"I like to come here to think," Jameson admitted as he led me up the narrow stairway ascending into the ceiling.
Rather than the cobwebs and dust I typically associated with attics, the stairs preceded a decked-out room twice the size of my bedroom.
Mahogany shelves seated wax candles in the lightest shade of pink, and rose petals dusted the soft gray carpet. The majority were gathered around a makeshift bed of blankets topped with a platter of fruit and chocolates. Two glasses of champagne complimented the scene, not-so-cleverly obscuring the entirety of the bottle behind them.
Tonight was going to be perfect — I could already tell.
Jameson's crooked grin surfaced as he closed the trapdoor. Joining me, he draped both arms around my waist. Tucking my hair back, he brushed a light kiss behind my ear.
"How did I do?" he asked.
"Decent."
His smiled.
I could tell the red dress he'd left for me that morning served a purpose. I couldn't not wear it, though. After growing up with so little money, wearing pretty dresses had always seemed like a dream.
Now, my dreams were a reality.
Several of them.
For instance, the boy kissing me as we stood together, inhaling the scene.
"Are you planning to stand here all evening?" Jameson murmured.
"I was waiting for my escort."
Smirking, Jameson took my hand. "If you insist."
The Hawthorne boy led me towards the room's centerpiece, far too pleased with himself. And although I didn't admit it, I was pleasantly surprised with his handiwork.
Jameson to helped me sit, his lips near.
"I suppose I should wish you a happy Valentine's Day," Jameson murmured between kisses, "but I suspect you'd prefer this."
He wasn't wrong.
Kicking off my heels, I kissed him again. Jameson shifted us so not to knock over the glasses of champagne. Because after all, the only thing Jameson valued more than me was alcohol.
For several minutes, our lips intermingled. We kissed between whispers.
When we both collapsed respectfully beside each other, I gave myself several seconds to breathe. My heart slammed against my ribcage.
"You do something to me," Jameson murmured, catching his breath while watching me catch mine.
"It's mutual."
"As I presumed, Heiress." Smirking, he hooked an arm around my waist. "I doubt you'd have accepted my invitation for tonight if you didn't share my feelings."
That made me smile. Jameson Hawthorne hadn't necessarily invited me on a date tonight. He'd hidden a dozen red roses throughout the house and left me clues. After collecting eleven, I'd found Jameson holding the final rose at the staircase leading towards the attic.
I simply raised my eyebrows at him. Still adorned with a crooked grin, Jameson reached around my waist to retrieve two glasses of champagne. He handed me one.
"I propose a toast."
I looked at him dubiously. "A toast?"
He rapped his glass lightly against mine and murmured, "To my Heiress."
