Page 80 of Stolen Moments

“You’re welcome.”

Henry barks, reminding us of his presence.

Mason grins and opens the smaller box. He pulls out a cookie cut in the shape of dog paws and kneels down. “I didn’t forget about you, you little furball.” He hands my yorkie a dog treat the same size as his hairy head.

Henry snags it with his teeth before running out of the kitchen.

Mason goes back to unloading the bags, like he didn’t just make me swoon with that little display, and pulls out four plastic food containers and utensils. Garlic, chili, and cumin fill the air, making my stomach grumble and my heart skip a beat. He continues to move around my kitchen like he belongs here, washing his hands and setting up our dinner.

I stare at his corded forearms as they ripple and flex with his movements. You would never know Mason was a computer nerd if you saw his body. He hides a work of anatomical art under the crisply pressed slacks, dress shirts, and cashmere sweaters with suede elbow patches he wears. He looks like a hot professor. You know, the one that all the girls fight over so they could be his TA.

Sorry, ladies. He’s mine.

The last bag clangs, and once again, my interest is piqued.

Pointing to the bag I ask, “What’s in that one?”

He shoots me with a smoldering smile, and it’s like a shot of liquid lust straight to my pussy. He’s sex on a stick and a detriment to my libido.

“That is part of my surprise.” He pulls out four bottles of champagne and places them—labels facing away from me—on the counter. “Where can I find glasses?”

I move to stand, but he clicks his teeth at me.

“No, no, birthday girl, you stay seated. I’m taking care of you tonight.”

With a smile on my face, I sit and direct him to the cabinet that has the champagne flutes. He takes four glasses down and places one in front of each bottle.

“Champagne? Fancy.”

Mason chuckles. “A quality beverage for a quality woman.”

I push past the compliment that burns my cheeks.

“So, how does this work?” I wave my finger around the bottles.

“First, we’re going to taste each one of these champagnes. Then, you’re going to tell me which one is your favorite, and that one will become our champagne of choice when we have something to celebrate.”

My heart beats wildly in my chest. His tone and choice of words suggest that this isn’t a one-time thing.

I’m done for.

Not only did he bring me food and dessert, but he remembered all of my favorites. He’s standing here, for me, not because he’s obligated to be here or because he needs something. He’s here forme.

“I love that.”

I love you.

I let the words dance in my head. I want to tell him how I feel, but I don’t want to confess my feelings while my parents continue to throttle my freedom.

Soon.

I jump at the sound of the cork popping, and Mason shoots me a coy smile. He pours the buttery bubbling liquid into the flute and licks the droplets off the rim of the bottle. He repeats the process three more times, seductively licking the bottle each time. He’s gone from turning me on to making me swoon, and back again.

“Mason.” His name slips past my lips like a plea.

Or maybe it’s a warning. I don’t know. What I do know is that I couldn’t care less about the drinks in front of us. All I want is for him to lick me like the bottle in his hand. He’s got me dripping,and he hasn’t even touched me yet. The little erotic show he’s put on with the bubbly has me all hot and bothered.

He shakes his head. “Not yet.”

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