Romancing the Billionaire (11 page)

But it worked. She nodded. “All right.”

It was progress.

—

When the limo pulled up to the club, Jonathan watched as Violet wrinkled her nose. “Your business is in a nightclub?”

“It is,” he agreed.

Sitting across from them, Cade gave Violet an easy smile. “I know it looks strange, but I assure you, we're not going to pick up women.”

“I wasn't thinking that. Just . . . no more drinking, all right?” Her brows knitted with worry and she looked over at Jonathan.

“I won't drink again,” he vowed, and he meant it. He must have caused her a lot more concern than she let on. His Violet carried steel-plated armor around her heart because she'd been hurt so many times by the people she loved. And he'd hurt her again, it seemed. For that, he wanted to kick himself. The thought of drinking more alcohol while knowing it would upset her? That was the furthest thing on his mind.

She nodded, clearly uneasy.

He reached out to touch her hand on the seat, unable to help himself. “We'll be a few hours. I want you to wait with the car . . . for me.” He could call and get her a hotel so she could relax comfortably, but the thought of releasing Violet into New York made him anxious. He worried that if he turned his back, he'd find her gone.

“Stay in the car?” She clearly wasn't a fan of the idea and pulled her hand away from his. “How long are you going to be?”

“I don't know.” He pulled out his wallet and unfurled several bills, stuffing them into her grasp before she could protest. “Go shopping. Spend money. Something. Just stay with the limo, and I'll be back as soon as I can. I promise.”

She watched him for a moment, then nodded, smoothing the money he'd handed her. “I'll be here.”

“Thank you.” He wanted to reach over and kiss her again, but he didn't dare. Clenching a fist to keep himself from grabbing her, he nodded. “Wait for me.”

Then, he followed Cade into the club.

Every week for years on end, the Brotherhood had met in the basement of the dingy club. Their secret society had been formed in college and continued on ever since. If at all possible, each man tried not to miss a meeting, as it inconvenienced his brothers. Jonathan was pretty sure he missed more meetings than most, given his proclivity for rushing off to the far ends of the earth on another mission.

Tonight, he wished he'd done the same. He was twitchy even as he and Cade pushed through the busy, noisy club and headed to the back, then down the long hall toward the basement. Hunter's bodyguard was already there, standing to guard the door, and out of habit, Jonathan gave him the signal: he touched two fingers onto his shoulder and slid them over his arm down to where his tattoo was. Cade made the same gesture, and the man nodded and stepped aside.

Then, they headed into the smoky basement, the smell of cigars wafting through the air. As Jonathan stepped down the stairs behind Cade, he could hear one loud female voice above the murmur of the others. “Come on, flush! Momma needs a destination wedding!”

“That'd be Gretchen,” Cade said. “Again.”

Jonathan said nothing. Truth be told, he'd hated when Hunter started dragging his fiancée to all of their supposedly private meetings. It rather ruined the spirit of secrecy, but Hunter wouldn't be deterred; if he was there, Gretchen would be there. The other men's fiancées and wives knew about the club but didn't show up like Gretchen did.

Used to be, he hated seeing Gretchen's face across the poker table from him. Now? Now that Violet was back in his life? He got it. He understood that ravenous sort of possessiveness that made a man want to haul his woman to his side and never let her leave. Hell, he was practically itching to go and drag Violet out of the limo upstairs and bring her with him, but that would cause more questions than it would answer.

As they entered the room, Reese pulled his cigar from his mouth and gestured with it. “Well, well, if it isn't the missing pair. We were starting to wonder if you two would show up.”

“We had business,” Cade said easily, heading toward his regular seat.

Jonathan said nothing, heading to his own chair and taking the chips offered him. Already at the table sat the inner circle of New York's business elite. There was Logan Hawkings, billionaire conglomerate owner, who was currently staring at his cards with an impassive expression. There was Hunter Buchanan, a real-estate king who owned half of the eastern seaboard. His red-haired, disheveled fiancée Gretchen was currently perched in his lap, giggling gleefully over her cards as Hunter watched her with hungry fascination.

Across the table from them was Griffin Verdi, a European viscount with an aristocratic pedigree and Jonathan's frequent co-funder on archaeological digs. He was simply shaking his head at Gretchen's antics. Next to him was Reese Durham, recently married playboy who'd also recently acquired a series of cruise lines.

It seemed like over the last year, they'd all gone from bachelors to either married or heading in that direction. All except him and Cade, of course. He thought of Violet again, and a surge of intense longing buffeted through him. He'd gladly give up his bachelorhood for her.

“Looks like everyone's here,” Logan said. “This meeting of the Brotherhood is officially called to order.”

