As I descended the final stairway of Hawthorne house, my ears picked up on a side conversation that consisted mostly of yelling.
Adjacent to my lawyer, Jameson threw his hands out, only a few feet scarce of me. "She's going to have a heat stroke."
"Don't be dramatic."
He folded his arms. "Dramatic? It's well over one-hundred degrees out there."
"A little heat never killed anyone."
As I approached them, I noticed a tension inside Jameson's muscles. Without even seeing him upfront, I could sense his jaw flexing. But before he could explode, or possibly murder Alisa, I laid a hand on his arm.
"I'm going to be fine," I told the Hawthorne I favored most.
While I enjoyed his protective instincts on my behalf, sometimes he went to far.
Alisa was right — I could handle a little heat.
Jameson turned on his heel, his lips already forming a complaint, but it faltered upon seeing me. The dress I wore wasn't for Jameson's benefit — although the way his lips curled up with a wicked smile was a definite plus.
Since I was endorsing a new charity on camera today, Alisa had insisted I dress up. So had Libby. Although my scarlet dress was long and tight, a slit ran up my upper thigh, showing a pale line of skin.
I watched Jameson's eyes travel up me, a hunger inside them. As he examined my bare shoulders and tight bodice, I traced my own eyes down his body.
As per usual, his shirt was unbuttoned, although today he'd paired it with blue jeans. A belt hung low on his hips, and I forced my gaze not to linger. As my stare traveled back to Jameson's, my breath caught.
His eyes were touching me so intimately I could scarcely breathe.
"See?" Alisa interrupted our deep staring contest. "If Avery says she'll be fine, then trust her."
It took major grit for Jameson to look back at my lawyer. "Sometimes she doesn't know what's good for her."
"Jameson," I said, moving closer to him. As our hips touched, eyes colliding once more, Alisa sighed.
"You two are making me sick. Let's just go."
Smirking, Jameson saluted my lawyer. His brow was still creased, however, as he took my hand and followed Alisa out the double doors.
To his credit, it was blisteringly hot. The length of my dress, along with the curls down my back, did not help.
"Told you," Jameson murmured in my ear as we walked down the steps toward the gate.
Camera crews were already set up on the sidewalk, aligned perfectly with the edge of Hawthorne House's massive gate. As we walked, Jameson moved his hand to my lower back, guiding me down a collection of stone steps.
"Watch your step," he instructed on one particular stair.
Once we were near the bottom, his hand slid back into mine. I could feel sweat pooling at the small of my back before the first interview even began. Alisa guided me as the procession went on, lecturing me between takes of what was good and what was not.
Mostly on what I was doing wrong, though.
Between one interview and the next, Jameson offered me some water, but I declined.
That, however, was a mistake.
The heat was getting to me.
Jameson must've been monitoring me, because when my knees buckled during the next interview, he stepped in to catch me. Without an inkling of surprise on his face, he lowered me to the ground, cradling me in his arms.
"Turn the cameras off," he barked at Alisa.
When she hesitated, Jameson repeated himself, this time in a yell. Still faint, I barely heard him, but could only hope the camera crews had heeded his advice.
I didn't want this on film.
"Put your head between your knees, Heiress."
"Huh?" I whimpered, head fuzzy.
"Here." He shifted, helping me rest my arms on my knees and place my head between them. "There you go. Just breathe for a minute, alright?"
I nodded, feeling weak.
"Alisa," I heard him say. "Water. Now."
What felt like an hour later, Jameson lifted my chin. "Part your lips for me." I did with much effort. "Good girl."
A moment passed before cool water slid down my throat, easing the quench and rejuvenating my senses. Although I felt better, my body slid against Jameson, unable to bear my weight.
"I knew this was a bad idea," he murmured, still nursing water into my mouth.
Breathing deeply, I forced my eyes open. "I'm okay."
"You're not, Heiress." He ran a finger over my jaw, voice soft. "I need to get you inside."
"But . . . my interviews —"
"Screw them." Between one heartbeat and the next, Jameson had scooped me into his strong arms.
Unable to move properly, I laid my head on his shoulder, closed my eyes, and let him carry me away.
• • •
"Morning, Heiress."
My head felt abnormally heavy as I lifted it from a silky white pillow. Shifting my eyes toward Jameson's voice, I found him sprawled over my bed, shirtless.
"Morning?" I tried to sit up but immediately felt light-headed.
"Whoa." Jameson eased me back down, gentle. "Easy, Heiress. You're still faint."
Sighing, I laid back down. "How long did I sleep?"
"Fourteen hours," he replied.
My eyes widened. I hardly ever got half of that.
"It was good for you," Jameson murmured, moving until we were chest to chest. Only then did I notice I was wearing my pajamas — and stop to wonder who had changed me . . .
Jameson's smirk, however, already told me too much.
Cheeks aflame, I leaned in for a kiss. Jameson clearly thought I wasn't well, because he used far less passion than usual.
"I'm okay, Jameson," I said.
"You will be," he corrected, kissing me harder this time. "But for now you need to rest."
"I already did."
"Alisa's orders," Jameson said.
"This was her fault to begin with," I mumbled, regretting everything from yesterday.
Jameson smirked. "I know. And we'll get her back later. But for now?" He pulled me into his broad chest, where my hands wandered as he kissed me again. "Looks like we get some alone time."
