“After that, he couldn't be sure how it happened, but she wasn't crying anymore and he wasn't thinking. At all. His hands were underneath her sweater, touching every inch of her warm, smooth skin; they were kissing like two condemned people suddenly given a reprieve; and his feeling of calm morphed into happiness so intense, he'd swear his blood was singing.”

“It made him crazy, looking down into her beautiful eyes, at her creamy soft skin, knowing he couldn't touch her.”

“His hand around hers was strong and warm, and in spite of her confusion and hesitation, she never wanted to let go.”

“Maybe he wasn't the boy next door, maybe he wasn't even a real boy, but holy smokes, did he know how to kiss.”

“She tried not to slip her arms beneath his trench coat, or spread her palms across his broad, muscular back, or inhale the delicious scent of him, or rest her cheek against his hard, warm chest. She tried. And failed.”

“Was he serious? Why would she be meant for a guy from Hell? If there was such a thing as destiny, she was supposed to find a quiet, smart guy, one who wasn't over six feet tall, with midnight hair and a face she couldn't stop staring at. He'd be Russian Orthodox. Or Episcopalian. He might even be Jewish. But he wouldn't be from Hell.”

“They stood together, arms wrapped tight, listening to the wind through the pines while snow fell softly all around. This was one of those moments in life she knew she’d never forget.He moved his head so that his lips were close to her ear. “Run, Sasha. If you can do it, run like hell and don’t look back.”Her breath came in short little gasps. “I don’t want to run.”