Romancing the Billionaire (13 page)

“Well, whatever it was, we're done looking for now.” He hauled her against him, his arms going protectively around her as he began to pull her to the shore.

Though he was being a bit heavy-handed with things, Violet wasn't complaining. Her clothes were clinging to her body and now the morning had gone from slightly chilly to wickedly cold, and the only thing warm was Jonathan's big body pressed against hers. She ignored the wet adhesion of the fabric to her breasts. “I can walk on my own.”

“Clearly, you can't.”

“Jonathan—”

“Violet, don't make me carry you back to the shore,” he warned.

“Oh, please. You couldn't if you tried.”

He looked down at her and gave her a challenging look. “Is that a dare?”

“Just calling it like I see it.”

Without a word, Jonathan leaned over and grabbed her behind her knees, hauling her into his arms. She gave a squeal of fright and clung to his shoulders as he pushed through the water. “We're going to fall!”

“I'm not going to drop you,” he told her. “Stop wiggling.”

She was streaming water everywhere, and she was terrified Jonathan would drop her. She wasn't a dainty teenager any longer. She was solid now, with an adult's curves and an adult's addiction to Ben & Jerry's. But he wasn't putting her down, so she squeezed her eyes shut and hoped for the best.

A few moments later, she felt his steps change, and when she looked down, Jonathan had made it onto the bank. Water was sluicing down from his jeans and his sneakers squished with every step. He paused and gently set her feet down on the pavement, giving her a smug look. “You're not heavy, you know.”

She just rolled her eyes. “You're not Prince Charming, you know.”

The teasing look faded from his face, replaced by an expression of pain, quickly masked with politeness.

She felt like an ass. She'd meant the “Prince Charming” comment in a teasing way, referring to the way he'd carried her like a princess in need of her fainting couch. He'd apparently taken it the wrong way. So she just crossed her arms over her chest to hide her breasts and shivered on the bank. “What do we do now? Want to try the other side?”

“Take my jacket,” he told her, stripping it off.

“You're not cold?”

“I'm fine,” he said brusquely, pushing the blazer over her shoulders before she could protest.

He wasn't fine. That wasn't the tone of voice of a man who was “fine” but she didn't want to argue with him. She slipped her arms through the sleeves of his jacket, grateful she'd at least be able to hide her too-perky nipples. “Thanks.”

“Let's go across the bridge and try the other side. This time I'll do the exploring.”

She made a face at him but didn't protest. She hadn't been able to find anything herself. Maybe he'd have better luck than she did.

She gathered up her shoes and stockings and followed him. They picked up their coffee cups—the contents had spilled when Jonathan had plunged into the river after her—and Violet sniffed hers mournfully. The ducks had attacked the paper bag as soon as it had hit the ground, and there was nothing left of it but shreds and crumbs. “So much for breakfast,” she said in a light voice, hoping to restore their easy mood from earlier.

Jonathan didn't reply, just put a hand at the small of her back and steered her toward the bridge.

Violet sighed to herself and let him guide her.

They had just stepped onto the footpath-designated area of the bridge when Jonathan stiffened at her side.

“What is it?” she asked him, curious.

He looked down at her, his eyes gleaming in a way that made her pulse race. “The letter said thirteen steps underneath, right?”

“It did.”

“What if there was a comma?”

“A comma,” she echoed, not following. She was too distracted by that roguish look in his eyes. Oh, God, did
that
look give her memories. It was the same one he'd given her just before he'd gone down on her. That
wait till you get a load of this
look that always promised—and delivered—such good things.

She really,
really
needed to stop thinking about sex around him.

“Thirteen steps,” Jonathan said, “comma, underneath.”

Realization dawned. Thirteen steps, underneath. She looked behind them at the start of the suspension bridge. “Thirteen steps from there, do you think?”

Jonathan was already racing back, and she watched him turn, and then began to count aloud. He passed her and paused. “Thirteen.” Then, he dropped to his knees and stuck his head over the side of the bridge. A moment later, he leaned in and his entire torso moved over the edge.

