Romancing the Billionaire (18 page)

It was the longest dinner in the world. By the time the check arrived and he paid, he'd ignored Violet as she moaned and chatted her way through her dessert, licking her fingers and lips with gusto. He paid, and he got the hell out of there.

As soon as he was back in his room, Jonathan practically ran for the damn shower. He turned it on—straight-up cold—and began to undress, ripping his clothing off. He'd jerk off a few times and then maybe he'd be able to concentrate on something other than Violet. He hoped. Christ, he was reaching for his cock more often than a schoolboy lately.

A knock sounded at his door. Cursing, Jonathan zipped his pants again. When his cock continued to jut out, a blatant sign of what he was about to do, he reached into his pants and adjusted himself, flattening the length and tucking the head of his cock against his belt. It was painful, but fuck it. A little pain might distract him. With that, Jonathan headed for the door, shirtless.

A quick look through the peephole showed that it was Violet. Concerned, he unlatched the door and opened it. “Is everything all right?”

Her gaze went to his naked chest, and then she looked up at him. He could have sworn her eyelashes fluttered a bit. “I do have a bit of a problem. Can we talk?”

“Of course.” He opened the door wider and gestured for her to enter. If Violet had a problem, it was his problem as well. His heart panged. He hoped she wasn't asking to leave; he wasn't ready to let her go yet. Even if her being here tortured him, it was the sweetest, most delicious torture he'd ever experienced, and he wasn't about to give it up. He turned to face her, hating the slight frown marring her forehead. “What can I help you with?”

“I, well, it's hard for me to say.” She twisted her hands and bit her lip, then began to pace in his room.

Damn it, she was going to ask to leave, wasn't she? Fury and possessiveness swept through him, and he clenched his fists as he slammed the door to his room. “If you're asking to go home, my answer is no. Not until we find whatever it is your father left us.”

She looked surprised at his short temper. “What the hell crawled up your ass?”

You,
he wanted to snarl.
You, because you don't want to be here with me and I've done everything in my power to try to make you mine again, and it still isn't enough
. “Nothing.”

“It doesn't sound like nothing to me,” she said, and put her hands on her hips. The movement only emphasized her curves, and he almost wished she'd put her arms down again. Almost. “Do you want to sit down so we can talk?”

“I don't know. Is this going to take long?”

Her nostrils flared, and for a moment, she looked as if she wanted to punch him. “Why are you being such a dick to me? What did I do?”

He
was
being a dick, and that was unfair to her. “It's not you. It's me,” he said gruffly, and turned to the bathroom. A moment later, he had the shower off and emerged to see her sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands twisted in that nervous way again. “I'm sorry. Now, tell me what's wrong and maybe I can help.”

“Well,” she began, and tucked a lock of hair behind one ear nervously. “I . . . See, there's this thing.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting.

She put her hands back in her lap, and then tucked her hair behind her other ear, a sure sign of nerves if there was one. “Let's say I had a craving for baklava.”

Now it was his turn to frown. He gestured at the phone. “Are you hungry? Did you want me to order you something—”

Her glare intensified, became withering. “Let me finish.”

Jonathan lifted his hands in a silent apology, indicating she should continue. He watched her body language, noticing the tension there. Even distressed, she was beautiful to look at. He'd never tire of gazing at her exquisite form.

She shifted on the edge of the bed and placed her hands next to her thighs. “All right. Let's say that the last time I had baklava, it gave me vicious food poisoning. I swore off baklava for the rest of my life. Then, let's say someone shows up with a tray of it and it looks delicious, and I remember how much I like it. The question is, do I take a chance, knowing I could possibly get burned once more? Or do I keep my promise and stay away knowing that it's safer?”

He wasn't listening to a word she said. She'd started leaning forward as she spoke, and the neckline of her loose top kept sliding down, and all he could see were the tops of Violet's breasts. That shirt was a fucking cruel tease. Why she'd worn it—

“Jonathan?”

