As Avery pecked Jameson's lips and took a step away to examine her own appearance in the mirror, he frowned.
"That's it?" His fingers were pressed against her back, bare but for lace crisscrossing, a curtesy of her black dress. "You're not going to tell me how handsome I look?"
Fighting a smile, Avery twisted. Her eyes were smoky. "I don't have to. You already know."
"That, heiress, isn't the point." I grabbed her waist and pulled her against me. "The point," I emphasized, kissing her bottom lip, "is hearing you say it."
"Why does it matter when I'm thinking it?" Her skirts brushed against my legs.
I diverted my attention to her top lip, then began kissing that one instead. "I may be a Hawthorne," I said, grinning, "but, despite rumors, telepathy isn't a skill that runs in the family." Meeting her eyes, I murmured, "I need you to say it."
"Fine." Avery tilted up on her toes and kissed me deeply. "You look handsome, Hawthorne."
I grinned against her lips, the words prompting me to move her to bed. As we both collapsed on the mattress, kissing lazily, Avery struggled for breath.
"Don't let that inflate your ego," she said.
"The only thing that's inflating," I murmured, laying her down, "is your bank account." Smirking at her refusal to fight my power, I added, "And luckily for you, I find billionaires awfully sexy."
