“A slave mentality which had been built into him by years of carrot-and-whip grading, a mule mentality which said, “If you don’t whip me, I won’t work.” He didn’t get whipped. He didn’t work.”

“So," Simon said. "Looks like you and Derek are getting along again. What happened? Did he give you the look?""Look?""You know. The one that makes him look like a whipped puppy, and makes you feel like a jerk for doing the whipping.""Ah, that one. So it works on you, too?"He snorted. "It even works on Dad. We give in, we tell him it's okay, and the next thing you know, he's chewing up slippers again."I laughed.”

“Did you just mentally pistol whip that guy, with his own gun? Nice, Amber. I would have just killed him.”

“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.”

“Jack has been cracking the whip. Er . . . I mean . . .” I flush and fall silent.Christian says nothing for a moment.“Cracking the whip, eh? Well, there was a time when I would have called him a lucky man.” His voice is full of dry humor. “Don’t let him get on top of you, baby.”“Christian!”

“Whipped cream isn't whipped cream at all if it hasnt been whipped with whips, just like poached eggs isn't poached eggs unless it's been stolen in the dead of the night.”