“You’re going to shoot the messenger?”“Yeah, Dad, if the messenger can’t learn to keep his interfering ass out of my business.”

“It has to be now,” he insisted, a flick of amusement in his voice. He nudged his burgeoning loins against her. “After all, you can’t allow me to go around like this all day.”“From what I’ve learned so far, this is your natural condition,” came her pert reply.”

“Someday I'm going to throw you across his back and ride off west with you...and you'll learn to make a coffee in a tin pot over a fire, and we'll sleep underneath a wagon and look out at the stars-”

“Want to try it?" Dad offered, patting the arm of the chair. "Fifteen different kinds of massage. It analyzes your back muscles and makes recommendations. It also grabs and stretches the thigh and calf muscles.""No, thanks. I prefer my furniture to keep its hands to itself.”

“I could apologize for all the women I knew before you. But I'm not going to.""Didn't ask you to," I said sullenly.His hand slipped under the sheet, gently sweeping over me. "I learned something from every woman I've been with. And I needed to learn a lot before I was ready for you."I scowled. "Why? Because I'm complicated? Difficult?" I fought to keep my breathing steady as he cupped my breast and shaped it.He shook his head. "Because there's so much I want to do for you. So many ways I want to please you." He bent to kiss me, and brushed the tip of his nose against mine in a playful nudge. "Those women were just practice for you.""Good line," I said grudgingly.”

“Yeah, I knew," he finally said, his voice soft. "I always knew I'd do whatever it took. Living in a trailer park, running in a pack of barefoot kids . . . my whole life was already set out for me, and I sure as hell didn't like the looks of it. So I always knew I'd take my chance when I got it. And if it didn't come, I'd make something happen.”

“As I sit here writing to you, I have propped my stocking feet much too close to the hearth. I’ve actually singed my stockings on occasion, and once I had to stomp out my feet when they started smoking. Even after that I can’t seem to rid myself of the habit. There, now you could pick me out of a crowd blindfolded. Simply follow the scent of scorched stockings.”