Romans & histoires Jameson Hawthorne Fanart

He went still. The last shred of hope was gone. It felt like something had driven straight through his chest, and he couldn’t breathe. “What are you still standing here for? You want Wren? Go to the cemetery. Heard she couldn’t even afford a plot. Got the cheapest one they had.” His ears were ringing. On his way out, somebody recognized him. “You’re James Thorne, right? I’m the owner.” The man held out a ticket to an art exhibit. “Heard some of your paintings are in it. Wren left this ticket before she passed. I never had time to go, and honestly, I’m not an art guy. Might as well give it back to its real owner.”

Hawthorne as he sat up, massaging his neck and slowly rotating his head. Mr. Hawthorne stood up, unbuttoning his pajama top one by one. The morning light cast a vague outline, sparking curiosity within Jasmine. The shirt slipped off Mr. Hawthorne's body, revealing an impressive physique. Jasmine swallowed hard, quickly closing her eyes as Mr. Hawthorne began to walk away. Torn between admiration and embarrassment, Jasmine opened her eyes again and glanced at Mr. Hawthorne's muscular back as he widened the distance between them. She squinted, noticing a tattoo that read Lilly.

I sprang from my bed, adrenaline pumping as I prepared to confront the intruder. My stance quickly relaxed, however, and a frown crossed my face when I saw who it was—Hayes Hawthorne, standing in my room shirtless. My breath caught in my throat. Holy. Fucking. Hell. Every inch of his body was sculpted like a Greek god, with sharp lines and rigid definition. A large tattoo sprawled across his upper chest and onto his left shoulder, dark and bold, forming a series of interconnected shapes that were both intricate and slightly thorny.

She felt incredibly foolish. "James is an artist, and he'll be creating some original illustrations and background art for our magazine. This is a new initiative to add fresh elements to our publication, hoping to spark some creativity. Everyone, please be welcoming and take care of your new colleague." Everyone applauded, and several of the young, single women looked at James like a pack of hungry wolves. There were no rules against office romances here, meaning they had a great chance of making a move. "Alright, let's get back to work. James, you can sit..."

And Sirena, with her innocent yet strong nature, could be the perfect pawn. He sent a quick text to Sirena: “Hey, Sweety, I miss you. Please call me soon.” James knew the message might sound trivial or even annoying to Sirena, but he just wanted to ensure she was okay. Meanwhile, he could only hope that the additional security would be enough to protect her from any looming threats. Deep down, though, James knew Hannah wouldn’t stop until she got what she wanted—and that thought only heightened his vigilance. As James pondered, his gaze fell upon a painting hanging on the wall. It was a portrait of himself, painted by Sirena. The memory of her mischievous antics while creating it brought a f