““And you consider yourself as what, some sort of Count of Monte Cristo?" He gave a nonchalant shrug. "Not particularly, though the book is a favorite of mine." Farah frowned. "I thought you said you couldn't read." That Dorian Blackwell could laugh at a time like this astounded her. But he did. The sound so devoid of true mirth, it caused goose pimples to rise on her skin and her nipples to tighten painfully. It was a dark sound, like the rest of him, and it washed over her with chilling totality.””
