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I took it, hands trembling, as he sat down next to me. After a moment I lifted the lid. Inside, nestled into a tiny bit of white tissue was a single candy heart with a well-known name embossed along the side.

  I shook my head, confused. “Godiva dark chocolate ganache?”

  “It’s your favorite, right?”

  “Yes, it certainly is.” Inventive and thoughtful and powerfully masculine. All in perfect proportion.

  “It’s not just any heart,” he said, his voice shaking the tiniest bit. “It’s my heart.”

  “Your heart is full of chocolate ganache?”

  “It’s symbolic, goofball.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Gabs, tonight didn’t exactly work out quite the way I planned. I thought we’d have a few glasses of wine, dance a few slow dances and then take a long, moonlight stroll to the gazebo. I was going to kiss you there among the magnolias and then give you this and say the words I’ve been wanting to say for weeks. But when the conversation turned to other things, well, I wanted to wait until I had your complete attention.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mess up your scenario. It sounds very romantic.”

  “Well we still got to take our stroll and we still had a passionate encounter in the gazebo, which was also part of the plan. What we just experienced was worth a couple extra hours of waiting for the rest.” He shook his head. “Jesus that was intense.” He sounded awestruck.

  “It was perfect,” I admitted quietly. I held up the little box. “So is this. So are you.”

  He dipped his head and kissed me, a soft, sensual kiss that made my heart quiver. After a long, sweet moment, he leaned his forehead against mine and ran the tips of his fingers down my arm.

  “Are you still sore?”

  “Only a little.”

  “Too sore to make love again?”

  “Not at all,” I assured him. In fact there was nothing in the world I wanted more than to snuggle into the soft down with his hard, warm body and tell him all the things I wanted him to know—with my body and with everything in my heart.

  He took the box from me and set it by my brush then turned back, easing me down against the covers and propping himself above me. He started to kiss me, then paused and smiled. “I never did say it, did I?”

  “You’ve been saying it all night long,” I said. “The heart was charming and romantic, but I don’t need to hear the words to know you love me. I can feel it in the way you hold me and in the tenderness of your kisses. I can see it in your eyes every time you look at me and I can hear it in your voice when you say my name. I felt it every step of the way tonight. I never could have let go the way I did otherwise.”

  “But I still want to say it.”

  Of course he did. He’d always want to do things right. “Well then, go ahead.”

  “I love you, Gabby. I think maybe I always will.”

  “I love you too.”

  He lowered his lips slowly to mine, and the light in his eyes was more profound and more enduring than the frenzied lust of our earlier encounters. It was the kind of peaceful passion I’d only seen in the movies, the kind people said could only exist in fairy tales. But it sure looked real to me.

  About Maggie Montgomery

  Maggie knew she was home the moment she set foot in Georgia and she hasn’t looked back except to whine about the absence of Bob Evans and Skyline Chili. She attended a tiny university in southern Ohio (she couldn’t afford Yale) where, for some inexplicable reason, she earned a political science degree after first majoring in elementary ed (too many parent conferences), forensic anthropology (too many not-yet-skeletal remains, ick) and theatre (alas, poor Yorick). Then she ended up with an office job anyway, so what the heck?

  She dabbled in writing throughout her life (g’head—ask her about that sequel to Goonies), but didn’t take it seriously until a wise job coach urged her to leave corporate America before she started rocking and mumbling to herself. She freelanced as a journalist, technical writer and business consultant until she got sick of paying for health insurance. Now she directs a college marketing department (sometimes fun), writes freelance articles (always interesting) and is launching a fiction career (multi-published, woo-hoo!). A huge mystery fan, she set out to write one. But the characters said “screw you” and gave her an erotic romance instead. Now she’s hooked.

  Maggie has a nerdy streak a mile wide and derives entirely too much pleasure from sticking references to her favorite classics into her stories. Her life wish list includes learning to salsa dance, making her own pickles and looking awesome in hot pants, mules and a mohair twin set. Esoteric factoids make her happy, she has serious addictions to Godiva chocolate, hair flowers, board games, nachos, polka dots, coffee and shoes..

  Maggie welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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  Also by Maggie Montgomery

  Tex-Mex Sex Hex

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Love, Sex, Spumoni

  ISBN 9781419990984

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Love, Sex, Spumoni Copyright © 2014 Maggie Montgomery

  Edited by Elizabeth London

  Cover design by Kelly Martin

  Cover photography by EuToch/Shutterstock;lumyy010/Fotoli

  Electronic book publication March 2014

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

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