I’m Sam Donovan.” “I know who you are. Mrs. Kulavich told me. I’m Jaine Bright.” “I know. She told me. She even told me how you spell your name.” Now, how on earth had Mrs. Kulavich known that?

She should have remembered her past experiences in the relationship wars and not let herself get so excited. Evidently her hormones had overruled her common sense and she had become drunk on ovarian wine, the most potent, sanity- destroying substance in the universe.

...We have seven people who knew the skewers were there: the wedding planner, the reception hall manager, the dressmaker, the florist, the veil-maker, the cake-maker, and the caterer. I haven't ruled out the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker, either.

Honey, the only experts in PMS are men. That's why men are so good at fighting wars; they learned Escape and Evade at home.

A thousand thoughts ran through my mind. Well, at least six or seven, anyway, because a thousand thoughts are a lot. Try counting your own thoughts and see how long it takes you to get to a thousand.

Don’t kiss me,” she said warningly. “I don’t intend to,” he replied, smiling a little. “I don’t have my whip and chair with me.

What are you doing?” she cried in protest. “Playing,” he said, the single word rough, almost guttural.