"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 housed 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 definitely going to be good.
Jameson's crooked grin surfaced as he closed the trapdoor. Joining me, he draped both arms low on my hips. Parting my hair, he trailed a line of soft kisses down the back of my neck.
"How did I do?" he asked.
"Decent."
His lips smiled against my spine.
I could tell the backless 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 a fantasy.
Now, my fantasies were a reality.
Several of them.
For instance, the boy kissing each of my shoulder blades 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.
I expected Jameson to help me sit, but instead, he pulled me down with him and buried his face in my neck. Surprised, a laugh caught in my throat. Before I could release it, though, he was kissing me.
"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 more. Jameson shifted our melded bodies so not to knock over the glasses of champagne. Because after all, the only thing Jameson valued more than kissing me was alcohol.
For several minutes, our lips intermingled. It never ceased to amaze me how long Jameson Winchester Hawthorne could keep up the stamina.
Though I wanted to, I struggled to match his passion.
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 wicked grin, Jameson reached around my waist to retrieve two glasses of champagne. He handed me one.
"I should propose a toast."
I looked at him dubiously. "A toast?"
He rapped his glass lightly against mine and murmured, "To my Heiress."
