“It wasn't that she was mad at him for being uninjured. She was so relieved she could have vomited, actually.”

“Mikhail truly liked Ansel-that much was obvious. he always found excuses to touch her, always smiled at her, always looked at her as if she were the only person in the room. Celeana sloshed her wine around in her glass. If she were being honest, sometimes she thought Sam looked at her that way. But then he'd go and say something absurd, or try to undermine her, and she'd chide herself for even thinking about him. Her stomach tightened. What had Arobynn done to him that night? She should have inquired after him. But in the day's after him, she's been so busy, wrapped up in her rage... She hadn't dared look for him, actually. Because if Arobynn had hurt Sam the way he'd hurt her... Celeana drained the rest of her wine.”

“Nor had she missed when they zigzagged between levels, even though the building was a standard grid of hallways and stairwells. As if she'd lose her bearings that easily.She might have been insulted if he wasn't trying so hard.”

“His breath was warm on her neck as he bent his head, resting his cheek against her hair. Her heart beat so quickly, and yet she felt utterly calm—as if she could have stayed there forever and not minded, stayed there forever and let the world fall apart around them. She pictured his fingers, pushing against that line of chalk, reaching for her despite the barrier between them.”

“You look more of less the same."She strode right past him. "And you still look like a jackass," she said sweetly.”

“She watched him, her head angled. He sometimes felt that she looked at him the way a cat regards a mouse. He just wondered how long it would take for her to pounce.”

“Well, he was certainly desirable-as desirable as Sam, maybe. Sam-when had she ever thought of him as desirable? He'd laugh until he died if ever knew she thought of him like that.”