“Hmm?” He forced himself to look away from those magnificent breasts, to refocus on her intent face.

“Did you hear what I was saying?”

Something about baklava. And food poisoning. And . . . Christ, were her nipples erect under that blouse? Jesus God in Heaven, he needed that cold shower. “You want me to order you something from room service?”

“No!” she cried out, angry. Her hands clenched at her sides and she sat upright, all stiffness. “You're not listening to me at all, are you?”

“I'm a bit distracted.”
By your breasts and your nearness.

Violet jerked to her feet in a fluid motion that made her breasts bounce. Not that he noticed. Much. “Damn it, Jonathan,” she cried. “What does a girl have to do to get you to notice her? If you're not attracted to me anymore, just freaking say so! Don't dance around it like an idiot.”

J
onathan stared at Violet as she straightened her clothing.

She tilted her head back in a haughty stare.

“Not . . . attracted to you?” he asked slowly. Was she insane? He'd been fighting his attraction tooth and nail to ensure he didn't overstep the “friends” boundary.

Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “I'm practically throwing myself at you here.”

She was? Was that what this was about? The bikini and the dinner where she practically rubbed up against him? Jonathan was in shock.

“But if you're not interested, just tell me. I know I've changed in the last few years, and I'm terrified I'm just going to get hurt again, but it seems like I'm the only one—”

Jonathan rushed forward and cupped her face between his hands. He kissed her before she could change her mind, silencing any protest she might make. “Never think that,” he murmured between kisses. “Never think for a moment that I don't love and adore you.”

“I'm afraid,” Violet whispered, even as she clutched at his shoulders. “I'm so afraid of getting hurt again. Last time . . . it nearly broke me.”

Pain shot through him at the fear in her eyes, the heartfelt emotion there. He'd done this to her. Tenderly, he brushed a thumb across one of her lovely cheeks and leaned in to kiss her again. Softly. Reverently. Then, he said, “I won't ever hurt you again. This I promise.”

She gazed up at him, clearly uncertain. Then, she nodded slowly and leaned into his touch. “It's so hard for me to trust, but . . . I trust you.”

He felt as if he'd been given a gift. Jonathan kissed her again, poetry springing to his mind as he gazed upon her upturned face.

“I loved you; even now I may confess

Some embers of my love their fire retain;

But do not let it cause you more distress,

I do not want to sadden you again.

Hopeless and tongue-tied, yet I loved you dearly

With pangs the jealous and the timid know;

So tenderly I loved you, so sincerely,

I pray God grant another love you so.”

“That was lovely,” she said in a soft, aching voice. “Who was that?”

“Pushkin,” he murmured, leaning in and kissing her eyebrow reverently. He wanted to cover her entire face with kisses, and began to do so, touching his lips to her forehead, her cheek, her nose, in gentle touches. “I thought of you every time I heard that poem. Except, I fear, the last part.”

“The last part?” she murmured, leaning in to each kiss that he pressed to her face.

“I don't want another to love you,” he confessed, lightly placing his fingers under her chin so he could turn her heart-shaped face up to his. “Because I wanted you for myself. I've never stopped loving you. Never stopped wanting you. Every second of every day, my heart has always been yours.”

Violet's beautiful eyes gazed up at him, shimmering with emotion. She didn't respond, but her hand curled behind his neck and she pulled him down for a kiss. As his lips met hers, she murmured against his mouth, “Make love to me.”

“Everything I do for you is out of love,” he told her between quick, fervent kisses. “It is all making love, because I do it out of love for you. But touching you? That is worship.”

“Then worship me,” she murmured, her other hand sliding to the front of his chest and pressing over his heart. “Show me your love.”

He groaned, a surge of need flaring hot and hard through him. A mental image of tossing Violet on the bed and ripping her clothing off, savagely pounding into her as she screamed her pleasure and dragged her nails over his back, filled his mind. He shuddered. There'd be time enough for that later. For now, he wanted to seduce her. To make love to her so slowly and sweetly that she couldn't help but fall in love with him again.

