“The way her body existed only where he touched her. The rest of her was smoke.”

“He was a fool. Claire Montoya was convinced she didn’t need anyone. That her way was the only way.He kept walking.Because only a fool would want a woman who would never let him in. He could touch her skin, touch her body, but she’d never trust him enough to let him touch her heart. Not the way he wanted. And he couldn't do that. Not with her. Her terms were unacceptable, her barriers too high.”

“He liked to touch, she realized. In bed, he kept his arms around her or a hand on her like now. The way he played with her breasts, or just touched her, or ran his hands over her body, made her feel so...so beautiful, Desirable.”

“... he broke her heart and made her crave his touch even while she was trying to figure out where to hide his body.”

“He imprisoned the rest of her body by the simple expediency of lying down on top of her.”

“You’re killing me," he told her, panting, his palms sliding down over her ribs to explore the rest of her shape—her waist, her hips, her thighs. "Killing me by inches." He lifted his body from hers enough to yank up her skirt. "But it’s a damn fine way for a man to die.”