BECCA FITZPATRICK

My most noticeable physical trait is, hands down, my hair. It's big, unruly and curly, and you can spot it from a mile away... literally.

Writing can be a very solitary profession, and when deadlines are looming, it's tempting to glue myself to my desk, but I try to make sure I get out a few times a month with friends just so I don't forget what it means to be social.

My first job entailed spending a summer working in a cornfield in Nebraska.

I should probably confess that ice cream is my favorite food, and I eat it every night. When I go grocery shopping, I try to buy a new flavor, rather than reverting back to a favorite flavor. I'm on a mission to taste every flavor of ice cream out there!

After a long day, my favorite way to unwind is by going running. Not exactly the most relaxing activity, granted, but I always imagine I'm sweating out all the things weighing on my mind.

You dress to impress," I said approvingly. "No, Angel." He leaned in, his teeth softly grazing my ear. "I undress to impress.

Try it on." "It's probably a little snug. Marcie tends to buy down when it comes to sizing." He merely smiled. "It has a slit up the thigh." His smile depened. "Zip it up?" Patch's eyes made a slow assessment of me, sharpening to vivid black. "I'm going to have a hard time sending you off with Scott in that dress. Just a heads-up: If you come home and the dress looks even slightly tampered with, i will track Scott down, and when i find him, it won't be pretty.

I don't have a car." His eyes sliced into mine. "I walked here," I explained. "I'm on foot." "Angel," he said in a way that sounded like he sincerely hoped I was joking.

Stay with me tonight. Let me hold you even if that's all it is. Let me keep you safe.

If I asked you to do something for me, I don't suppose you'd listen?" When he had my attention, he continued, "I'm going to take you home. Try to forget tonight happened. Try to act normal, especially around Hank. Don't mention my name." By way of an answer, I shot him a black look and swung out of the Tahoe. He followed suit, coming around to my side. "What kind of answer is that?" He asked, but his voice wasn't nearly so gruff.

Is that a yes?" he asked, pushing his fingers through my hair, fanning it out around my shoulders and searching my face intently. "Please let it be yes," he said with a gravelly edge. "Stay with me tonight. Let me hold you, even if that's all it is. Let me keep you safe.

You belong to the biblical race of Nephilim. Your real father was an angel who fell from heaven. You're half mortal." The boy's dark eyes lifted, meeting Chauncey's. "Half fallen angel." Chauncey's tutor's voice drifted up from the recesses of his mind, reading passages from the Bible, telling of a deviant race created when angels cast from heaven mated with mortal women. A fearsome and powerful race. A chill that wasn't entirely revulsion crept through Chauncey. "Who are you?

You’re impinging on my private space,” I said, inching backward. Patch gave a barely-there smile. "Impinging? This isn’t the SAT, Nora.

I might have been tempted to hit him square in the jaw had he not taken me by the shoulders and pinned me against the wall. There was hardly any space left between us, just a thin boundary of air, but Patch managed to eliminate it. "Let's be honest, Nora. You've got it bad for me." His eyes held a lot of depth. "And I've got it bad for you." He leaned into me and put his mouth on mine. A lot of him was on me, actually. We touched base at several strategetic locations down our bodies, and it took all my willpower to break away.

She cleans a toilet inside and out under a minute. More like terrifying

there's only one thing i know for certain anymore." he turned, his eyes a clear black. "that i would do anything for you, even if it means going against mu instincts or my very nature. i would lay down everything i possess, even my soul, for you. if that isn't love, it's the best i have.

And anyway, the first three letters in the word diet should tell you what I want it to do.

Does Patch have a restraining order against him?' he read. 'Is Patch a felon?' 'Give-me-that!' I hissed furiously. Patch gave a soft laugh, and I knew he'd seen the next question. 'Does Patch have a girlfriend?

Patch smiled. “You come by your red hair naturally?” I stared at him. “I don’t have red hair.” “I hate to break it to you, but it’s red. I could light it on fire and it wouldn’t turn any redder.

If we hooked up, he could write me ballads and stuff. You gotta admit, nothing's sexier than a guy who writes music.

His smile was sexy and warned of trouble, but I'd made up my mind that not all trouble was bad.

You’ve never been to school, ever? If that’s true— and you’re right, I don’t think it is—what made you decide to come this year?” “You....Your eyes, Nora. Those cold, pale gray eyes are surprisingly irresistible.” He tipped his head sideways, as if to study me from a new angle. “And that killer curvy mouth

Something doesn't look right," Vee said. "Is the tire supposed to look like that?" I banged my head against the nearest tree trunk. "So we've got a flat," Vee said. "What now?

It was bad enough when I thought your ghost was haunting me; I don't think I could handle the real thing.

You're mine, Angel. And I'm yours. Nothing can change that.