Page 40 of Stolen Moments

I laugh, relieved to know he’s never touched my girl. Not that I could blame him—she’s fucking perfect.

“Get jealous there for a second?”

“Uh, yeah. I was envisioning pulling him over the bar and punching his teeth out.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Bossy, you’re the only guy I’ve picked up at the airport.” She pats my hand.

I squeeze her thigh. “I thought I picked you up.”

“Okay, we can go with that story if you want,” she says with a shrug.

We both know I’m the one who initiated our conversation. I’m about to fight her on it when the hostess comes over, letting us know our table is ready. Grabbing Emery’s hand, I help her off the stool and watch her calves flex as she places her feet on the floor.

I take her in, from her sexy stiletto-covered feet to her pretty topaz eyes. She’s utterly stunning and without a doubt one of a kind.

“You’re fucking beautiful, baby doll.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, blushing.

We follow the hostess to our table, Emery’s hand still clasped in mine.

If the rest of the night continues this way, I’m pretty sure I’m going to fall for her completely. I might already be there.

Chapter fourteen

Emery

“How’s Henry this evening?”

Nervous butterflies flutter in my stomach at Mason’s probing question.

“Probably living his best life and being spoiled by a couple of six-year-olds,” I say with a shrug.

His fork stops midair as he arches his brow in question. I chuckle at his surprise.

When he asked me to meet him at the hotel restaurant, I assumed he booked a room here … and I would stay with him.

Over the past few weeks, we’ve gotten to know each other very well. Mason is funny, in a dry humor kind of way, and genuinely sweet. Even though he is busy with work, he checks in with updates on his day and makes time for us to talk. I look forward to getting his texts and hearing the way his gruff voice says my name or calls me baby doll. Our texts and calls have become flirtier, and our last FaceTime was definitely not suitable for work.

When he suggested we meet this weekend and asked me to be his Valentine, I figured this was it. We’d spend the weekend together. Alone. Doing all the things I’ve been imagining us doing every night before I go to bed.

So, I planned. I sent my dog to stay with some work friends, packed my overnight bag—which is sitting in my car—and wore the sexiest bra and panty set I own.

“You don’t need to go home tonight?”

“Nope.” With a smirk, I take the last bite of my chicken, exaggerating the way my lips wrap around the tines and the way my tongue swipes across my lips.

Mason stares at my mouth hungrily.

The waitress approaches our table, breaking our trance, and tops off my glass of wine. “Can I interest either of you in the dessert menu?”

“Please.”

“No, just the check.”

The waitress freezes at Mason’s curt tone, unsure of what to do while we engage in a stare-off. My mouth pops open as he shakes his head at me, like the bossy man he is. The urge to fight him is strong, but the dark look in his eyes stops me.

My body shivers at the heat of his glare. He has something else in mind. My stomach dips in anticipation.

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