Rebecca Brooks

When she at last pressed her mouth to his, it felt like coming home. He tasted of fire and smoke and earth, and fresh bread and soap and something so clean, so pure, it was like spring water to her lips.

Moving on was going to require leaving the woods and getting a friend set that didn__ have gray hairs, hip replacements and a few false teeth.

She couldn__ stop kissing him. Literally could not. There could be an earthquake, a fire, an explosion__ho would notice? The whole world could come crashing down and it wouldn__ be enough for her to pull away.

The kiss was so soft she couldn__ believe this was the same bad boy who__ said such things to her with that mouth.

If Blake thought she was going to be some meek, mealy-mouthedpushover grateful for his dick and his non-apologies, he obviously didn__ know what it took to make a room full of tenth graders pay attention.

What if everything about me is totally made up? What if I__ actually_I don__ know. A wanted fugitive in the States.___ulia._ He reached across the table and grabbed her hand. __obody makes up being a high school math teacher.___hat__ why it__ the perfect disguise!__e shook his head. __obody.

Her fingers traced his stomach, trying to remember this is real, this is real with each strike of her heart.

A quick and dirty whatever-it-was in the stolen minutes in the middle of the day was one thing. The quiet crackle of the fire, smell of warm bread, the home she knew was so important to him__his was something else altogether.

Sweetheart, I have no intention of denying you a thing.

It didn__ matter that she didn__ live here, that a relationship was out of the question. It was probably because a relationship wouldn__ happen that he could let himself get this close. He wrapped his arms tighter around her as though this were all that existed in the world. Just the two of them, the mountain, the clean winter air. The taste of her tongue on his lips.