You know that old saying. Once you go dead, no one's better in bed.

I have been stabbed, shot, burned, bitten, beaten unconscious too many times to count, and even staked. None of those held a candle to the pain I felt at seeing his mouth on hers.

She's my kitten, and no one else's.

Playing with fire Kitten?

Why did he have to be so gorgeous? Why did he have to stand so close, and why did I still love him so much?

...cursing my heels and debating whether it was faster to stop and take them off--damn ankle straps!--or keep running with the potential neck breakers. Wouldn’t that make a charming epitaph? Here lies Cat. Killed not by fang, but Ferragamos.

Aside from the obvious, Francesca, what do you want in return for supplying information?” Bones asked, getting back to the subject. “You to take me,” she replied at once. “Not gonna happen!” I spat, squeezing him possessively. Three sets of widened eyes fixed on me. That’s when I realized that what I had a firm grip on was no longer his hand.

You can run from the grave, but you can't hide.

You can hear my dreams? God, you must never get any quiet. I'd be shooting myself in the head if I were you.