He sometimes forgets how to breathe.
Most of the time, it's because she has her mouth pressed so firmly to his that oxygen becomes freakin' goldmine, when he can come across it.
The rest of the time, though, it's those little moments, the ones that smack his instincts right out of him, he's so surprised. Like when she smiles, really smiles, and it's that private one that's just for him, and, just for a second, he thinks Happy. Because coherent thoughts, like breathing, suddenly fly out the window.
Or when someone points a gun at his head and he can see her tense up, can see her take a half-step forward so that her body is sort of shielding his. And, okay, according to the logistics layed out by television and novels, he should be the one standing in front of her, but there's something undeniably sexy about the girl taking a bullet for the guy.
But the best ones, the ones that leave him winded and with more symptoms of hyperventilation then can be good for the health, are the little moments in which she's wearing the bracelet.
Rather, the Bracelet. Because anything of that significance has to be emphasised using capital letters.
The damn Bracelet he'd given her, the family heirloom, the Christmas-present Bracelet. The 'real girlfriend' Bracelet. He'd teased her about it once, said that he'd obviously known that she'd one day usurp the role of 'real girlfriend'. Admittedly, she'd promptly thrown a spoon at his head - jokingly (he prayed) - with such deadly accuracy that it hit him square in the forehead and sent him reeling backwards.
That left him breathless, too. Although perhaps in a slightly less pleasurable way.