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arms dealer to the stars . . .” “Defense contractor.” “Tomato, tom-ah-to,”
“Look, everybody has a way of getting their foot in the door. Me? I’m willing to risk a restraining order.
Am I toppling governments and installing my own puppet regimes? No.” Farrell would be so disappointed by the news.
“Get your fucking tie back. I hate it when women steal my clothes.”
Being with him was like coming home; every ounce of her being was drawn to him.
It was like her whole life had been a tornado, and Nathan calmed the winds.
Turns out it is possible to laugh and cry at the same time.
Such a strange thing, a kiss—the action so simple, the meaning so complex.
“A defense contractor and fireworks? Seems fitting.”
“You want to date me. And you don’t want to date anyone else.” He laughed then. “Yes. Exactly. Thank you.” “Was that so hard?” “Well, I’ve never done it before.“ “Voiced your intentions?” she asked. “Had intentions,” he confessed.
“I’m usually more eloquent, you know.” “That’s what makes this so special.”
“Emma, you need to excuse us.” He grabbed the woman’s hand and kissed it. “It was nice seeing you, but I believe I made the parameters of our relationship clear.”
It's because of the elite part of the company. The women and the adventures were all part of his Bruce Wayne/Batman persona
White Hat Black Ops. Could Nathan really be doing covert paramilitary work? She wanted so desperately to believe the tabloid manwhore was a façade, but even she realized, as she clacked away on her laptop, that this was extreme. Masking some hidden pain of a damaged youth with booze and women? Sure. But Batman?
Glad I'm not original on the Batman analogies
“Aren’t you going to ask?” “Nope.” “Why?” “Three reasons. One: if you lie and tell me you were off-roading with a bunch of college buddies, I will cry. Two: I know you well enough to know it’s probably something you can’t tell me, which is okay. Three: If you could have told me, you would have by now.” She started to dab a new cut, but he cupped her face in both his hands, stealing her attention.
I can't explain how much I love the seemingly blind trust. No overthinking, no muss, she's okay with giving him his privacy. Granted: she had an even bigger secret and she was closer to figuring out his than him herself.
Oh, and small detail, she was in love with him, hopelessly, irretrievably, uncontrollably in love.
“It was my favorite tie, and some passed out blonde wouldn’t let go of it.”
She may have had zero sexual experience, but she couldn’t be best friends with Caroline Fitzhugh and not learn a thing or two about satisfying a man.
Several therapists had offered breathing techniques to help her overcome sudden panic. Too bad none of them knew about the crook of Nathan’s neck; it was restorative.
“Thank you for coming back to me.” “Thank you for waiting.”
“It goes a way toward explaining why I hate the word perfect.” “That’s okay; I have a long list of adjectives I can use instead.” “Do you now?” “I do.” “And what’s at the top of your list?” “Mine.”
“But you . . . it’s like ‘love’ isn’t a big enough word for what I feel. Like they need to invent some new word for it because what I feel for you makes love seem very small.”
“I sky you, Nathan.” He smiled and met her violet gaze. “I sky you, Emily.
“Adrenaline junkie.” “Nah, I love it, but I could live without it. I’m an Emily junkie. Totally and completely addicted.”
She looked up at him with a grin, “Your girlfriend is a ninja.” “That may be the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“What happened?” Tox was a bag of popcorn away from looking like he was watching a movie.
“He was in Parliament?” “Oh, God no. Much less devious. He was a spy,
When she discovered with amused shock that Teddy, hacker name the uninventive “Doom,” lived with his aunt and uncle in a room that was basically under a staircase, she simply looked at him and said the only thing she could: you’re a wizard, Teddy.
“Shorty,” Nathan chuckled into a coughing fit. Hercules hopped down and squatted next to him. “You okay?” Nathan rolled to his hands and knees and looked up at his sniper. “You’re hired.”
“Which graduate program were you in? Or were you a Ph.D. candidate?” Sofria looked a bit chagrined. “Undergrad.” Holy shit. Ren was ogling a teenager. Well, not literally, but close enough. Ren cleared his throat and backed towards the door. “Well, the CIA must have grabbed you up as you walked off the stage with your diploma.” “They actually grabbed me up after my sophomore year.” Holy double shit. She was an actual teenager. Trying to avoid making a Ren-shaped hole in the drywall, he nodded like a bobblehead. She didn’t seem to pick up on his discomfort.
She beamed at him, and Ren nearly blushed. Of course, if he had actually reddened, Sofria would have never seen it. He was down the stairs and out the door faster than the blood could rush to his face.
For a guy who says nothing, he is the noisiest mofo sleeping I’ve ever heard.
Tox had found the fried chicken.
