Page 85 of The Moon & His Tides
“Cancel it. You have a Lombardi living in your house, which means it’s absolutely non-negotiable that your birthday is one of the best days of the year. Leave it to me, I’ve got this. Now, I’ll give you twenty minutes to shower and get changed before I drag you out of this house.”
I could feel his smile against my palm and moved it slightly so he could say, “And if I say no?”
“You won’t,” I said with my cocky grin.
“Confident, aren’t you?”
“Supremely. Because if you agree to Sebastian’s day of fun, I’ll give you Adam’s night of debauchery to do whatever you want to me.”
I meant it to be fun and flirty, but the instant my words hit the air, they sparked the latent heat between us until every inch of my skin felt like it had caught fire.
“Anything?” Adam whispered thickly, his lids lowered, gaze caught on my mouth.
I licked my lips to tease him before stepping away, walking backward with my hands in my pockets to contain my temptations. “Anything. Twenty minutes before your birthday begins for real. Hurry up.”
19
ADAM
Icouldn’t remember the last time I celebrated a birthday.
Maybe when I was eleven years old, the year before my mother died in a car accident, and all semblance of warmth left my family for good. She’d taken me to the seaside for the day without my father. That morning was the first time I ever surfed, the lesson bought as a surprise by my mum. It would be our secret because Lord Peter Andrew Yardley, Marquis of Pemberton, would never allow his heir to do something as pedestrian as surf.
I’d fallen in love instantly, just as Mum had known I would.
The cold of the water despite my wetsuit, the symphony of waves lapping against the board and crashing into the shore, the bright adrenaline of finally catching a little wave and standing poised on the surfboard as it carried me in like the tide.
It was euphoric.
After, we bought sweets in a local treat shop on the boardwalk, then browsed the little storefronts before grabbing sandwiches at a local café and eating them with our feet dangling over the stone pier.
To this day, the sound of seagulls calling and the scent of ocean brine brought a smile to my face.
Ironically, Savannah didn’t care for the sea or its accruements. The sand got in everything, and her fair skin went straight to hot pink under the sun's glare. It was one of the reasons she resisted moving to LA even though there were so many opportunities in Hollywood. She preferred the cool, cultured elegance of London.
“You’re being very quiet andcupo,” Sebastian said beside me as he drove us in the Rolls through the streets of London to some surprise location.
I propped my elbow on the window frame and looked over at him because he was so fucking gorgeous it eased some of the turmoil still sitting like rancid meat in my gut. A lock of wavy ink-dark hair had fallen onto his forehead, and my fingers literally itched to push it back and cup that stubble-darkened, strong jaw. I’d never seen anyone with eyes like his, twin gold coins like something found in pirate ships and at the end of rainbows. They were fantastical and covetable and every time he looked at me, I felt a surge of greed. I wanted to own him, possess him, and fucking hoard him, a dragon with its treasure.
“Cupo?” I questioned.
“Sullen,” he supplied with a sidelong glance. “Remember, you had twenty minutes to get your shit together before we commenced our day of fun. No bad thoughts on your birthday, Adam.”
“Easier said than done,” I muttered, but it did make me feel better just sitting with him in the car.
The smell of leather and Sebastian’s spicy cologne were a strange aphrodisiac after our first rendezvous in a car. Part of me was tempted to close my tired eyes and listen to his voice as a kind of lullaby to ease me into sweet dreams.
“Fine, let’s utilize Strasberg’s emotional recall to help you out,” Seb announced, unperturbed by my cranky arse. “What’s one of your happiest memories?”
I hesitated, and he clucked his tongue.
“Uh, uh, uh, you owe me stories about your past, remember? In the garden at Pinewood Studios, I shared, and you did not.”
I loosed a long, dramatic sigh that only made him grin in triumph.
“I was just thinking of one, actually,” I murmured, turning my gaze out the window so I didn’t have to watch the play of emotions on his expressive face when I told him about her. “The last birthday I actually celebrated. It was with my mum the year before she passed away.”
Passed away was a bloody idiotic term. As if it was a choice. As if she took a left instead of a right at a fork in the road and walked to her demise.
