He stared at me—at my eyes, at the lines of my face, like he was drinking it in. “I have to say, Heiress, I’m not a big fan of comas.” Jameson sounded just the same, wry and darkly tempting, but the expression on his face was one I’d never seen before. He wasn’t joking. I flashed back to something like a dream. Well, joke’s on me, because somewhere along the way, I stopped playing. Jameson Hawthorne and I had an understanding. No emotions. No mess. This wasn’t supposed to be an epic kind of love. “I came to see you,” Jameson told me. “Every day. The least you could have done was wake up while
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