The huge patio at Climax Vineyards is decked out for Zach and Mandy’s afternoon wedding reception. The rocky fountains are trickling happily, white fairy lights glimmer in the willow trees, and there’s a band onstage that’s been inspiring the crowd to two-step, line dance, and presently wig out to some alt rock. The food is catered by the winery’s staff, and buffet tables are packed with fancy bits like lamb lollipops with mint-pistachio pesto (Zach’s choice) and cornmeal popovers (Mandy’s). It seems that at least half the town is here, which means Milton’s is closed for the day, and half of those people seem to be at the open bar, which is packed with folks tasting Climax wines and indulging in cherry cider and craft beer. I also see scruffy, gap-toothed Dirk Molony with a flask presumably full of moonshine from the mountains, and he’s offering it to anyone and everyone. It isn’t long until Zach moseys over to him to sneak a quick nip. He just about gets away with it, too, before the band finishes their song and Dirk starts banging a fork against a glass for attention.

“Another toast?” Quinn murmurs as he slides into the next seat with a plate of food for me.

I start to answer, but the words catch in my throat. Hot. My God, my boyfriend is so hot in his dark suit with a debonair red tie. We’ve had a few weeks to hash everything out between us — I even met his family at his 35^th birthday party —and it’s been so worth the risk I took by putting everything on the line: my heart, my soul, my sense of security. Quinn is officially mine and I’m all his.

As Dirk stops murdering the glass with the fork, I only smile at Quinn in a way that tells him how much I adore him. If a guy can melt, he’s surely doing it as he eases his hand over mine on the linen-covered table.

Dirk is wobbling on his feet, and next to him, Zach looks just as festive with a dopey, ecstatic groom’s smile.

“There’s no way I’m gonna match those fancy speeches from the best man and maiden of honor,” Dirk says with his flask tilted toward Barry and Penny. They’re seated at the long front table along with Zach’s groomsmen — three friends from college — and Mandy’s bridesmaids — two cousins and Abby Peters, who played a part in getting them together with her blogs. Dirk continues. “But the reason I’m here at this weeding …”

“Wedding,” everyone says with a laugh.

Dirk lifts up his flask higher. “Wedding, thank you indeed. Anyways, I’m here ‘cos I was the fella who Lyfted Zachary Hamilton into Cherry Valley, where he, a’ course, met Left-in-the-Lurch Mandy.”

At the mention of Mandy’s former reputation as a dumped-on girlfriend by a former, really rotten boyfriend, the place goes silent.

Dirk offers a weak smile. “What I mean to say is that … uh …”

Mandy, who’s wearing a simple yet elegant gown with white flowers in her cinnamon hair, steps out of nowhere to grab Dirk’s flask. Just when I think she’s about to toss some of that moonshine all over his cheap suit, she takes a huge swig of it and raises the silver container.

“Here’s to being left in the lurch so the man of my dreams could find me!”

The guests cheer, and Mandy shoves the flask back at Dirk and then grabs Zach for a long, husband-to-wife kiss. The band kicks into “Any Man of Mine,” and the dance floor comes alive again with two-steppers.

I move my shoulders to the beat while smoothing out my pretty baby-blue dress with a shoulder ruffle. I watch Barry steal Penny from the head table, then sneak outside with her. Mr. Doughte is tearing it up with Mrs. Carney like they’re dance pros. Mandy’s parents, along with Zach’s, are amongst the crowd that’s circling the floor, and everyone is having a hoot … except for one couple who catches my eye.

My sister has just been pulled onto the floor by none other than Deputy Jesse Herrera, who’s looking quite suave in his suit. She’s rolling her eyes in apparent distaste that he finally got her into a situation where she couldn’t avoid him. But the brat is also punishing him by keeping her distance with stiff arms as she takes the two-stepping position — her left hand just below his shoulder, her right hand clasped in his. It’s all This is my dance space, this is your dance space, I don’t go into yours, you don’t go into mine as they wheel around the floor. He’s looking at her as if trying to use that legendary quarterback charm on a girl who’s having none of it. Everyone they pass is stifling a laugh.

“There they go,” Quinn says.

“Funny,” I say, “but for a girl who never dead-ends a guy, she’s awfully good at putting the uh-uh on Jesse.”

“And that’s why he’s after her.” Quinn stands and extends his hand to me. “Don’t tell me I’m gonna have to chase you all night.”

My heart expands. “Never again. But indulge me for a second and let me meet you out there?”

He side-eyes me, but he patiently gives me what I’m asking for. As he goes to the floor, I quickly reach into my fancy beaded bag and pull out something I’ve hidden inside of it. I crumple it into my hand and go to him.

Quinn’s never learned a formal dance step in his life, so we go to a corner, and he slides his hands to my waist, bringing me close to him as I slip my arms around him and rest my cheek against his strong chest. As we sway, I see Mandy and Zach watching us, smiling before they start watching each other again. Then I see Mom, who’s sitting at a table of single ladies and laughing it up.

