Romancing the Billionaire (17 page)

It was depressing to wake up and find she was in bed alone.

The next day went much like the first. They headed to the beaches, and when Violet protested that they probably wouldn't find any hints toward her father's poem, Jonathan suggested that they simply enjoy themselves. It would come to them at some point. They just had to be patient and wait, and until they came across it, they could enjoy the island paradise that Santorini had to offer. She just needed to think of it as a working vacation, Jonathan teased.

And Violet thought she was good at being patient, but she wasn't. She really wasn't. Because when they walked the beach and strolled in the surf, she wanted Jonathan to hold her hand like the other couples they saw. She wanted to run her hands over those flexing muscles and know that he belonged to her.

She was falling for him all over again, and that was dangerous. The harder she fought to pull away from him, the closer she was dragged.

It seemed to be the opposite for him. Jonathan was cheerful and friendly, but there was a definite distance between them. It was like he didn't care if he ever kissed or touched her again.

She should have been happy with that. Just like she should have been happy to have a few days of paradise on the beaches of Santorini, enjoying the sun and relaxing in a beautiful Mediterranean island.

But she wasn't. She was more tense than ever, and it had nothing to do with her father's silly scavenger hunt and everything to do with the gorgeous, sexy man at her side who was determined to just be her friend.

Why on earth had she ever said she wanted to just be friends? Worse than that, why was he okay with it?

Violet felt like she was in a hellish sort of limbo. A friendly, no-strings-attached, no-hearts-on-the-line sort of limbo. It was a limbo she would have been perfectly happy with two weeks ago, before Jonathan was back in her life.

But now that he was, it seemed her heart wanted all or nothing. And she was utterly terrified of that, just like she was terrified that he was no longer attracted to her.

What if she fell for him again—a very real possibility—and he was no longer interested? She'd be left behind, hung out to dry once more.

And it scared the hell out of her.

But as day three merged into day four in the island paradise, business and pleasure continued to mix together. When Jonathan suggested that they check out the local scuba diving in case of any submerged wheels, Violet knew it was a long shot, but she went along with it, and they spent a day diving in the blue Mediterranean waters. Following that train of thought, they visited every tour of the ruins on the island, and Violet hated that she enjoyed it so very much. Each day was pleasant, and utterly, completely frustrating. She couldn't keep living in this wonderful, terrible limbo. She just couldn't.

Something had to be done.

It was clear that Jonathan wasn't pursuing her anymore. If she wanted him, she'd have to pursue him and make it obvious that she desired him. She'd have to put her heart out on the line and offer it up to him, not knowing if he was even attracted to her anymore. Maybe he was content with their now-friendship.

Violet would have to be the one taking all the risks. And it frightened her, but it didn't make her as miserable as the thought of more torturous days of a remote Jonathan who was cordial and polite and treated her about as intimately as he did the staff at the hotel.

She thought she'd wanted to be his friend.

She didn't. Not in the slightest.

So . . . Violet began to plan. If she was going to break through this friend-zone they found themselves in, she needed to go all out.

—

The next day, when Violet suggested they spend another afternoon at the beach, Jonathan was surprised. She'd been antsy with every day spent on the island. It was obvious to him from her frustrated body language, and from the way she kept frowning at him like he was doing something wrong.

But what exactly he was doing wrong, Jonathan didn't know. He was giving her space, just like she wanted. He didn't touch her anymore, even though it was fucking killing him. Every evening, he slept like shit because his bed was empty, and he spent hours in the shower each night, jerking off and trying to relieve his body from the endless, aching lust he had for her.

If Violet wanted nothing more than to be friends, he wouldn't push her. He'd take whatever she would give him and be happy with that.

She was clearly upset that they were stuck on the clue, though. Each day, she seemed more and more distressed that they were getting nowhere. He wasn't unhappy at all, though; he loved that he got to spend these extra days with her. They'd both memorized the poem and looked for wheels all over the city. They'd asked about Dr. DeWitt at every location they could think of, and there was nothing to follow up on. Every day, Jonathan lived in fear that Violet would turn to him and say “I'm done. There's nothing to be found.” And then he'd have no choice but to send her home and out of his life.

He was a shitty person because he was glad they weren't able to find anything. Because every day they were stalled meant another day he could drink in her presence, watch her dainty motions as she ate, watch the way she turned her pretty face up to the sun to catch a bit more sunlight. The way she smiled. The smell of her hair. The way she put her fingers to her full lips to bite her nails.

So her suggestion to go to the beach had taken him by surprise. Not that he was complaining. Another day of leisure with Violet at his side? He'd take it.

As soon as they got to the beach and she stripped off her cover-up, though, his mouth went dry.

Instead of the sensible black one-piece Violet had been wearing for the past few visits to the beach, she'd purchased a bikini. Not just any bikini, but a tiny, bright blue one that barely covered her curvy ass with a triangle of fabric, and a top that seemed to push her magnificent breasts together into two plump mounds that bounced with every step.

He'd had to adjust himself several times at the sight of it.

