Love is always the reason to go on with life. Love is the answer to all the problems.

"Take your hair down," he croaked, his voice deep even to his own ears.
She blinked, and reached up to pull the elastic from her hair, the motion doing fascinating things to the fit of her lingerie. He watched the shiny, blond-streaked tresses fall over her shoulders and down her back, and felt a tug of satisfaction that his pillows would smell like her hair after all this was over. Maybe for days. He would revel in that, later. For now, he had the woman herself to savor.

Morgan closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Maybe you’re right,” she sighed, “We should probably wait.”
Owen drew back, and she could feel him studying her. She waited as long as she could stand it before she opened her eyes and grinned. He chuckled, low in his throat, a predatory gleam in his eye.

“Not a chance,” he muttered, closing in.

Owen folded his arms around Morgan to steady her when she crashed into him, and was enveloped by her scent, her warm softness. When she gave a scared little scream, he tightened his arms in a protective reflex. She fit him perfectly, he noted distractedly. And she was soaked: he'd seen her come in from the rain, her expression frantic, just as he had rushed in the front door. His shirt was plastered to his chest between them.

"Hi Honey, I'm home," he breathed, astounded to be holding her at last.

I do not care about you anymore, but that is only when I am around people. The fact is I hide my emotions very well.

Edward chuckled into her mouth.
“Like that, do you?” he murmured. “So do I.”