Booker's lips curled and his teeth bared, and his smile was as savage as it was joyous at her words, and he looked to her, eyes lidded low with the eye lids, with a look of sheer lust and warmth and excitement, and challenge.

"Kiss me, woman, for some deaths are worth dying, and some prices are worth paying, if the prize is worth the cost. And no prize, I think, was more so, than that kiss you offer." It's plainly said and yet, out of those plain words, also somehow poetic. It is, well, Booker-ish.