you enough. There isn’t enough thanks. I can’t say what this means to me, even to you. I don’t have the words for it.” He took her hands,
brought them both to his lips. “A ghra. You stagger me.”
He framed her face now, touched his lips to her brow. “You’re the beat of my heart, the breath in my body, the light in my soul.”
― J.D. Robb, Indulgence in Death