Shirley

“No. No, I don't believe you'd betray me with her. I don't believe you'd cheat on me. But I'm afraid, and I'm sick in my heart that you might look at her, then at me. And regret.”
― J.D. Robb, Innocent in Death

“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

“I know you love me, but I don't know why. I look at you and I just can't get why it's me. Every time I get my balance, I lose it again. Because it shouldn't be me, and I think it'd kill me if you ever figured that out.”
― J.D. Robb

“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