Avery had set an impossible task for herself—and for them. Five years to give away more than twenty-eight billion dollars. That was the majority of the Hawthorne fortune. They’d spent the past seven months just assembling the foundation’s board and advisory committee.
“We have five more months to nail down the first three billion in donations,” Grayson stated crisply, “and I promised Avery I would be there with her every step of the way.”
Promises mattered to Grayson Hawthorne—and so did Avery Kylie Grambs. The girl who had inherited their grandfather’s fortune. The stranger who had become one of them.
“Speaking as someone with friends, a girlfriend, and a small army of robots, I just think you could do with a little more balance in your life,” Xander opined. “An actual hobby? Down time?”
Grayson gave him a look. “You’ve filed at least three patents since school let out for the summer last month, Xan.”
Xander shrugged. “They’re recreational patents.”
Grayson snorted, then assessed his brother. “How is Isaiah?” he asked softly.
Growing up, none of the Hawthorne brothers had known their fathers’ identities—until Grayson had discovered that his was Sheffield Grayson. Nash’s was a man named Jake Nash. And Xander’s was Isaiah Alexander. Of the three men, only Isaiah actually deserved to be called a father. He and Xander had filed those “recreational patents” together.
“We’re supposed to be talking about you,” Xander said stubbornly.
“I should get back to work,” Grayson reiterated, adopting a tone that was very effective at putting everyone except his brothers in their place. “And despite what Avery and Jameson seem to believe, I don’t need a babysitter.”
“You don’t need a babysitter,” Xander agreed cheerfully, “and I am definitely not writing a book entitled The Care and Feeding of Your Broody Twenty-Year-Old Brother.”
Grayson’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“I can assure you,” Xander said with great solemnity, “it doesn’t have pictures.”
Before Grayson could summon an appropriate threat in response, his phone buzzed. Assuming it was the figures he’d requested, Grayson picked the phone up, only to discover a text from Nash. He looked back at Xander and knew instantly that his youngest brother had received the same message.
Grayson was the one who read the fateful missive out loud: “Nine-one-one.”
CHAPTER 2
JAMESON
The roar of the falls. The mist in the air. The feel of the back of Avery’s body against the front of his. Jameson Winchester Hawthorne was hungry—for this, for her, for everything, all of it, more.
Iguazú Falls was the world’s largest waterfall system. The walkway they were standing on took them right up to the edge of an incredible drop-off. Staring out at the falls, Jameson felt the lure of more. He eyed the railing. “Do you dare me?” he murmured into the back of Avery’s head.
She reached back to touch his jaw. “Absolutely not.”
Jameson’s lips curved—a teasing smile, a wicked one. “You’re probably right, Heiress.”
She turned her head to the side and met his gaze. “Probably?”
Jameson looked back at the falls. Unstoppable. Off limits. Deadly. “Probably.”
They were staying in a villa built on stilts and surrounded by jungle, no one around for miles but the two of them, Avery’s security team, and the jaguars roaring in the distance.
Jameson felt Avery’s approach before he heard it.
“Heads or tails?” She leaned against the railing, brandishing a bronze-and-silver coin. Her brown hair was falling out of its ponytail, her long-sleeved shirt still damp from the falls.
Jameson brought his hand to her hair tie, then worked it slowly and gently down—and off. Heads or tails was an invitation. A challenge. You kiss me, or I kiss you. “Dealer’s choice, Heiress.”
“If I’m the dealer…” Avery placed a palm flat on his chest, her eyes daring him to do something about that wet shirt of hers. “We’re going to need cards.”
The things we could do, Jameson thought, with a deck of cards. But before he could voice some of the more tantalizing possibilities, the satellite phone buzzed. Only five people had the number: his brothers, her sister, and her lawyer. Jameson groaned.
The text was from Nash. Nine seconds later, when the satellite phone rang, Jameson answered. “Delightful timing, as always, Gray.”