Quotes from J.D. Robb

He was hitting on you, however." "Reflex, not targeted." "Agreed, which is why he lives.

Because dead people don't get angry. They're dead.

There was Ireland in his voice, dreamy wisps of it that could, unexpectedly, wind around her heart.

It's a damn small world when it sucks.

Who's a girl?" "You're mine." His hands glided down her back, around and up to her breasts. "You're my girl." "Sap," she said, but in a little sigh as she gave him her lips again. She'd never been anybody's girl, had never wanted to be. It had always seemed a weak term to her, one of submission and vulnerability. But with him, it was sweet and foolish, and just exactly right.

Simple doesn't mean unfulfilled.

Peabody only smiled. Guilt was the best tool, she knew. She'd learned that one at her mother's knee.

Why do sheep need a station? Are they catching trains? Where are they going? Why do they have to go there?

Get ready to do just that." Eve grabbed her coat. "Oh my God." Reo made a hum of almost sexual pleasure. "Really?" Keeping some distance, Eve shrugged into the coat. "Seriously, sex noises over a coat?" "It's … delicious." "Don't lick it. Once," Eve said, knowing damn well she wouldn't get past Reo without it. "You can touch it, but just once.

Can't change what was, she said with a shrug. So you deal with what is

Her eyes met his in the mirror. When I take her down, she's going to pay for this. Eve tapped fingers lightly over her jaw. And she won't look so fucking pretty when I toss her in a cage. Girl fight? Can I watch? Pervert. She stepped away, into the shower, and ordered the jets on full at a blistering temperature.

Is there any exceptionally beautiful woman you haven't slept with? I'll make you a list. So, you knocked her down.

People who expect perfection in a mate miss a lot of fun—and sweetness.

The huge cat, Galahad, was draped over the back of Eve's sleep chair like a drunk over a bar at last call. Since he'd spent several hours the night before attacking boxes, fighting with ribbon, and murdering discarded wrapping paper, she left him where he was so he could sleep it off.

Gossip needn't be false to be evil—there's a lot of truth that shouldn't be passed around. —Frank A. Clark

Eve bit into some bacon -- honestly, good sex, a hot shower, then bacon? Did a morning get any better?

Eeww." "Don't say 'eeww.' It's wussy.

She was debating calling the lab and pushing for her tattoo when Peabody poked her head in. "We got—Hey, doughnuts." "You'll get yours. What have we got?" "Marc Tuluz. Want him in here or the lounge?" "Here's a puzzler," Eve began. "If we're in the lounge interviewing him, how many doughnuts will be in this box upon our return?" "I'll bring him in here.

As always when she saw the kind and dreamy eyes of Dennis Mira, her heart gave a little tug. Just something about him, she thought, with his cardigans and mussed hair, bemused smile.

I can't be in your place as I don't have a fat, knocked-up ass to sit on. Yeah, you asked me for a major, and if you want to come through on it, you'll sit down, shut up, and let me work. Bitch.

Some science guy creating them in the lab." Her voice darkened. "One day they're going to make a mistake—a big one—and mutant clone cows are going to revolt and start eating people. You wait and see.

U.N.? As in United Nations?" "No, U.N. as in Unidentified Numbskulls.

Music isn't just a bunch of notes strung together, sweetheart. It's life. It's memory. Songs trigger specific and often predictable emotional reactions. Music's an expression of emotion, desires.

Jesus, Peabody." Amazed, Eve slid out into traffic. "You checked out her ass?" "I check out everyone's ass. It's a hobby." "Get a new one. Like . . . bird-watching or something." "Bird-watching? In New York?