Page 78 of Stolen Moments

Fuck, I got this all wrong.

I drop my arms as a giant tear rolls down her cheek, tearing my heart in two.

“I’m sorry. I should have called. I—”

Emery grabs my shirt, twisting the fabric in her fists, and presses her chest to mine in a tight hug. “No.” Her voice cracks. “You caught me off guard. I love my surprise. Aside from Chris, no one has ever done anything like this for me for my birthday.”

“You mean, surprise you. Right?”

She shakes her head, and my heart breaks for a completely different reason. If my arms weren’t full, I’d wrap her in my arms and hug her tight. Take away the pain in her eyes.

“My parents aren’t the touchy-feely types, and they certainly do not celebrate birthdays. I had one party when I turned sixteen, and that was more for them than for me.”

What the fuck is wrong with these people? How could they not celebrate their child’s birthday? My chest aches for the little honey-haired version of the beautiful woman before me.

“Well then, I better make this a birthday you won’t forget.”

“I’d like that.”

Before I can hand Emery the bouquet of burgundy peonies I bought for her, she tugs my shirt and pulls me through the door. I kick the door shut, determined to give her a night to remember.

If I have my way, this goddess of a woman will never go another birthday without someone—that someone being me—celebrating her and the amazing woman she is.

A woman who works hard and takes care of her brother without a second thought. A woman who is sweet and kind, and deserves the world. The woman who knocked me on my ass and flipped my lonely world upside down.

The woman I have completely fallen for.

Chapter twenty-seven

Emery

When Henry went crazyat the knock on the door, I wasn’t expecting the six-foot-two sexy man who has taken over my every thought to be standing on the other side. To say I was surprised to find him on my porch is an understatement.

I shake my head at him, smiling. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

I drop my hands from his shirt as he kicks the door shut, carrying a couple of canvas bags in one hand, and a beautiful bouquet of burgundy flowers and balloons in the other.

“Believe it, Em. I’m here.” He kisses my cheek and walks past me toward the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Get in here, birthday girl. It’s time to unwrap your presents.”

My feet freeze, and my throat tightens. “You got me presents?” I choke out, tears clouding my eyes.

“Of course.” He shrugs.

I appreciate his casual tone—he’s doing me a favor by not making a big deal out of this. But inside? Inside, I’m melting and on the verge of breaking down.

Aside from that horrible Sweet Sixteen, I was serious when I told Mason that only Chris has ever celebrated me on my actual birthday. I’ve only known Mason for a little over six months, and here he is, with an armful of presents just for me. On my birthday.

As if I couldn’t be more head over heels for the thoughtful man in front of me. He has done what no one else has been able to do in years—break down my walls and capture my heart. I’m glad his back is turned to me because I doubt I could hide the hearts in my eyes right now.

The clang of bottles catches my attention as Mason places the bags and flowers on the kitchen island. I take a deep breath and watch as he releases the balloons, letting them float to the ceiling above, and turns around to face me.

His heated gaze lands on mine as he leans his lower back against the marble’s edge and crosses his thick arms over his chest, taking me in from head to toe. I’m barefoot, wearing tattered purple and white flannel shorts with my college emblem and an oversized gray t-shirt with the same design, and have no makeup and no bra on.

My face burns at his attention as I stand before the sexiest man alive, wearing the least sexy outfit I own, and yet … he’s looking at me like I’m his next meal. Fighting the urge to cover myself with my arms, I let Mason finish his perusal, my nipples hardening under his watch as he licks his bottom lip so slowly that my panties almost combust. Memories of that tongue on my sex have my clit pulsing and my center slick with arousal.

His eyes find mine, and my cheeks are on fire for a different reason. My chest rises and falls in the same rapid beat as my heart.

“It’s not a birthday without … presents.” The husky tone Mason uses to enunciate “presents” has my pussy throbbing. “Do you like presents, Emery?” His voice, like his body, oozes sex.

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