His writer's words poured over her like poetry, and she couldn't find a single wisecrack to put up between them.

The question is… How did a girl like Annabelle manage to talk a man like you into joining our silly little family party?” Annabelle smiled sweetly. “I promised he could tie me up afterward and spank me.

E-mail creates the illusion that you're writing. You're not.

Isn't there a mirror someplace where you can go admire yourself?" "I never knew a woman so hung up on my good looks." "All your women are hung up on your good looks. They just pretend it's your personality.

I don't love you anymore", she whispered. "I don't love you at all." His throat closed. "It's all right, sweetheart. I love you enough for both of us.

You have a college degree? You can barely talk.

Now, this is where I draw the line! It's bad enough everybody in town's going to be thinkin' I'm sleeping with a depressed, lice-ridden, hemorrhoidal foreigner who likes to be tied up and might be pregnant, although-since she's just about cornered the market on condoms-I don't know how that could have happened. But I will not-you listen to me, Emma!-I absolutely will not have anybody thinkin' a woman of mine needs a vaginal moisturizer, do you hear me?