Jameson Winchester Hawthorne. With his young spirited recklessness and his utterly devastating smile and his ever so green eyes. With his whole being, he’s stolen your heart. “You’re not thinking about the ring.” You say, inches away from him, the walls of the hot tub feel like they’re caving in, pulling you closer. His hand floats in the steaming water, lingering too close. “I’m not.” He says, lips upticked in a half-smirk. “So tell me, heiress…” his eyes flit up from the water and into yours. “What is it I am thinking about?”