Jessica?"
"Oh, uh… sorry, François. I had to go to the bathroom."
"What? Why?"
Crud. Vampires didn't have to potty. "To get my… lotion. I have dry hands.
His gaze meandered along my chest. "Hey!" I crossed my arms over my breasts.
"Those are…"
"Patrick's?"
"Well, his name isn't tattooed on them, but yeah, currently they are reserved for him."
I peered at him and noted the similarities between him and his sons. "Ruadan, I presume?"
"Got it in one," he said, silver eyes twinkling.
"You scared the shit out of me." One corner of his mouth lifted into a grin. He picked up the parchment and tapped on it.
"So, you're Patrick's soul mate."
"No."
"But you read the scroll. Only his sonuachar can do that."
"Let me explain." I paused. "No, there is too much. Let me sum up."
" The Princess Bride!" Ruadan exclaimed in happy surprise. "I love that movie. 'Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!'" He leapt off the bed and made fencing motions.
"Ruadan, we're in a bit of crisis around here."
"Hey! My swords." He practically skipped to the dresser where I had left them when I got ready for my bath. He whirled the half-swords like a master swordsman, which, of course, he was. "My mother really knows how to smith a weapon, doesn't she? Real fairy gold." He stabbed an invisible foe's chest with one and his stomach with the other. "Die, evil one! Die!"
He jumped up and down, the swords held above his head, and did a victory dance.
"You're like a big puppy!" I exclaimed. "A big, dumb puppy.
Damnú air."
"You're cussing!"
"I refuse to admit to uttering bad words in any language." Patrick grinned and his teeth flashed white. "Jenny has been Googling German insults. I don't want her to look up Gaelic next."
Oh Lord. I tried not to think about what kind of information Jenny discovered in her search. "You let her Google curse words?"
"She said it was for educational purposes."
"Yeah, right. You are so fired as the baby-sitter.
The old-boobs Pamela or the new-boobs Pamela?
Michele BardsleyThe ripple effect. You throw a pebble into the water and it creates ripples. Your action was to throw the pebble—the representation of your choice. That’s all that you can control. But not the ripples—those are the consequences of your choice. And that you cannot control.
Michele BardsleyMots clés life inspirational choices
Acceptance. We want someone to look at us, and really see us—our physical flaws, our personality quirks, our insecurities. And we want them to be okay with every square inch of who we are. We’re always afraid we might be too needy or too much work. We put all these limitations on ourselves and our relationships because we’re afraid that we’re not really loved. That we’re not really accepted. We hide little pieces of ourselves because we think that might be the one thing that finally drives away the person who’s supposed to love us.
Michele BardsleyMots clés love acceptance sweet
Excuse me, but where do you think you’re going?” I asked.
“I figured I’d put my underwear in with yours. That way they could all get to know each other.” One brown eyebrow lifted. “Unless you want to make some formal introductions right now?
This is Tez Jones,” I said. “He’s a police detective from Tampa.”
“Oh, my,” said Martha, blinking up at him. “Is something wrong?”
“Nope,” said Tez, grinning at her and offering a saucy wink. “I’m just the boyfriend.”
“Well, then.” She sized him up, and nodded.“It’s about time Elizabeth found someone who deserved her.”
“I worship at her dainty feet.
What is it?”
“Something with which to penetrate you.”
“But you can penetrate me now. As often as you like.”
“Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t explore other options.”
“Hmm,” I said. “Soooo instead of diamonds or shoes, you got me a . . .” I stared at him, and waited for him to reveal the nature of his present.
He grinned. “Buzz, buzz, Ellie Bee.
The sun weeps because it can no longer caress your skin or warm your lips." He sifted his fingers through my hair. "I do not envy the sun, Eva. But I truly hate the moon, because its light touches you in all the ways I cannot.
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