A biography for Rebecca Brookshasn’t been written yet.
“Moving on was going to require leaving the woods and getting a friend set that didn’t have gray hairs, hip replacements and a few false teeth.”
“Her fingers traced his stomach, trying to remember this is real, this is real with each strike of her heart.”
“The kiss was so soft she couldn’t believe this was the same bad boy who’d said such things to her with that mouth.”
“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—this was something else altogether.”
“What if everything about me is totally made up? What if I’m actually…I don’t know. A wanted fugitive in the States.”“Julia.” He reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “Nobody makes up being a high school math teacher.”“That’s why it’s the perfect disguise!”He shook his head. “Nobody.”
“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.”
“Sweetheart, I have no intention of denying you a thing.”
“It didn’t matter that she didn’t live here, that a relationship was out of the question. It was probably because a relationship wouldn’t 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.”
“If Blake thought she was going to be some meek, mealy-mouthedpushover grateful for his dick and his non-apologies, he obviously didn’t know what it took to make a room full of tenth graders pay attention.”
“She couldn’t stop kissing him. Literally could not. There could be an earthquake, a fire, an explosion—who would notice? The whole world could come crashing down and it wouldn’t be enough for her to pull away.”