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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.

Becca Fitzpatrick

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Becca Fitzpatrick
Age: 45
Born: 1979
Born: February 3
Author
Novelist
Writer
Centerville
Utah
Hair
Turn
Patch
Fire
Stared
Break
Patches
Turns
Smiled
Hate
Naturally
Light
Red
Come
Wouldn

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Vee scowled at him. She is famous for that scowl. It's a look that does everything but audibly hiss.
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If you keep running from me, you're never going to figure out what's really going on.
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Vee said, I'm trying to read the title he's holding…hang on…How to Be a Stalker. He is not checking out a book with that title. But I wasn't so sure. It's either that of How to Radiate Sexy Without Trying.
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I’m not stealing it. We’re stranded. This is called borrowing.” “This is called you’re crazy.
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If I had known things would turn out this way, I would have trained harder. I would have learned to take care of myself. But I guess that's the point, isn't it? You never know what you're going to have to face, so you'd better be prepared.
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He nuzzles my neck affectionately. I love you. I'm happier right now than I ever remember being.
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...Good, because I need your help. Help is my middle name. I was pretty sure she'd already told me bad was her middle name, but I kept my opinion to myself.
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Did I really want to stay on this road longer, knowing it was only going to end in devastation?
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I swear to you, Patch, to take your love and cherish it. And in return, to give you my body and my heart—everything I possess, I give to you. I am yours. Wholly and completely. Love me. Protect me. Fulfill me. And I promise to do the same.” ~ Nora + Patch
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I took three steps back he nudged the door closed with his foot. “You like Mexican?” he asked. “I—” I’d like to know what you’re doing inside my house! “Tacos?” “Tacos?” I echoed. This seemed to amuse him. “Tomatoes, lettuce, cheese.” “I know what a taco is!
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I turned my face up to his. I could hardly look at him the same way. I was crying without realizing I'd started. You made a deal with Hank. You saved my life. Why would you do that for me? Angel, he murmured, clasping my face between his hands. I don't think you understand the lengths I would go to if it means keeping you here with me.
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Everything had come into sharp focus : his smooth words, his black, glinting eyes, his broad experience with lies, seduction, women. I'd fallen in love with the devil.
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Patch was in my life for a reason. I needed him. We were two halves of the same whole.
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Your name?” I repeated, hoping it was my imagination that my voice faltered. “Call me Patch. I mean it. Call me
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He gave Marcie a spare to the Jeep—I should park this thing in the ocean, twenty feet under.
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Walk out,” he repeated. “We need to talk.” “About how you need to sacrifice me to get a human body?” I asked, my tone light, my insides feeling leaden. “That might be cute if you thought it was true.
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I cared about us. But the cold hard truth was, nothing I said or did could realign the stars.
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I wanted to imprint his touch, his taste, even the scent of him so solidly inside me that no one could take them away from me.
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I looked to the window. Patch was gone, but a single black feather was pressed to the outer pane, held in place by last night's rain. Or Angel Magic
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Anthony raised his red plastic cup to me and shouted something, but it was too hard to hear over the music. “What?” I called back. “You look great!” A goofy smile was plastered on his face. “Oh boy,” Vee said. “Not just a pimp, but a smashed pimp.” “So maybe he’s a little drunk.” “Drunk and hoping to corner you alone in a bedroom upstairs.” Ugh.
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