“But…，” Max prompted, “would you like to be used by him?”
I thought about Jameson: the way his eyes gleamed when he knew something I didn’t, the crook of his smile, the way he’d covered my body with his when gunshots went off in the Black Wood—and later cupped my face with his hands when the sound of fireworks sent me plunging into dark memories. The annoying way he called me Heiress. Golfing on the rooftop. My body clinging to his on the back of a motorcycle. The exact tilt of his lips when he’d told me to play it safe—for now.
“You like him.” Max sounded way too satisfied with herself.
“I might like the way I feel when I’m with him.” I chose my wording very carefully. “But it’s not that simple.”
“Because of Grayson.”
I stared at the ceiling and flashed back to the ski lift. “We’re friends.”
“No,” Max corrected. “You and I are friends. Grayson is the physical manifestation of your avoidant attachment style. He won’t let himself want you. You don’t want to want to be wanted. Everybody stays at arm’s length. Nobody gets hurt, and nobody gets any.”
Max gave me her most aggrieved best friend look.
“Why do you care?” I asked her. “Since when are you this invested in my love life?”
“Lack of,” Max corrected, and then she shrugged. “My life has exploded. My parents won’t take my calls. They won’t let my brother talk to me, either. You’re all I have right now, Ave. I want you to be happy.”
“You tried calling your parents?” I didn’t want to push her too hard, but I did want to be there for her.
Max looked down. “That’s not the point. The point is, Jameson Hawthorne is in the hot tub.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “So what are you going to do about it?”
CHAPTER 47
The clothing Alisa had ordered for me included a designer bathing suit: a black bikini trimmed in gold. Narrowing my eyes, I put it on, then quickly covered myself with a floor-length robe, the unspeakably soft kind I imagined they used in high-end spas. The hot tub was on the main level. I’d made it to the back door when I realized that Oren was shadowing me.
“You’re not going to tell me to stay inside?” I asked him.
He shrugged. “I have men in the woods.” Of course he did.
I put my hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, and pushed out into the freezing night air. Once the cold hit me, there was no room for hesitation. I made a beeline for the hot tub. It was big enough for eight people, but Jameson was the only one there. His body was nearly completely submerged. All I could see was his face pointed skyward, the lines of his neck, and the barest hint of his shoulders.
“You look like you’re thinking.” I sat on the side of the hot tub farthest away from him, pulled up my robe, and sank my legs into the water, up to my knees. Steam rose into the air, and I shivered.
“I’m always thinking, Heiress.” Jameson’s green eyes stayed fixed on the sky. “That’s what you love about me.”
I was too cold to do anything but shed the robe and slip into the steaming water. My body objected, then relaxed into the sting of the heat. I could feel a flush rising on my face.
Jameson angled his eyes toward mine. “Any guesses what I’m thinking about?” We were separated by four or five feet, but that didn’t feel like much—not with the way he was looking at me. I knew what he wanted me to think he was thinking about.
I also knew him. “You’re thinking about the ring.”
Jameson shifted position, the top of his chest rising out of the water. “The ring,” he confirmed. “It’s the obvious next step, but getting it from Zara could be a challenge.”
“You like a challenge.”
He pushed off the side and came closer to me. “I do.”
This is Max’s fault, I thought, my heart beating a merciless rhythm against my rib cage.
“Hawthorne House has a vault.” Jameson came to a stop a foot or so away from me. “But even I don’t know its location.”
It took everything in me to focus on what he was saying—and not his body. “How is that possible?”
Jameson shrugged, the water lapping against his shoulders and chest. “Anything is possible.”
I swallowed. “I could ask to see it.” I tried my hardest to stop staring and cleared my throat. “The vault.”
“You could,” Jameson agreed, with one of those devastating Jameson Winchester Hawthorne smiles. “You’re the boss.”