Romancing the Billionaire (Billionaire Boys Club #5)(33)
Author: Jessica Clare

“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.”