If I Were An Opera Singer, I"d

He Liked Cheap Women, Fast Cars, Late Nights, And Hard Liquor, Especially All Together. In Jack's View, You Are Obliged To Sin On Saturday Night So You'd Have Something To Atone For Sunday Morning. Otherwise, You'd Be Putting The Preacher Out Of Business.

But No One Can Predict Of A Certainty What Will Happen. And None Of It Will Change How I Intend To Spend The Rest Of My Life. I Will Live It On My Terms. And You... You Can Have All Of Me Or Nothing. I Won't Be An Invalid Any Longer. Not Even If It Means Losing You.

Hunt Seemed Similarly Indifferent To The Show, His Head Inclined Toward Hers, His Gaze Locked On Her Face. Though His Breathing Remained Soft And Disciplined, It Seemed To Her That Its Rhythm Had Changed Ever So Slightly. Annabelle Moistened Her Dry Lips. “you …you Mustn’t Stare At Me Like That.” Soft As The Murmur Was, He Caught It. “with You Here, Nothing Else Is Worth Looking At.

Over The Years I’ve Collected A Thousand Memories Of You, Every Glimpse, Every Word You’ve Ever Said To Me. All Those Visits To Your Family’s Home, Those Dinners And Holidays—i Could Hardly Wait To Walk Through The Front Door And See You.” The Corners Of His Mouth Quirked With Reminiscent Amusement. “you, In The Middle Of That Brash, Bull-headed Lot…i Love Watching You Deal With Your Family. You’ve Always Been Everything I Thought A Woman Should Be. And I Have Wanted You Every Second Of My Life Since We First Met.

Perhaps Only Those Who Had Loved And Lost Could Appreciate This Magic.