Page 153 of Stolen Moments

“I deserve that. I guess I’m going to have to work harder at getting you to believe me.”

“Mason…”

“No. I was serious last night. This is where I want to be. I want to be with you, and I am going to earn your trust back.”

“But—”

“No,” he snaps. “We are done talking about this. Now, go change.” I narrow my eyes at him before he adds, “Please.”

“You can’t—”

“Miss Emery?” Rhys calls from the couch, stopping me from snapping back at his uncle’s bossy tone.

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Can we please take Henry with us?” he pleads, giving me puppy dog eyes that brim with hope.

I can’t help smiling at all his sweetness. Oh hell, I bet that cute look on his face works on everyone. I glance back at Mason, whose face matches his nephew’s, and I freaking melt.

Damn these Miller boys and their handsome faces.

“That’s a great idea. I bet Henry would love that. I do have to warn you, his little legs get tired fast.”

“That’s okay. I can carry him,” Rhys says matter-of-factly, petting Henry’s head.

“Em.”

I return my gaze to Mason’s burning hazel orbs that singe my skin and make my center pulse with desire.

“Go change.”

Uncontrollable shivers race up my back at his bossy tone. He doesn’t miss my body’s reaction and flashes me a smug smirk. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

“Fine. I’ll get dressed.” I point at him, biting back a smile. “But only for Rhys.”

“I’ll take it,” he grumbles, muttering, “For now,” under his breath.

Hiding my smile, I turn on my heels and race to my room as I feel his eyes track my every move. As quickly as I can, I tie my hair into a messy bun on top of my head, wash my face, rub on some moisturizer, and throw on a pair of black fleece workout leggings, a matching thermal, and a pair of socks.

When I return to the living room, Mason is sitting on the couch with Rhys, Henry lying between them with his tongue hanging out, getting his tummy scratched. I lean against the wall, watching them laugh and fawn over my dog.

Mason is so sweet and attentive with Rhys, and I can picture him being the same way with his own son. Their shaggy brown hair flopping around as they’d laugh and joke around. I’d be sitting next to them with Mason’s arms around me, holding me tight. The idea of having a family of my own grows stronger watching them.

“Are you ready?” a gruff voice asks, ripping me out of my Daddy Mason daydreams.

“Do you want kids?” I blurt out. Slapping a hand over my mouth, I can feel my face burn red.

Why the hell would I ask that?

Mason chuckles, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. Eyes locked on mine, he stands from the couch and strides towards meuntil we are toe to toe, leaving Rhys out of earshot with my happily spoiled dog.

Cupping my cheeks, he whispers, “Ask me again.”

My eyes bounce between his green- and gold-streaked gaze, searching for the answer. His cheek twitches as my teeth find my bottom lip and dig in, too afraid to ask again. He nods his head, giving me the confidence I need.

“Do you want kids?”

“Only with you,” he confesses.

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