" She shoved open his shirt, then wrenched his undershirt from his trousers and scrunched it up to his armpits with a quick strokes. Lips parting, she swept her gaze from his torso to his eyes. Jaw clamped against the spasm, he managed a wink. “Not bad for a dying man, huh? "

― Deeanne Gist , Fair Play (It Happened at the Fair, #2)