" Look to yourself, Matthew, please. I'll not forgive you if you don't return this time."
"You admit you'll miss me, then?" Even as death drew closer, he could make a joke.
"Just a little," she conceded.
With a laugh that was half cry, she pulled his face toward her and pressed her soft lips into his firm ones. All at once, the slow roar of the fire that had underpinned their entire journey dulled. The faces of those nearby disappeared as she stared at the man whose mouth captured hers. Leaning into him, she felt a heat that had nothing to do with the approaching conflagration rise, and she melded her body to his, found the crevices and planes into which her own flesh fitted so perfectly.
With a deep, urgent moan, it was Matthew who pushed her away this time, his eyes molten with desire. "Do that again and I may burn where we stand," he said hoarsely.
"I'd rather that than risk you in the fire "

― Karen Brooks , The Chocolate Maker's Wife