" I looked up into the glittering depths of his mahagony irises. A soft line had formed between his brows as he studied me, and I realized for the thousandth time I could not read him. Not like I could most people. I felt emotion roiling within him, but i was jumbled, chaotic, a mixture of desire and concern and regret. "

― Darynda Jones , The Dirt on Ninth Grave (Charley Davidson, #9)