“Fratres in prosperitatum,”
they said in unison, raising their glasses. Jonathan raised an empty one for the toast. When Reese offered him a bottle of his favorite Scotch, he shook his head. Normally he had a glass just to be social, but the thought of it crossing his lips today seemed revolting. He wouldn't touch it, not with Violet waiting for him.

“So, boys, what's on the business menu tonight?” Gretchen picked up the deck of cards and began to shuffle, ignoring the looks the others sent her way. “World domination?”

No one said anything.

She sighed. “Eventually you guys are going to talk business in front of me. Eventually.”

“Not tonight,” Reese said, and only grinned when Gretchen flipped him the bird.

Impatiently, Jonathan tossed his ante into the pile. “So no business tonight?” Why had he come to the meeting, then? He thought of Violet, sitting out in his car, and he longed to be beside her, just drinking in her presence.

“Down, boy,” Cade murmured. “It'll do you good to give her a breather.”

Jonathan glared at him.

“Give who a breather?” Griffin asked, turning to them.

“No one,” Jonathan said before Cade could respond. His relationship with Violet was . . . private. Private and rather tangled.

Cade nodded in Griffin's direction. “How's that lovely Southern belle of yours? She still adjusting to being the next Viscountess Montagne Verdi?”

Count on Cade to say the right thing to distract the man. Jonathan bit back a smile as Griffin grimaced, swiping his cards off the table.

“We are having visitors this week,” Griffin said, tone clipped. “My town house is currently infested with ‘Mama and them.' They're helping Maylee pick a location for the wedding.”

“You trust them to do that?” Reese asked.

“Of course not. That's why I hired a wedding planner to be at Maylee's side at all times. My lovely Maylee is kindness itself, but she has appalling taste in clothing.” For a moment, Griffin had a besotted look on his face, then shook his head and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, like you're marrying her for her taste,” Gretchen said with a snort. “I mean, she said yes, so we know her taste in
men
sucks.”

Griffin ignored Gretchen's jab. “I'm just bloody thrilled she's no longer trying to get her hound to be the ring bearer.”

Reese nearly spit his whiskey on the table. The others laughed, and Cade reached over and slapped Reese on the shoulders when he began to cough. It was no secret amongst them that Griffin was the latest to become engaged, to his polar opposite—a redneck southern girl who was as friendly as Griffin was aristocratic and reserved.

Again, Jonathan thought of Violet and her wry, reserved smile. She wasn't open like Griffin's Maylee. Maybe she had been, once, but the Violet waiting in the limo was guarded. Like she was just waiting for the next blow to fall, and she was positive it was coming.

He hated that he'd done that to her. What had happened to the wild girl with
Carpe Diem
tattooed just above her backside?

But he knew that answer now. She'd been abandoned while pregnant and then lost the baby. It had changed her, and he'd lost her for good.

“You in?”

Jonathan stared at his cards without seeing them, his mind still on Violet. He'd give anything to make things right with her. Maybe being friends was a step in the right direction after all. Or maybe it was selfish of him and he needed to take himself out of her life again, cut out like a cancer. What was best for her? He didn't know, but whatever it was, he'd do it. Violet and her happiness was the only thing that mattered to him. Maybe someday he'd be able to show her that.

A rough elbow gouged his arm. “Hello? Earth to Johnny-boy.” Reese shoved his elbow at Jonathan again. “You in or not?”

He blinked at Reese's grin without seeing it, then stared at his cards. A pair of kings. “I fold.”

After all, folding would give him more time to think about Violet.

A
few hours later, Gretchen's first yawn cracked. Jonathan used that to excuse himself from the group. “I have a plane to catch, boys. I'll see everyone next week.” He cashed out his chips and murmured his good-byes, still distracted. The night had been interminably long, but it was over now, and he could get back to his Violet. Practically bounding up the stairs, he headed out of the cellar and down the hall, back into the club that was still pounding with a wild beat.

He fished his phone out of his pocket, ready to text the limo driver to bring Violet back, but as soon as he hit the street, he was surprised to see it parked nearby. Had they been waiting there the entire time? Why did the thought of Violet waiting for him fill him with such unholy joy? He headed to the limo and knocked on the window.

It rolled down a crack and Violet looked up at him with sleepy eyes. “All done?”

“All done,” he said.

She opened the door and scooted over as he got in. As soon as he shut the door, he was surprised when she offered him a coffee cup. “This one is yours. Still take it black?”

He didn't, but he would for her. “Thank you.” The cup was still warm through the cardboard. “You . . . went and got coffee?”

“Several rounds of coffee, actually.” She gave him a rueful grimace. “I drank the first one and we went back again, and even took a trip into the restroom. I wanted something to drink to pass the time.”

“You didn't go shopping?”

She made a face. “Of course not. Here's your money back, minus the cost of the coffee, of course.” She held the money out to him.

