“She kisses my scars and I create new ones for her.”

“She craned up on her toes and kissed my cheek..."Don't do that", I said. "You just met me. This is New York.”

“She had told herself she should be reassured by his squeamishness; a man who balked at scars would not give her new ones. Now she suddenly wondered if she’d had it wrong. A man without scars would always underestimate their value. He would not see them as marks of courage.”

“She cannot chain my soul.Yes, she could hurt me. She'd already done so. But what was one more beating? A flogging, even? I would bleed, or not. Scar, or not. Live, or not. But she could no longer harm Ruth, and she could not hurt my soul, not unless I gave it to her.This was a new notion to me and a curious one.”

“He kissed her temple, nuzzling her skin, and murmured again that she was the most beautiful lass in the world. They weren't just words he offered. Platitudes he didn't mean. He cared not about the scar that marred her face. In his eyes, she was the most beautiful lass he'd ever known and nothing would change that. Not a scar. Not circumstances. She was his, and he didn't give one damn what others thought.”

“He kissed her on her ear, a kiss with the barest hint of moisture to it. She could not breath for the electricity of it, a violent spark of pleasure that shook and scarred. His fingers caressed her shoulders. His lips pressed into her exposed nape. Dark, hot sensations spiked into her.”