Romancing the Billionaire (Billionaire Boys Club #5)(45)
Author: Jessica Clare

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.”