He'd confessed his love. Over and over again, he'd confessed it. She'd never responded in kind. He knew that. He knew her heart was guarded, and it was up to him to break those barriers once more.

“Are you on the pill?” he asked her, making sure she knew exactly what he was asking for.

A wry smile curved her lovely mouth. “Always.”

He nodded. “I'm clean.”

Hesitation stiffened her body. “I am too, but I still want you to use a condom. Just, you know, in case.” She bit her lip.

In case the pill failed? She didn't want to be left alone and pregnant again? For a moment, he felt like the world's biggest asshole. He'd left the woman he loved pregnant and abandoned all those years ago. “Condoms,” he agreed thickly. He went to his bathroom and dug through the toiletries packed by one of his assistants. He always kept condoms on hand, and found a strip of them after a moment's searching. Taking one in hand, he returned from the bathroom, placed it on a nightstand, and saw her face lined with worry again.

He hated that she was so anxious about what should be a beautiful act of love. It had been love between them once. Jonathan resolved that it would be again. He'd make her lose that worry. He wanted her to drown in his touch, not stress about whether she would get pregnant again.

This would be all about her, once more.

Striding across the room to her, Jonathan took Violet in his arms and kissed her again. The kiss started out soft and sweet, a gentle press of lips. When her mouth parted under his and her body relaxed, his kisses became more focused, more intense. His tongue feathered over her soft lips in a tease, and when she gave a soft little gasp of pleasure, he nearly groaned in response. God, he loved this woman. “Let me make love to you, Violet. Let me worship you. Let me give you nothing but pleasure. Let me show you how much I adore you.”

She nodded, and he felt her head move against his, ever so slightly, felt the tension in her fingers as she curled them against his chest. She was clinging to him, but not quite lost in the moment yet. He had to break through that fear of hers, that wariness that kept her from losing herself to him. What would it take? He remembered her response to him on the plane. That had been sweetly beautiful. Had she been off her guard and that was how he'd been able to break down her defenses?

Was it time for him to take her off her guard again? Did Violet have to be pushed out from behind her walls in order for her to enjoy herself with him once more?

If that was what it took, he'd do it. He'd give anything to see her screaming her pleasure again. His mind filled with glorious images of her on the plane, her hands pressed to his head as her hips quaked against his face, and his mouth was filled with the delicious taste of her.

He groaned in pain and need. God, he needed that again.

“What is it?” she whispered, her fingers tightening on his jacket.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice a little harsher than he'd intended.

She blinked up at him, surprised. “I . . . Why?”

“Just answer me, Violet. Do you trust me?”

Violet stared up at him for so long that he thought she would answer in the negative. Her gaze searched his face, and then after what felt like forever, she nodded slowly. “I trust you,” she whispered.

“Good.” That surge of possessiveness slammed through him again. His fingers worked through her hair, then cupped her sweet face. “Good.”

She tilted her face toward him, eyes closed, implicitly trusting him.

And that gave him an idea.

“I want to tie you up, Violet.”

Her eyes widened. “W-what?”

But as soon as he said it aloud, he knew it was a perfect idea. “You trust me, right? Let me tie you up.” It would push her trust past just verbal assurance and into a physical realm. She would truly have to trust him to let him tie her up and do what he wanted to her. It would require more than just lip service. He wanted to be absolutely sure that she trusted him. That she wasn't just saying it.

Her eyelashes fluttered, and he watched indecision cross her face. Then, after a long moment of doubt, she slowly nodded. “I . . . All right.” She glanced at the bed, then at him. “How do you want to do this?”

“Get on the bed,” he told her. “Remove your clothes for me.”

She trembled visibly, but nodded. He loved her willingness. He wanted to shower her with kisses all over again, but that would have to wait.

