Becca Fitzpatrick (born February 3, 1979) is an American author, best known for having written the New York Times bestseller Hush, Hush.
Since we're keeping it primal, you smell good," he observed. "It's called a shower. . . ," I began automatically, then trailed off. My memory snagged, taken aback by a compelling and forceful sense of undue familiarity. "Soap, shampoo, hot water," I added, almost as an afterthought. "Naked. I know the drill," Jev said, something unreadeble passing over his eyes.
Did I really want to stay on this road longer, knowing it was only going to end in devastation?
If you can't feel, why did you kiss me?" Patch traced a finger along my collarbone, then headed south stopping at my heart. I felt it pounding through my skin. "Because I feel it here, in my heart," he said quietly.
. . . "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.
For the first time all day I felt safe. Except that Patch had cornered me in a dark tunnel and was possibly stalking me. Maybe not so safe.
Religion?" I asked more firmly. Patch dragged a hand thoughtfully along the line of his jaw. "Not religion. . . cult. " "You belong to a cult?" I realized too late that while I sounded surprised, I shouldn't have. "As it turns out, I'm in need of a healthy female sacrifice. I'd planned on luring her into trusting me first, but if you're ready now. . .
Deep, dark unearthly black. I hadn't told anyone yet, but the color kept streaking across my mind at the oddest moments. When it did, my skin shivered pleasantly, and it was as if I could feel the color tracing a finger tenderly along my jaw, tipping my chin up to face it directly. I knew it was absurd to think a color would come to life, but once or twice, I was sure I'd caught a flash of something more substantial behind the color. A pair of eyes. The way they studied me cut to the heart.
They say that when you're about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. They never tell you that when you watch someone you once loved dying, hovering between this life and the next, it's twice as painful, because you're reliving two lives that traveled one road together.
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
She looked up, her face pink as a Christmas ham. “You ever try chasing down a car?” she gasped. “I’ll one-up you. I gave Scott my hot dog and asked if he’d go to Summer Solstice with me. ” “What does the hot dog have to do with anything?” “I said he’d be a wiener if he didn’t go with me. ” Vee wheezed laughter. “I’d have run harder had I known I’d get to see you call him a wiener.