Not that she'd notice—Violet had barely glanced at him, her gaze on the water. “Weather's lovely today.”

They were going to talk about the weather, were they? When her jiggling breasts were just begging to be freed from those creative straps holding them together?

She squinted up at the sun and put down her towel. “I think I need some suntan lotion or I'm going to burn. Would you do me the honors?” She held out a small white tube to him and presented him her back.

He took it from her, wondering if this was some kind of torture. At the base of her spine, he could see two dimples that framed her tattoo:
Carpe Diem
. Staring at that tattoo was going to get him into trouble. His gaze moved up, to her shoulders. Probably a bad call. Jonathan stared at Violet's nape for a long moment, tempted by the tiny bow of her swimsuit tied there. It was just begging to be pulled apart, and then her breasts would tumble free from their confinement . . .

And then he'd have everyone at the beach staring at his woman. Well, more than they were already staring. He was already casting scowls in the direction of a few men.

With an angry squirt of suntan lotion, Jonathan pressed his hand to Violet's shoulder.

She shivered, squirming. “That's cold!”

God, his dick was so fucking hard at the moment. He was going to embarrass himself if anyone saw the hard-on he was sporting in his own swim trunks. But Violet needed to be protected from the sun's rays, so he continued to stroke the lotion into her skin—a rather delicious kind of torture, especially with the soft little sounds of pleasure she was making at his touch.

“Mmm, thank you,” she said when he was done.

He didn't say anything in response, just stormed right into the water so he could hide his erection. When it was waist high, he dropped in to his neck and stared out at the blue sea, trying to compose himself.

To his annoyance, Violet swam out to him, ignoring the fact that he was trying to flee. “Have you had any luck with the poem?”

“None,” he bit out. He wasn't thinking about it. Hell, he wasn't even trying. If it took a month for them to figure out Dr. DeWitt's cryptic message, he'd be ecstatic. That was time he'd get to spend with Violet. Looking at her, absorbing her presence, listening to her soft voice. “I haven't worked on it today.”

“That's all right,” she told him. “I'm kind of at a dead end, too.” She stood up in the water and let it sluice down her skimpy top, her breasts magnificent and gleaming.

He couldn't stop staring at them. At her. Was she torturing him on purpose? She was the one who said she wanted to be friends. He was letting her lead.

So why did it feel like she was determined to rub it in his face that he couldn't have her? Jonathan dunked his head to cool it.

They swam for a few hours. Eventually, they returned to their separate hotel rooms, Violet claiming she wanted a nap.

Jonathan took a cold shower, and when that didn't ease his need, he jacked off.

She called him a few hours later. “What time are we meeting for dinner?”

“I'm ready whenever you are,” he told her.

“Great. Downstairs in a half hour?”

That was fine with him, and he dressed casually and headed down to the lobby.

Once he got there, though, his jaw clenched at the sight of her. Violet was . . . stunning. She was wearing jeans, but they were skin tight, and her feet were encased in strappy sandals. In addition, she was wearing a white tank top with a loose, low-swooping neckline that showed off her breasts magnificently. Her lips were a plump pink and her skin was sun-kissed.

She was gorgeous.

She was torturing him.

Violet gave him a brilliant smile as he walked toward her. “There you are. I'm positively starving.” Her hands went to her stomach, and of course his gaze was drawn to the cleavage practically spilling out of her top. “I need something in my mouth right now.”

Definitely torture.

When they sat down to dinner, instead of their regular table, Violet insisted on a booth. And when he sat down at the booth, she slid in next to him. “I figure I can peek over your shoulder while you do some more research online about wheels in Santorini. I'm sure we'll eventually hit on the connection.”

He stared down at her, trying to keep his face impassive. Violet was short, her head only coming up to his shoulder when she stood. He liked that she was tiny, but tonight he both loved and hated it, because whenever he looked over at her, he had a bird's-eye view of what might be the best cleavage in all of the Mediterranean.

And he had to act like he wasn't affected, because they were supposed to be
friends
.

Jonathan pulled out his tablet and tried to focus his gaze on it and only it. Looking over at Violet would just mean more staring at her magnificent torso. And he couldn't stare if he was her friend, because nothing about that pair of breasts screamed
friend
to him. They screamed for attention, for his mouth, for touching, for hours of attention to be lavished upon them.

When the waitress put a glass of water down in front of him, he grabbed it and sucked it down, trying to ignore the fact that his arm brushed Violet's breast. Goddamn it.

“Can you pull up the poem?” Violet asked him, her voice low. She leaned in close to read over his shoulder, and her breasts brushed against his arm again.

“Of course,” he said, glad for the table surface that would hide his erection. He mentally willed it to go away even as he pulled up the all-too-familiar file and held the tablet out to her.

She didn't take it, just leaned against his arm and read, her lips moving in a way that made him think of sex. Then again, everything she did made him think of sex.

After a moment, she shook her head. “I've still got nothing. You?”

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 breasts 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 breasts again, how they were soft, pillowy mounds tipped by cherry-red nipples, 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 cleavage, 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.