Where's your instruction manual?" I asked him. "What's the baby customer-service number?
Lisa KleypasThose blue eyes glinted with uncivilized suggestion. A faint smile was tucked in the corner of his wide mouth. Definitely wouldn't want to be alone in a room with that guy, I thought. His gaze moved downward in lazy inspection, returned to my face, and he gave me one of those respectful nods that Texan men had raised to an art form.
Lisa KleypasIโve won his heart, but itโs like owning a house in which most of the doors are permanently locked. He wants to shield me from all unpleasantness. And itโs not really marriageโnot like the marriage you have with Camโuntil heโs willing to share the worst of himself as well as the best of himself.
Lisa KleypasWell, you missed out on some important protocol, Ella. You can't stand between a Texan and his power tools. We like them. Big ones that drain the national grid. We also like truck-stop breakfasts, large moving objects, Monday night football, and the missionary position. We don't drink light beer, drive Smart cars, or admit to knowing the names of more than about five or six colors. And we don't wax our chests, ever.
Lisa Kleypas