“Jonathan, be careful,” she warned as he twisted his body farther over the side, reaching for something she couldn't see.

“Got it,” he called up, and then held an envelope aloft a few moments later.

Violet squealed and danced in place; she couldn't help herself. “You did! You found it! Jonathan, you're a genius!”

He sat back on his haunches, just grinning up at her like he'd won an award, and Violet had to clench her fists to keep from going over and planting a big happy kiss on his face. She should have been grumpy that he was able to find it so easily, but she was simply excited that he'd found it. It felt like they were a team.

She sat down next to him on the walkway, ignoring the people who had to maneuver around them, and peered over his shoulder as he flipped the envelope in his hands. It was larger than she thought it would be, and sealed entirely in a thin layer of plastic. The exterior was plain, but she could see her name and Jonathan's written on the front in her father's handwriting.

The sight of it sent a pang of emotion through her. What was her father thinking when he placed it here? What was his goal? She stared down at the sealed envelope, wishing she'd understood her father just a little bit. But even in death, he was inscrutable to her.

Jonathan offered the envelope to her. “Do you want to do the honors?”

She shook her head. “You found it. You open it. It only seems fair.”

He flashed her a grin and then tore at the plastic covering the envelope. He tugged it free and slipped a finger under the wax seal, and then reached inside.

J
onathan pulled out two familiar yellowed envelopes from the plastic covering, each one with its own seal. One had Violet's name on it, and the other, Jonathan's. He held the envelope with her name out to her, and when she hesitated, said gently, “Why don't you open yours first?”

She nodded and took a deep breath. This was just another clue. There was no reason to be nervous. It was just more of her father's games that would lead to yet another unsatisfying clue, and eventually an unsatisfying prize. Violet plucked the envelope from Jonathan's hand and tore open the wax seal, then pulled out the letter inside. She scanned the lines of text, and then began to read aloud.

“Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel, and lower the proud;

Turn thy wild wheel thro' sunshine, storm, and cloud;

Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.

Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or frown;

With that wild wheel we go not up or down;

Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great.

Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands;

Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands;

For man is man and master of his fate.

Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd;

Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the cloud;

Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.”

Violet finished reading and frowned. “What is this obsession with poetry?”

“You loved poetry once. I remember that well. Maybe that's why he's been selecting poems for your messages.”

True, she'd loved poetry . . . once upon a time, maybe. Back when she'd been romantic and silly. She'd lost all interest in it when reality had slapped her in the face. Ignoring Jonathan's astute comment, she scanned the letter again, looking for hints. “I don't see a clue like before. There must be a message in the meaning of the poem itself. Either that, or yours has the message and mine is just fluff.” She looked over at him. “Do you recognize this poem?”

Jonathan took the letter from her and considered it. After a pause, he shook his head. “It sounds vaguely familiar, but I don't know who wrote it.”

“Well, we can research it on the Internet,” she told him, taking her letter back and folding it carefully. “What does yours say?”

He opened his envelope and a small chuckle escaped him.

“What?” She tried to peer over his shoulder without seeming too eager.

He offered her the letter. She took it and scanned the contents. It was two simple words:
Kallista Hotel.

Violet gasped. “The Kallista?” That was the hotel she and Jonathan had stayed at together, back during that fateful summer in Santorini.

“I know. It immediately made me think of the Akrotiri dig. Your father has to be leading us there for a reason.”

Her throat dry, Violet said nothing for a long moment. She didn't know what to think. She didn't want to go back to Santorini, that magical isle where she and Jonathan had fallen in love.

But it seemed like her father was determined to send them back. Was this just so he could throw the past in their faces and remind Jonathan of his connection to Violet? Surely there were easier ways; she knew Jonathan was generous when it came to her father's projects. All he had to do was ask and Jonathan would pull out the checkbook. So why this? Why send them there?

“Are you all right?” he asked her, his hand brushing down her arm in a way that made her shiver.

She shook her head as if to clear it and handed the letter back to him.

“You look pale,” he said in a firm voice. He got to his feet and offered her his hand. “Come.”

“I'm fine,” she said irritably, pushing his hand away.

