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Quote by Greg Gorman & Julie Gorman

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Greg Gorman & Julie Gorman

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“The lucid, rational part of Billie wanted to laugh. Here she was, out in the woods of middle-class suburbia, with a man’s fingers inside her panties, inside her, a climax of unimaginable force trembling at the edge of her grasp. And the man who now plied her and played her…a prostitute. A gigolo. A beloved brother and son and uncle, and a suspect, with too many secrets and too much sexual prowess. A man she was falling in love with. The impossibility of it, the crazy, twisted potential swept over her, then ebbed, lost in the surge of unbelievable pleasure that built and built within her like strings drawn too tightly across a fine-tuned instrument. She would die from this, die and scatter into a million fragments and drift like dust on the wind.”

“In her own fumbling way, she’d reminded him he was just a man, fallible, needful, a member of the supremely imperfect human race…and shamefully undeserving of what she had to offer. Looking at Billie, touching her, tasting her, had filled him with a wanting fiercer than any he’d known. For the first time, he was faced with something he couldn’t truly have, because of what he’d become.”

“How old are you, Billie?” “Thirty-three.” “With such innocent eyes for a cutthroat Illicit reporter.” She studied his expression, found it sincere. “Despite rumors to the contrary, not all of us fit the hard-hitting mold.” “I see that.” He reached up and brushed an errant strand of hair from her cheek, a tender gesture that caught her completely off-guard. “And I like it.”