““What about you?” “Two weeks ago, I would have said nothing.” “Asher, that’s terrible.” “But true.” “And now?” “Now I’m getting grabby.” “It feels good to want,” said Savannah. “It feels terrible to want,” he said softly, “when your chances of getting what you want are so slim.” His words made anger surge within her. She leaned away from him, catching his eyes in the firelight. “Stop doing that.” “What?” “Lowballing yourself.” “I think I’m reality-balling myself.” “No,” she insisted fiercely. “You’re not.” She reached for his face with both hands for the first time, her palms landing simultaneously on smooth skin and scarred skin. She held him still and deliberately looked into his eyes—his normal eye and the other eye, whose socket had been damaged by the detonation of that goddamned IED. She lingered on that eye until he closed them both and then she leaned forward to press her lips against the mangled skin beneath it. His breath was ragged as she placed a second kiss on the injured skin of his cheek, then on the corner of his lips. He roared to life, his incredibly strong arm pulling her onto his lap, his mouth opening to kiss her senseless, to kiss her like crazy, to drown her and consume her and make her forget all the kisses that came before.””
