"Avery."
My heart constricted at the sound of Jameson's voice, exercising my first name a way he never did. Even so, his voice cushioned my fear like a cotton pillow.
After dinner I'd meant to retire to my bedroom, but the panic had me collapsing on the staircase before I could reach it.
"I'm fine." The words fell out in heap. I lifted my gaze to see him leaning against the railing, his trademark smirk absent. I stared at him, noticing just how soft his lips looked when he wasn't running his mouth.
Jameson pushed off from the railing and sat on the step just above mine. "Come here."
"Why?"
"Just do it."
Regarding the feeble state I was in, I decided not to argue. I had every intention to sit beside him, but before I could, his hands found my waist and guided me into his lap.
I stiffened a moment, tilting my head back at him. "What are you doing?" My breathing was still heavy.
"Distracting you, of course." He pulled a strand of my hair through his fingers. "I hear it's a good remedy for anxiety."
"If you do it right," I retorted.
"What?" Jameson asked innocently. His warm, calloused hands settled on my waist, heating me to the bone. His lips were mere inches from my skin. "Do you not like this, Heiress?"
"No," I told him, even though a mere brush of his fingertips had my heart racing giddily.
"Now you're just lying." He shifted, his hands expertly pulling my stiff-straight spine back to his chest. "All the girls love this."
"What girls?" I demanded.
He laughed low and deep. The sound was a tempting chasm, one I had to fight not to fall into.
"Jameson." I twisted in his arms. "What girls?"
He leaned in to kiss my jaw, but I held a finger to his lips. He sighed. "I'm kidding, Heiress. You're so gullible sometimes."
"I'm not gullible," I mumbled — which was true. But no way was I confessing that he'd made me jealous by just the mention of other girls. If I'd given it enough thought, I'm sure I would've vomited over the idea of someone else laying their fingers on him.
A shudder rocked my body. Jameson, clearly mistaking my disgust for fear, traced a teasing finger up my spine. He discontinued the trail by burying his hand in my hair.
"I like when you get jealous," he murmured in my ear.
"And I like when you're nice," I shot back, "but that's not a common occurrence, is it?"
"So feisty." He kissed me softly, and not for nearly long enough. "I like that too."
I pushed Jameson away, needing a breath of air. I liked him — I really did. But his smart mouth was always fraying my wires.
"Avery." His voice had softened. He stroked a thumb gently down my jaw. "Is it gone?"
"Is what gone?"
"Your panic attack," he clarified, staring at me with confusion.
"Oh." A blush stung my skin. "Yes."
Jameson's smug swagger returned as he pulled me in for another kiss. His finger traced another lazy line up my spine. As his touch reached the nape of my neck, though, he circled around to feel my jaw. "Heiress."
I couldn't respond. His touch was too addicting, too distracting to focus on anything more than one sense.
Jameson leaned in closer, a gentle smile intercepting his one of smug indifference. "Are you sure you're okay? You're breathing really hard."
I crossed my arms. "Jameson."
"What?" His grin returned. "Am I making you weak in the knees?"
"You wish."
"Yeah, I do."
A soft laugh bubbled in my throat, and I pressed my face into his neck before he could see my smile. He smelled good. Really good. Like cologne weaved with hints of pine and absent of the usual alcohol.
"Say something, Heiress." Jameson's arm, which rested loosely around my waist, pulled tighter, drawing me in.
"I like when you're not drunk."
He smirked, a laugh dancing on his lips. "You're seriously no fun."
"I'm plenty of fun."
"Oh yeah? How about you show me how fun you can be?"
I nuzzled my nose against his jaw, just enough to tease him. "I think you're going to have to earn it."
The wicked grin that crossed his face right then was all I dreamed about that night.
