He made her heart beat faster. Nothing made her pulse jump quite so much like Sweeney: not being onstage, not stopping hearts, not healing people. Just Sweeney. It didn't matter if he was slashing throats and letting her watch or if his fingers were moving over the scar he'd given her - there was no denying that he was her main source of adrenaline.
On the bed, she watched him remove his shirt, her lips parted. She kissed him like it might be her last act, nipping faintly at his lips, her hands running down his back.