“He reaches over and grabs my hand and laces our fingers together. "You're gonna break my heart, Sparrow Fisher." And I think, not before you break mine.”

“You’re going to break my heart, Sparrow Fisher.” And I think, Not before you break mine.”

“I move my hips in rhythm with his. He grabs my hands in his and laces his fingers with mine, while his hooded sex eyes lock onto mine.”

“I want to reach out and grab his hand and hold it to me, right over my heart, right where it aches the most. I don't know if doing that would heal me or make my heart break entirely, but either way this constant hungry waiting would be over.”

“His hand glides down my arm, folds over my hand. His fingers lace with mine, palms kissing. I can feel the fast thud of his heart through this single touch.”

“When he laces his fingers through mine, my heart does its now familiar panicked flight, bumping painfully against my ribs. My shoulder twitches as if to pull my hand back, but my heart overrules it.”