He took it, strangely pleased at the thought of Violet waiting for him, even thinking of him enough to get him a coffee. “I'm sorry that took so long.”

She waved a hand. “I did some research on my phone while you were in your meeting. I figured I could work while you were there, since this is what you hired me for.”

“What did you find out?”

“Well.” Violet put her coffee cup down in a nearby holder and lifted her phone, dragging her thumb across the screen. He was fascinated by that small action, by her dainty fingers as they moved across the face of her smartphone, typing. “I started with ‘Ozymandias,' of course, since that was on my note. But the more I read about fallen empires and tragic pasts, the more I wonder if it's some sort of veiled daughter-shaming. Knowing my father, that could be part of the reason he gave
me
the poem.” She cast him a sidelong look. “Which pissed me off, so I tried a different route. So I focused on ‘Glirastes.' It didn't take much to find out what the connection was.”

Anticipation unfurled in his belly. “And what is it?”

Her eyes sparkled as she grinned up at him. “A dormouse lover.”

“A what?” She giggled at his expression, and he was fascinated by the sound, by the way she smiled. God, her happiness alone was making his dick hard as a rock. He longed to touch her, to feel that soft skin under his fingers. Instead, he only gripped his coffee cup harder.

“A dormouse lover,” she repeated, still smiling. “It seems that Shelley's nickname for his wife was ‘dormouse,' and so he picked ‘Glirastes' as pen name for an inside joke. It means dormouse lover.”

“It's an interesting tidbit, but why would your father point that out?”

“Well.” Violet tilted her head and began to scroll through her phone again. “Remember that my letter had certain parts of words written in a bolder hand than the others. If I take all the bolded letters, it spells out ‘thirteen steps underneath.'”

“Yes, but underneath what? Where do we start looking?”

She held up a finger again. “I'm getting there. So, ‘dormouse' was apparently a nickname that Percy gave to Mary during their time in a city called Marlow, which is on the Thames River. And Marlow is best known for an old suspension bridge. This bridge.” She pulled up a picture on her cell phone and held it out to him.

Jonathan took it from her. For a moment he was distracted by the warmth left from her grip, and he had to force himself to focus on the photo of the bridge. “You think it's here?”

“It's as good a place to start as any,” she told him. “But ‘Ozymandias' was first published under the name ‘Glirastes,' and Glirastes came in to play because of the time they spent in Marlow. I figure we can check under the bridge. I mean, if it's thirteen steps under a house, I'd rather not tear up anyone's basement without trying all of our options first.”

He looked over at her, so lovely in the shadows of the car. “
Our
options?” That tiny change in her thinking stuck out at him. For so long, she hadn't wanted to be part of this chase. She'd all but planted her feet every time he suggested anything.

And now Violet was researching on her own time? Talking about searching together?

She leaned over and nudged him with her elbow, the gesture similar to one that Reese had given him earlier. Except this time he reacted completely different. Violet's soft body next to his played havoc with his senses, the faint scent of her perfume filling his nostrils, and his body immediately responded to her touch, his cock hardening.

“I figure we're in this together,” she told him. “Whatever my father wants us to find out, he wants us to find it out together.”

“Together,” he agreed. He liked the sound of that.

—

Violet fidgeted and shifted in her chair, trying to get comfortable. Despite the late hour and the relative poshness of the leather chaises in the private jet, she couldn't relax. Maybe it was the three cups of coffee she'd gulped down while sitting in the limo. Maybe it was the fact that they were on their way to London for the next part of the scavenger hunt, and she was feeling excited despite herself.

She suspected it was all those things, but throw in a very sexy, intense Jonathan Lyons sitting across from her? Sleep was impossible. He was wearing another blazer over a T-shirt and jeans, and the effect was overtly masculine and confidently casual at the same time.

Sad to say, she was still affected by his presence. Their sexual relationship was ten years in the past, but the way her nipples seemed to react, you'd think it was just yesterday that he'd had his mouth on them. Of course, she couldn't blame her nipples—not when the rest of her body wasn't playing fair, either. There was an ache between her legs that wouldn't go away, and her skin prickled with awareness whenever he drew close enough for her to smell his aftershave.

Her mind was the most traitorous of all, because every time Violet closed her eyes, she saw Jonathan's body moving over hers. It wasn't the nineteen-year-old Jonathan, either. It was the man seated across from her, hard with muscle, eyes world-weary and intense all at once. He'd been sexy as a college boy, but he was utterly devastating as an adult man.

And it was making her antsy as hell.

She shifted in her chair again.

“Can't sleep?” Jonathan asked, and his foot nudged her leg from across the aisle.

