There are no guarantees with love,_ her father said, reading her mind. __ou can__ hold some of it back, like a deposit, so you can get your money back if something goes wrong. You have to give yourself wholeheartedly, whatever the cost.

The ferocity of her passion was what he'd been waiting for night after torturous night. He wanted her to hunger the way he hungered. To need like he needed.

Coralie Casey was the kind of woman calories were made for; that dewy peaches-and-cream complexion, glossy cherry lips, the succulence of her body beneath that orange, silky dress. A cornucopia of curves, you could say, except it was probably better not to think about horns of plenty.

Outside, the sunlight had turned pale lemon, but the studio remained cool. The white walls and white-tiled splashback behind the sink were made more clinical by the metal tables which looked as if they__ originally been intended for use in an operating theatre. Even though they were laid out with brushes and paints rather than forceps and retractors, the effect was equally daunting; both sets of tools could open you up in strange and unexpected ways.

He__ been a bit grumpy since Potato Day.__he heard Gethin choke back a laugh.__e set up an all-day workshop on all things potato after reading up about successful winter events at other nurseries,_ she went on, unable to hide her own amusement. __t was a terrible failure. Hardly anyone turned up apart from our poet, Wilfie, who wrote a Potat-Ode to celebrate the occasion.

First of all, I__ not a __ilitary type._ Second, I never proclaimed to be a gentleman of any kind. I just like the facts straight up. There__ no bullshit to wade through to get to the truth." Dylan