Romancing the Billionaire (Billionaire Boys Club #5)(43)
Author: Jessica Clare

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 f**king 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 br**sts 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 br**sts 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 br**sts 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 f**king 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 br**sts 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 br**sts magnificently. Her lips were a plump pink and her skin was sun-kissed.