"So," Jameson murmured, resting his hands low on my waist as we swayed. "How does it feel to be an adult?"
"No different than yesterday," I retorted.
He laughed. "Yesterday, Heiress, you were merely a child. Today, you're old enough to get married."
I cocked a brow at him. "Marriage is the first thing that comes to your mind? What about voting?"
"Well, marriage seems more applicable, considering there's not a current election."
"Planning to propose, Hawthorne?"
He smirked. "Maybe."
My feet stalled, barefoot, on the sand. Jameson simply laughed at my stupor and pulled me back into his rhythm. "I'm kidding," he murmured. I began to relax a little, enjoying the pleasant warmth of the grains between my toes — at least until he added, "I think."
"You think?" I repeated.
A devilish twinkle in his eyes, he said, "You know me, Heiress. I'm rather impulsive."
"Really," I said dryly.
Mischief danced on his face. He glanced down at my left hand, obviously plotting. "That hand looks awfully lonely. Think a ring might cheer it up?"
I rolled my eyes, and as he pulled me in for a twirl, I purposely stepped on his feet. Jameson didn't care. He continued as if nothing had happened.
"It would be a diamond, of course." He winked at me. "After this, I'll have Alisa ring size you."
"You're funny," I retorted, but even I couldn't hide the smile tugging on my lips.
As the sun began to dip below the ocean, I let my forehead fall on his broad shoulder. He felt really good so close, all solid muscle and warm skin. Butterflies gathered in my chest as he dipped me low to the sand, his muscles bunching around my waist.
Jameson held me in the position for longer than was necessary. Long enough that by the time I arose, blush-stricken, the sun had collapsed beneath the horizon.
He steadied me, somehow sensing that his closeness would arouse my clumsiness. All I could think to say was, "Thank you."
I didn't often thank Jameson.
Sure, we exchanged kisses and bantered like we'd known each other for years, but I didn't usually value him as I should have. Despite his flaws, he was still the first to make me smile when I was sad. Or provoke a whole fit of giggles by kissing me in certain places.
He was good at his job.
He quirked a brow at me. "For what?"
"For pampering me today," I clarified. My mind traveled back to that morning; I'd been so anxious to see him that I'd put my ballgown at stake by running.
And then, I remembered the hot air balloon.
The picnic.
How good he looked in that tux . . .
"I was just scratching the surface," Jameson bragged, leaning in for yet another kiss. He couldn't seem to help himself today, and honestly, neither could I.
He had been gone for awhile.
On the other side of the world, might I add.
So of course I missed him.
And his kisses.
As though he could read my mind, Jameson scooped an arm around my waist and pulled me close for another kiss. His lips were extra soft today, gentle at some moments, passionate at others.
I couldn't decide what was my favorite.
"Ready to go back?" Jameson murmured against my lips.
I threaded my fingers into his hair. "No."
"That's what I thought." He grinned wickedly, then dropped to the soft sand, pulling me with him.
His chest cushioned my fall. Grains of sand began collecting on the hem of my green dress, but I didn't mind. If it got ruined, I was sure he'd get me another — not because he had the money to do so but simply because he knew I liked it.
For once, Jameson Winchester Hawthorne seemed human.
And considerate.
I was still mulling it over when he grabbed my arms and pulled me so my head was level with his. He started kissing me. My body, so accustomed to him, arced in pleasure.
Once more, he pulled me close.
As the moon replaced the sun in the sky, we still lay there kissing, neither of us willing to get up.
I knew that tomorrow I'd smell more than Jameson than he, himself, did.
And I was just fine with that.
