“He treasured her, treasured her tears, treasured her love for others. Her heart might even be big enough to fill that empty space in his own chest. Perhaps she could be his heart as well.”

“Maybe he loves her. Maybe he wishes to have her forever, maybe he wishes that she could be his bride. Even then he might lose much to be with her-his properties, his position. But next to his love for her, what meaning do they have? He would be a fool to treasure dead gold more then a live heart.”

“Wrapping his arms around her waist, he kissed her cheek. She inhaled his masculine scent, he smelled of engine grease, citrus hand cleaner and man. She turned in his arms and laid her cheek over his beating heart, treasuring the haven of his embrace...”

“ A woman with romance in her life lived as grandly as a queen, because her heart was treasured.”

“She kissed him back with a fervor that betrayed her anxiety, her relief. Rolling her hips, she pressed her breasts into his chest, felt the thudding of his heart against hers. God, if she could crawl into him, it might just be close enough.”

“Her mind turned to those paintings. The locked treasure chest, the masks, the dark woods. Those symbols were emblematic of her own secret pain—the inaccessibility of love, the inscrutability of men, her own loneliness. She could never confess those intimate details with someone like him!.”