Well, no sense in pretending any longer. She straightened up and propped her chin on her hand. “Something tells me that all that Starbucks earlier was a bad call.”
Your proximity isn't helping.
She didn't say that aloud, though. Not while they were on neutral ground. But still, the man should have guessed that his sitting directly across from her in a plane with at least a dozen other empty seats would rattle her, right? Or he should have known that when he sat with his legs open and sprawled as if he owned the place, it would make her body break out in goose bumps.

Heck, he probably
did
own the place. “Too much coffee,” she muttered when a new round of goose bumps pricked her arms and she rubbed them.

The smile he gave her was slow, gorgeous, his gaze utterly focused on her. “You'll wind down in a bit.”

For some reason, she felt nervous and fluttery under that intense stare. “I suppose.” Now that they'd vowed to just be friends, it seemed her body—stupid, stupid body—was fixated on other, non-friend-like things.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Her heart started thumping faster, and her gaze went to his sensual mouth. She tried to play it casual, though. “Oh, um . . . question? Sure?”

“How many do you think there will be?”

For the life of her, she couldn't figure out what he was talking about. “How many what?”

“Letters? Clues to follow?”

“Oh!” Her mind had been anywhere but on their actual business together. “Usually there were about four.”

“Mmm. So we're looking at two more.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

Violet found herself staring at his long fingers as he rubbed. She flexed her own.
Down, girl. It's still Jonathan, jerk at heart.
Except she wasn't so sure she believed that anymore. “Don't get too excited,” she blurted. “I've found every single one of these chases to be a disappointment at the end.”

“Even so.” He continued to rub his chin idly, and she had to hold back the urge to snatch his hand away from his jaw. That slow, thoughtful rubbing was driving her to distraction. “There has to be a point to this little postmortem game of his. Even if we discount the fact that he hid his journals, it's not like Dr. DeWitt to steal from an excavation site.”

“I told you the point already,” Violet said, her irritation ratcheting up a notch. “He wants to get me back in your life so you'll continue to fund all of his projects. My face in front of yours will be a nice little reminder of what he wants. This is all just more maneuvering from him.”

“Mmm. You sound angry. He wasn't a very good father to you, was he?”

She sighed. “Are we going to talk about this now?”

“What's wrong with now? Was I keeping you from your sleep?” Damn it, now he was aiming that lethal smile at her again, as if they were sharing a secret.

“No,” she snapped, her tone a little more brusque than it should have been. Violet straightened in her chair again. “But of the two of us, you're the only one who seems to have pleasant memories of him.”

“I don't recall you hating him that summer—”

“That was a fluke,” she interrupted. She knew exactly how she felt about her father, and didn't need anyone else reminding her. “That was back when I still thought I could get him to care about me. I learned my lesson and didn't make that mistake again.”

“I find it hard to believe he didn't care about you at all,” Jonathan said in a quiet voice. “In fact, I find it almost impossible to conceive of anyone willfully disliking you.”

She squirmed in her seat. Surely she'd mistaken the heat in his tone. It was her own imagination running away from her. “My father cared about one person and one person alone. Himself. Everything he did was to further his own ambitions. He destroyed my mother with his neglect.”

Jonathan tilted his head, regarding her. “Dr. DeWitt never talked about your mother.”

“That doesn't surprise me.”

“Why?”

“Well, what's there to talk about?” Violet rested her head against the back of the chair and tried to think of her mother without tears in her eyes. It was surprisingly difficult; all her lingering memories of Connie DeWitt involved her depression, her drinking, and how it had affected Violet. “She married him when she was twenty and he was fifty. My mom was one of his students, back when he still taught at the university. She was young and pretty and totally in love with him. He was, well . . . He was an old perv.”

Jonathan didn't laugh.

Violet shrugged and went on. “They had me a few years later, and pretty much after that, my dad grew more and more famous, and the more famous he got, the less he came home. He drove my mother to depression, and when the drugs didn't work, she drank herself into a stupor. She cried over everything.” Her throat went dry and she thought of her lonely childhood, full of dark rooms and tiptoeing quietly through the living room because Mom was passed out drunk on the couch. At least when Mom was asleep, she wasn't weeping. The weeping was worse than anything. “My father would show up a few months later and everything would be great for about a day or two. Then they'd start fighting, my mother would cry and get depressed all over again, and then my father would leave as soon as he could get out the door.”

“I'm guessing that's why it's so hard for you to trust people.”

She gave him a sharp look, her hands twisting in her lap. But there was no judgment in Jonathan's gaze, no reproach, just that wicked intensity she found so enthralling. Like she was a puzzle he'd put aside for ten years and had decided to solve again. Except she didn't need solving, or saving. She was doing just fine on her own. “I'm sure my father seemed like a paragon to you, but he was only good to people who could get him what he wanted. The rest of us, he just didn't give a crap about.”