As she moved toward the bed, he turned to his dresser and pulled out two silk neckties. He carried them with him at all times, in case of impromptu meetings or important business visitors, and now they were perfect for what he wanted. He tied the smaller ends together to create one long, soft rope, and then turned back toward Violet and the bed.

She sat on the edge of the bed and had removed her silky, flowing top and cast it on the floor while he'd been preoccupied with his neckties. She'd pulled off her leggings, too, and now wore nothing but a black pair of high-cut panties and a black lacy bra that seemed designed more for enticement than functionality. Had she dressed with the intention of seducing him, then? The thought sent a thrill through his body, that the woman he'd lusted after and dreamed of for so long was in his bed, and had come after him.

He was determined not to disappoint her.

Approaching the bed, he extended the ties in his hand out to her. “Are you sure you wish to do this, Violet? I won't hold it against you if you change your mind.”

She looked down at the ties, licked her lips, then gazed up at him. “I want this.”

He brushed his fingers over the curve of her cheek. “If you get frightened, what's your safe word?”

Violet thought for a moment. “Stop?”

He chuckled, still tracing her face with his fingertips, fascinated by the way she leaned into his touch. “It's supposed to be something you wouldn't call out in the heat of passion.”

“Well, I should hope I wouldn't be screaming out ‘stop,'” she told him, sounding a bit peeved.

“Pick something unusual, that I wouldn't expect you to call out.”

A wicked gleam shone in her eyes. “Daddy?”

“You're really trying to kill my erection, aren't you?” But he laughed.

She grinned, and that weird tension between them dissipated. “Who was the poet from earlier?”

“Pushkin?”

To his surprise, she gave a prim shake of her head. “Sounds awfully close to ‘push it in.' Maybe I should pick a different safe word. Let's go with Ozymandias.”

He grinned. Count on his Violet to give a safe word—something he didn't intend on her needing to use—such thorough consideration. “All right then, Ozymandias it is. Now, give me your hands.”

She held them out, wrists up and together in the air, the look on her face full of trust and nervousness.

He felt like he was being given a gift. Jonathan took her wrists in his hands and gently placed a kiss on each one. “Before we begin, I want to say thank you, Violet.”

She looked surprised. “Thank you?”

“For trusting me.” The ache in his throat left it knotted. Did she not realize how much her trust in him moved him?

She gave him a tremulous smile. “I do trust you. I'm just scared to.”

He'd make sure he never betrayed that trust again. Carefully, he wrapped her wrists in the silk of the tie in a figure eight motion and then wove the fabric through the middle again. “Too tight?”

She tested her hands. “No, it's fine.”

“Good. I want to tie these to the headboard now.” He moved to the side and fluffed the pillows on his bed into a big stack, then gestured that she should lay back on them. “Here.”

Her eyes widened but she nodded. Glancing behind her, she scooted back on the bed with little wiggles of her body that made him hot with need. When she finally backed up against the pillows, she lay down and experimentally raised her hands above her head.

“Perfect.” Jonathan grasped the tie dangling between her wrists and examined the headboard. It was thick, heavy wood with a cutout Greek key design that was ideal for him to secure his knots. He slid one end of the tie through and knotted it. “Still good?”

She nodded. “Do you do this a lot? I feel like I should ask that.”

“Never,” he told her. “Never had the urge before now.”

She thought for a moment. “I'm guessing this is a bad time to ask, but . . . did you have anyone seriously after we, you know . . .”

“No,” he told her honestly. “For me, there has never been anyone but you.”

“I don't know if that makes me feel better or terrifies me.” Her hands twisted against the ties, testing them.

“Why should it terrify you?” He trailed his fingers down one extended arm. Her skin was so soft.

“Because I feel like I can't live up to any image in your head you have of me from back then. I'm not the same person.”

“I know.” This Violet was more guarded, and when she let him in under her walls, intensely more vulnerable. “I don't mind the changes. In fact, I love them.”