1,081 Quotes by Christine Feehan

Where was her sharp intellect? She relied on her brain. She could think fast and was good at details. When Vittorio was around, the only details she could remember were how his smile was so beautiful and how his voice was so gentle and yet compelling.

Vittorio's breath left his lungs in a long rush of shock. Something tight in his chest loosened. Someplace vulnerable. Someplace guarded and protected. He pressed his hand tightly over the spot, feeling as if that voice had been a key, fitting perfectly into the lock and turning it before he had a chance to react

She looked desperate. He felt that way. He wasn't about to be separated from her. "No matter what, I'll be with you," he promised.

Vittorio Ferraro stood in the shadows, his skin crawling with the need to move. Something was wrong. Not just wrong. Whatever his churning gut was about, he'd never quite felt the urgency of finding the source of the trouble as he did right then.

The paparazzi always swarmed around them, giving them better alibis for their work then anything else ever could.

This wasn't about bringing justice to criminals no one else could get to. This was about the knots in his gut that coiled tighter and tighter, and felt personal. Very personal. And that in itself was shocking.

He had to find a woman who would have the genetics to produce children capable of riding the shadows and carrying on their work. That was his obligation. He could never simply fall in love; he had to fall in love with the right person. The odds of finding that were so slim, most riders never believed it could happen.

Standing in the mouth of the tube, he needed a few seconds for his body to feel as if it had come back together. There was always the sick feeling that came with fast travel, with being pulled apart and put back together.

The woman, as small as she was, standing valiantly in the face of the threat the Saldi enforcers presented, sent heat rushing through his veins.