Life is good. But it’s about to get better.

I stuff my little surprise into Quinn’s suit pocket.

“What’s this?” he asks.

I look up at him with a grin. “Take a look.”

He covertly peeks into that pocket, and when he sees a hint of the white lace panties that I bought in that boutique the morning after our first time, a throb of heat pumps through me.

“What the everlovin’ fuck?” he whispers.

“No panties today, McMuscles.”

Aaaaaand that’s all it takes for Quinn to quietly get me away from the dance floor. It’s not far to the guesthouse that Mattie Hollister is allowing him to use for the night, and I’ve never seen a man who’s usually so cocky and sure-handed fumble with a doorknob in all my life. My pulse is already flailing by the time he gets the door open, and I’m laughing in sheer joy when he scoops me into his big arms and carries me across the threshold as if we’re the ones who just got married.

I no longer freak out when I think of a forever life with Quinn. In fact, all I want to do is kiss him and kiss him, and that’s exactly what I do. I’m kissing him so feverishly that he’s barely able to get the door closed behind us and take me to the bedroom where, at one time, he slept on top of the covers and I slept below them.

He tosses me onto the bed and I bounce, excited beyond belief, eager for him to get on over here to me. But Quinn seems to have something else in mind as he begins to undo my strappy pump sandals.

I laugh again. “I thought you’d be going pedal to the metal after you saw those undies in your pocket. You’re showing an admirable amount of restraint. Kind of like Mr. Darcy would.”

“Mr. Who?” But he’s smiling as he tosses my shoes aside, then encircles one of my ankles with his fingers.

The slight pressure — the reminder that he’s never going to let me go — makes me wriggle on the bed.

I raise my arms over my head, inviting him to go a little further with his hands. “Mr. Darcy sets a high standard for mannered romance, Quinn. You ought to look him up.”

“Know what I want to look up?”

He drags his big hands up my shins, my thighs, then under my dress. As I arch off the bed, he pushes up my skirt, baring all of my panty-less bits to him.

I tighten my arms over my head as things start to really pound in my belly and between my legs. “And how many skirts have you looked up lately?”

“Just yours. You’ve got the only pretty and pink bits I want to fucking see, Hot Stuff.”

Yes! We have the naughty talk, making its regular appearance. He always knows exactly what to say. It was like he came with a manual entitled How to Make Gwen’s Motor Hum, and as he spreads my legs apart, I moan and shift some more. He’s got that hungry look about him, and I know precisely what’s going to satiate that appetite. My heartbeat kicks around all over the place as he climbs onto the bed and slips his arms under my thighs so he can hunker between them.

“So pretty and pink,” he murmurs, his gaze devouring me as I close my eyes. He raises my hips and then gives me a big kiss, waking every part of me up with a shock.

I wiggle against him in my agitation, grasping his hair, urging him on as he uses his tongue in ways that have my eyes rolling back into my fucking head. He pushes my dress up higher, stroking his hand up to my belly, rubbing me there. I had no idea before Quinn came along that this is the Big Spot, that this is what gets me going in a hurry, and as he sucks and kisses and says more dirty things against me that I can only vaguely hear with all the noise in my head, steam rushes around my insides. It hisses, it grows, it pumps until I’m crying to the sky and rattling the walls with everlovin’ hells and everlovin’ fucks and everlovin’ pleases and then a huge bang that silences every everlovin’ thing that ever existed.

Afterward, he’s smiling and standing away from the bed and acting as cool as they make them — and, boy, when they made him, they took their time. He treats me to the sight of every muscle as he strips off his nice suit, then comes back to the bed to ease that dress off me and then press his body against mine.

Letting loose, I open myself to him, reveling in the feel of his hardness against my softness. And as he kisses me behind the ear, then just above my collarbone, then between my breasts, he flips every switch I have, bringing me higher every passing moment. He takes his time kneading and running his tongue over my breasts, and just when I think I can’t stand it anymore, I urge him to his back so I can give him the same treatment he gave me.

I slide down his body to work him until his fingers are in my hair and he’s the one growling everlovin’ naughty things.

Flushed and beating for him again, I find the rubber he left on the mattress, then tear it out of its packaging, covering him with it. Then without any further ado, I do by sitting on top of him and taking him all the way inside me. I groan long and restlessly at the way he feels. He only watches me with that hot gaze, digging his fingers into my hips, bringing us both into an easy, smooth rhythm.

From that point on, everything is a colorful whir for me — him filling me up, us moving in time, us looking into each other’s eyes until things speed up and I see the entire world in his gaze flashing by. Everything starts revolving fast, faster, then just as I’m about to explode, I spin completely out of control, blasting apart and leaving a fall of debris behind that gently sifts through the air, settling to beads of sweat on my skin.

I sigh heavily and slump down onto him, and he holds me tight.

“Love you, McMuscles,” I whisper against him.

It’s as if I’ve written something permanent on him, words on a page, promises I’m going to keep.

“I love you too, Hot Stuff.”

And I know this is just the start of the story to come.