“Her cheeks flush a little. I want to kiss her. Again. And I will. Just not right now.”

“How do you feel?"Her pupils were dilated, her cheeks flushed. "Like I want you to kiss me again."And _that_ was the invitation he'd been waiting for.”

“My first impulse is not to grab her or kiss her or yell at her. I simple want to touch her cheek, still flushed from the night's performance. I want to cut through the space that separates us, measured in feet-not miles, not continents, not years-and to take a callused finger to her face.”

“I want to hear you say it,” I say, pushing her hair from her eyes. She sighs and I can’t hold back any longer. I stroke her cheek with my hand and lean in to kiss her soft lips. I half expect her to push me back, but I can’t stop myself right now. I have to do it. I have to kiss her. I need to kiss her.”

“Finally getting control of myself, I kissed her again, then brought my hand to her face, gently running my fingers over her cheek. I marveled at the softness of her skin, the gentleness I saw in her eyes. Even now she was perfect.”

“He also knew that whenever he recalled her kissing his cheek with such unqualified trust and acceptance, it was going to ache just a little in the vicinity of his heart.It ached now.”