𝗔 𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗬 𝗥𝗜𝗦𝗞𝗬 𝗚𝗔𝗠𝗕𝗟𝗘

17 | packing

"Heiress," Jameson warned as I crept into his bedroom to sneak a handful of shirts into a large suitcase, "you're not supposed to be in here."

I attempted a sigh, but as the breath came out, it was met with a throaty cough.

I was sick, and it was only a week until Jameson and I started school. In opposing states, no less.

But I was trying not to think about that.

Hovering beside his bed — which was drowning in bags, suitcases, and piles of clothes — Jameson steered me towards the door.

Defeated, I let him.

He led me down the hall and back into my bedroom — or rather, ours. The hum of a humidifier met us both, reminding me that despite my need to be packing, a meager cold was prohibiting me.

Jameson scooped me into his arms — to which I folded my legs into his chest — before laying me down in bed.

"If you even consider leaving this bed one more time," Jameson murmured, "I will personally lock you in here until December."

"I'd miss my first semester of school," I said.

Grinning, Jameson pulled the covers up to my neck. "Exactly why you'll not try my patience again."

There was a hint of mischief in his eyes that I couldn't resist. Smoothly, I slid my arms around his waist and tugged him down onto the bed with me.

"I'll stay," I said, "on one condition."

Jameson's green eyes were unwavering. One eyebrow was quirked in curiosity.

I laid my head on a pillow but refused to loosen my grip on his arm. "You have to stay with me."

Jameson's contours relaxed. "Deal."

Smiling, I looped my arms around his waist.

His body was solid and strong, much unlike the current infirmity of mine. Jameson was warm, too.

I pressed my face into the crook of his neck.

"Heiress, you'd better not get me sick," he murmured.

I kissed his neck, smiling. "No promises."

Something resembling a growl tore from his throat, and I couldn't help my smile.

I killed him in the best way, and I loved it.