"Don't drop me," I warned Jameson, shifting so either of my thighs were settled on his shoulders. I reached out to the peach tree, seeking a fruit ripe enough.
"Wouldn't dream of it, heiress," Jameson murmured, taking two long strides closer. I gasped in surprise, wrapping my arms around his neck. He merely laughed. "Pick one already."
I did. The branches shifted downward as I pulled on a peach. As it parted with the tree, the foliage recoiled.
Strong arms flexing, Jameson helped me down from his shoulders. The way my body slid down his surely was intentional. Before I could place the peach in our fresh basket of fruit, Jameson was walking me back toward the tree trunk.
It collided milliseconds before his lips crashed against mine. As we kissed, I felt the peach slip out of my hand. When it was free, I slid it up Jameson's back and buried it in his hair, my fingers twining around his dark locks.
"This was a setup," I accused him, my lips only millimeters away from his.
"What? Using the tree to my advantage?" His voice was innocent. Jameson's eyes, however, we're incapable of following suite.
I tried and failed to sound angry. "Yes."
"See, heiress," he murmured, holding my arms against the trunk, "I wouldn't have. But I couldn't help myself."
Smiling, I freed myself of his grip and kissed him of my own accord. "You are such a Jameson Hawthorne."
"I like that compliment."
"It could be a compliment," I retorted, "or it could be an insult."
Jameson leaned in close. Close enough that his breath pillowed on my cheeks. "How about I kiss you again and then you decide?"