“You're not fine,” he insisted, and offered her his hand again. “Let me take care of you for once, Violet. You're pale and you're shaking. I don't like to see that.” His voice softened. “Let me take care of you.”

Her skin prickled at the intensity in his voice, and she looked up at him. That focus was back in his eyes, that ardor, that burning need that was all-consuming. She was trembling, too, but not because of the letter. Because of Jonathan. Because she was still attracted to him and she didn't know what to do, and every location her father sent them to seemed designed to get them to rekindle that ill-fated romance from ten years ago.

But she could no more resist Jonathan Lyons now than she could ten years ago. Placing her quivering hand in his, she allowed him to haul her upright. If he held her against him for a bit longer than necessary, she didn't complain. When he looped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her under his arm, she didn't protest. She liked it. Heaven help her, she
liked
it.

“Come,” he said gently. “Let's get you some coffee and breakfast, and we'll talk.”

He led her across the green, grassy park. The sun was coming out and the fog had lifted, but the air was still brisk and she still shivered in Jonathan's jacket. He led her to the nearest coffeehouse and pulled out a chair for her at a table near the window. “Sit here and I'll get you something to eat and drink.”

She should have protested, really. She should have been strong, needs-no-one Violet and ordered her own damn breakfast. Instead, she shivered at the table and clutched her envelope with the poem in it while Jonathan ordered her food and a hot drink.

Let me take care of you,
he'd insisted. Violet wasn't good at letting others take control. It was hard to trust people enough to leave your own well-being in their hands, and Violet was used to just fending for herself. She'd done so as a child, especially when her mother was in one of her depressive spells, and she'd done so as an adult when she'd found herself abandoned and pregnant.

But when Jonathan returned with two hot cups of coffee and two delicious, fresh muffins, she was . . . grateful for him. She didn't even mind when he stroked his fingers over her cheek, brushing a lock of wet hair off of her face.

“Your lips are blue,” he told her in that fierce, disapproving voice. “Drink.”

She nodded and raised the coffee to her lips. It was scalding hot and utterly delicious. After a few more sips, she gave him a hesitant smile. “Thank you.”

He simply placed a muffin in front of her. “Eat, too. You're fragile.”

Her? Fragile? That was flattering. Her mouth twisted in a wry expression, and Violet broke off a corner of the muffin and popped it into her mouth. Lemon poppyseed. Her favorite. How did he remember all these things about her?

“Better now?”

She nodded, still chewing.

An expression of relief crossed his face and he relaxed in his chair, his posture easing. She hadn't realized how tense he was. “Are
you
okay?” she asked, putting a teasing note in her voice.

“I just don't like to see you upset.”

Violet wanted to protest that she wasn't upset. Not really. She was just fine. But it'd be a lie. She
was
upset. “I just feel . . .”

“Manipulated?” he guessed.

She nodded and toyed with her muffin. “Messages for each of us to ensure we'd have to work together, and now sending us back to Santorini . . .” Her voice trailed off as memories swept over her. It wasn't a time she'd wanted to remember. Back then she'd been so happy . . . so stupid.

“I don't like to see you this miserable, Violet,” Jonathan said. “Whether or not you believe it, your peace of mind is of the utmost importance to me.”

She didn't answer. She simply sipped her coffee and thought.

“Do you want to go home, Violet?” Jonathan's voice was full of tension, his face unreadable. His hand clenched on the table, as if anticipating her response.

Did she? A few days ago, she would have said yes and had her bags packed before Jonathan could take his next breath. But that was before this morning, when he'd watched her with such stark, blatant need as she'd stripped off her stocking. And that was before they'd vowed friendship.

And that was before he'd drank himself into a stupor upon hearing that there had been a baby.

So now Violet didn't know what to think. All she knew was that she felt vulnerable and confused about Jonathan. Her world had been so much easier when she'd hated him.

But it was hard to hate a man who quoted love poetry when he was drunk.

Violet wrapped her hands around the warm cardboard of her cup. “Do you want me to stay, Jonathan?”

“I can honestly say I've wanted nothing more in my life.”

