you wanted.”
So asking for her plans hadn’t been a casual enquiry. “I love you, Remy. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
“I don’t deserve you.” They shared a kiss of true mutual love, their first, which threatened to turn into something else when he caressed her, and bent to deliver a kiss on the slope of one breast. He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling with happiness. “So wasn’t that the best amuse-bouche you ever tasted?”
1924- Donald J. Sobol, Lillian Brandi