I turned back to the woman and watched as her perfect mouth opened. She strained and drew in only the barest rasp of a breath. Her eyes were wild and wet with fear. I moved close to her and spoke in my gentlest tones. “You will be fine. All is well,” I reassured her. “You need to look in my eyes.”
Her eyes fixed on mine, then widened in recognition, in amazement. “I need you to breathe for me.” I laid one hand against her straining chest. Her skin was flushed and hot. Her heart was thrilling like a frightened bird. I laid my other hand along her face. I looked deeply into her eyes. They were like dark pools.
I leaned close enough to kiss her. She smelled of selas flower, of green grass, of road dust. I felt her strain to breathe. I listened. I closed my eyes. I heard the whisper of a name.
I spoke it soft, but close enough to brush against her lips. I spoke it quiet, but near enough so that the sound of it went twining through her hair. I spoke it hard and firm and dark and sweet.
I pulled away, watching the hope die in her eyes. “Oh, Denna. If only someone loved you.”
–The Wise Man’s Fear, Patrick Rothfuss (except that last line)
Kvothe pulling a Hans?
Someone take my computer away from me. That is not the scene.