A pleased warmth flushed her cheeks, and she nodded, then set down her coffee cup. “Then I'll stay.”

His hand—clenched into a fist for so long—flexed, and then impulsively, he reached out and took one of her hands in his. “Thank you.”

She could have sworn his thumb grazed over the back of her hand in a caress before he pulled away again.

—

Two hours later, they were back at the airport and in the tiny jet once more. Violet had changed into a pair of yoga pants and a long-sleeved tunic to be comfortable for the flight. Her hair was wavy from air-drying but she just tucked it behind her ears and ignored it. For some reason, she never felt ugly around Jonathan. It was impossible to, considering he looked at her as if she were a slice of his favorite cheesecake.

She wasn't surprised, either, when she picked a window seat and Jonathan selected the seat right next to hers. It didn't matter that the rest of the cabin was empty. Flight time felt like private time with Jonathan, and maybe she was a little crazy herself, but she was starting to crave those interludes alone with him.

She stared out the plane window with longing as they left the teeming streets of London behind. “Someday, I'd love to explore that city.”

Jonathan froze next to her. “Do you want to turn around?”

“What?” She glanced over at him, but he was serious. Violet laughed and shook her head. “No, no. We need to head out to Santorini. I was just saying. I've never been to London.”

“You should have said something,” Jonathan told her. “I would have stayed for you.”

Funny how the way he worded that made her entire body tingle. “This is your trip, Jonathan, not mine. I'm just your hired assistant, remember?”

“You are never
just
anything, Violet.”

She shifted in her seat, feeling a little uncomfortable with her own reaction to his words. She shouldn't be thrilled at him saying that. She shouldn't. “So,” she said lightly. “Looks like it's just you and me and the next six hours in the plane.”

“Are you tired? Do you want to sleep?”

“A little tired,” she admitted. Even though it was the middle of the day, she was suppressing yawns. Travel took a lot out of a person, and in addition to that, Violet felt as if she'd been on an emotional roller coaster for the last week.

“Use my arm as a pillow if you need to,” he told her, pulling out his tablet computer.

He didn't need to tell her twice. For some reason, she craved being able to touch him. Maybe it was because she'd grown up so starved for love as a child, ignored by both parents, that she'd gone the opposite direction in her relationships.

Violet freely admitted she was a clinger. She liked to touch, she loved public displays of affection, and she adored any sort of physical contact when she could trust a person. Unfortunately her relationships had been few and far between. But now that Jonathan and she were friends again, he felt safe to cuddle with.

And she did love a good cuddle.

Violet wrapped her arms around his biceps and rested her chin against his shoulder, peering over as he began to pull up a search engine. “What are you looking at?”

“I thought I'd research your poem. See who the author was. Maybe there's a connection there we're supposed to pick up, like the Marlow Bridge.”

“Mmm. Good idea.”

He looked over at her, surprised. “Why, thank you, Violet.”

Why was he so surprised and pleased by her compliment? She wasn't that mean, was she? Her fingers stroked his arm idly. “Jeez, I must be really rough to be around if you're thrilled about me saying ‘Good idea.'”

“Not at all. I just . . . I thought you hated me.” His expressive face was grave, his eyes soulfully dark.

“Oh, Jonathan,” she said softly, and patted his arm. His rather nicely muscled arm. “I don't hate you. Not anymore.”

“I didn't know about the baby.” He stared ahead, as if unable to look at her. His voice was grave, wounded. “If I'd have known, nothing on earth would have stopped me from coming to your side. I swear.”

But I left you a note,
she wanted to protest, but kept those bitter words silent. Jonathan had been firmly in her father's clutches, and who knew better than she how much of a manipulator the old man had been? So she only squeezed his arm. “I believe you.”

Strangely enough, she did. For the first time in what felt like forever, she was able to think of the lost baby and her abandonment without resentment, just a pang of sadness. The frustration and grief in Jonathan's face actually made her ache for the pain he was going through. At least she'd had ten years to adjust to it. It was fresh to him, and it seemed childish to throw this in his face now.