How on earth could she possibly expect him to be able to concentrate when her thigh pressed against his in the booth and every movement made her magnificent br**sts rub up against him? “Nothing.”
She leaned a bit closer and pointed at the first paragraph of the poem that had them stumped. “‘Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the proud.’ It mentions fortune and wheels several times in there. You don’t think we need to look for a local fortune-teller, do you?”
“We can do whatever you like,” Jonathan said briskly, offering her the tablet again.
She ignored it and nudged his arm. “We’re supposed to solve this together.”
“I’m afraid I’m no help on this. I shall be the pockets, you can be the brain.”
Violet gazed at him with a frown on her pretty face, but she let it go.
They ate their dinner in silence, Violet picking at her food. He scarfed his own down as quickly as possible so he could get back to his room and jerk off. Sad how he was now needing to seek release for his body on a regular basis. Just being around Violet cranked his libido to the extreme.
Violet ordered a dessert. He declined, and since he didn’t want to seem rude and abandon her, got a coffee for himself. The dessert was a confection of whipped cream over cake, topped with a cherry, and it made him think of her br**sts again, how they were soft, pillowy mounds tipped by cherry-red ni**les, and . . .
And hell. He needed that cold shower as soon as possible.
She took a small spoonful of the dessert and lifted it to her lips. When she gave a small moan of pleasure, his entire body went rigid in response.
“Oh, my God, this is so good. Do you want a taste, Jonathan?”
He looked over at her—damn it, he needed to quit looking over, because now he had an eyeful of her deep cle**age, so creamy and looking far more delicious than any dessert. And even though he should have told her no, when she lifted the spoon toward him, he opened his mouth for it.
She fed him the bite, watching him expectantly. He tasted nothing, his mind full of Violet’s skin, Violet’s taste. “Good,” he said gruffly, and nearly groaned aloud when she licked her own lips again. He wanted to thank every deity in the world when she didn’t offer him another bite, and grimly drank his coffee, staring ahead at nothing.
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 c**k more often than a schoolboy lately.
A knock sounded at his door. Cursing, Jonathan zipped his pants again. When his c**k 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 c**k against his belt. It was painful, but f**k 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 na**d 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 br**sts. That shirt was a f**king cruel tease. Why she’d worn it—
“Jonathan?”
“Hmm?” He forced himself to look away from those magnificent br**sts, to refocus on her intent face.
“Did you hear what I was saying?”
Something about baklava. And food poisoning. And . . . Christ, were her ni**les 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 br**sts and your nearness.
Violet jerked to her feet in a fluid motion that made her br**sts 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.”
ELEVEN
Jonathan 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.