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Home > Romancing the Billionaire (Billionaire Boys Club #5)(13)

Romancing the Billionaire (Billionaire Boys Club #5)(13)
Author: Jessica Clare

Jonathan’s mouth quirked slightly at that, though he bit back the smile that threatened. She knew the old man well. Dr. DeWitt had, in fact, sent Jonathan a laundry list of causes dear to his heart that he wished to continue to see supported after his death. But the old man knew he didn’t have to throw Violet in Jonathan’s path to get Jonathan to support him. “I’ve already handled his wishes.”

“Of course you have,” she said flatly. “You’ve always been his little puppet, haven’t you?”

Irritation flicked in Jonathan’s mind. He ignored her needling words. Violet could lash out at him, but he wouldn’t respond in kind.

So he only said, “We’ll be landing shortly.”

Violet was silent as they rode in the back of the sedan through the streets of Alamagordo. It wasn’t an elite sort of city—Alamagordo was anything but—so she’d been surprised to see that Jonathan had a chauffeur waiting for them when they landed at the tiny private airport. Apparently he had really efficient assistants.

She hated to say it, but she was feeling . . . guilty. Just a bit. She could tell she’d hurt Jonathan’s feelings by lashing out at him in the plane, calling him her father’s puppet. It wasn’t fair, she knew that. Her father had been the most manipulative man she’d ever met. He was friendly and pleasant and dynamic to be around precisely because he knew it got him what he wanted. You didn’t realize he was trampling all over your own wishes until much, much later. Most people didn’t mind that Phineas had been a manipulative old goat, but then, Violet wasn’t most people. For Jonathan to be completely swept up in the old man’s charm was understandable.

So, yeah, she felt a bit like a jerk for being so short with him on the plane.

It was just that . . . she’d been having the most disturbing dream. Violet absently bit her nails, remembering. One of the things she held against Jonathan—one of the many, many things—was that he’d been incredible in bed. He practically vibrated intensity at all times, and to have that intensity focused on her pleasure had been a multi-orgasmic experience each time. Post-Jonathan? She’d been dissatisfied with quite a few of her lovers, simply because they hadn’t put in the time or care to make sure she got off until her brains were mush. Not like Jonathan had. That was another thing that irritated her—that she’d peaked sexually with an ass**le who dumped her.

And apparently her body recalled just how good he’d been in bed, because it was reminding her as she slept. She’d been having the most erotic dream about him. Images of Jonathan’s body poised over her own still filled her mind. Of him drilling into her from behind until she was screaming with pleasure. Of her begging for him to flip her over and eat her pu**y until she couldn’t stand it any longer.

Of him pushing her onto her back and doing just that.

She cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her br**sts, staring mutely out the window. Her stupid ni**les were responding again, and she knew her panties were wet, all from that dream. She hated that. Her loins needed to remember how badly he’d treated her in the past.

“We’re almost there,” the driver said, turning in to an old subdivision.

“Thank you,” Jonathan replied. He looked over at Violet. “Shall I take the lead?”

Like she wanted to be in charge. “Be my guest.”

He nodded and seemed to visibly tense as they approached her old house. An old memory of Jonathan rose in her mind. He was an extremely focused person, but when given a task he was excited about, he seemed to grow in intensity. She remembered that, and the determined set of his shoulders was bringing back a wealth of memories that she wanted to forget.

They pulled up in front of the house and Violet stared at her childhood home. It seemed smaller and much older than she remembered. The house had been blue when she’d lived there and was now a cheery yellow with ruffled curtains in the windows. The tree she remembered in the front yard was nothing but a stump.

“Let’s go,” Jonathan said, opening his door and getting out of the car before the driver could get out to open the door for him.

Violet hesitated, but when Jonathan moved to her side and opened the door, she followed him. Memories were just that—memories. No need for her to be upset over them. Still, it was hard not to see her childhood home and imagine her mother inside, sobbing out of depression and unhappiness. And when she wasn’t crying, she’d been drinking. Violet couldn’t remember which one was worse.

Jonathan offered her his arm, as if they were heading to a social event.

She gazed blankly at him and ignored it. “Let’s just go, all right?”

He shrugged and headed to the front door. “I’ll do the talking.”

That was fine with her. She walked up with him and stood quietly as he knocked on the front door. This was, well, it was just odd to her to walk up to her childhood home and knock, waiting for a stranger to open the door. “What are we going to do if no one’s home?”

He considered for a moment. “Break into the backyard and bribe the police if we get caught?”

She stared at him. Was he joking? It was hard to tell with Jonathan. Sometimes he was deadly serious about the strangest things. “I wouldn’t answer the door if I saw us here. We look like we’re trying to sell someone something.”

He flashed a grin at her. “I’ll sell the owner a sports car for a dollar if they let me in that backyard.”

“Of course you would,” she muttered.

They both fell silent as they heard the sound of the chain and turned back to the door.

A wrinkled little old woman in a floral muumuu and with her hair in rollers answered the door and gave them a sweet smile. “May I help you?” Her gaze went from Violet to Jonathan, then seemed to linger there. “Are you . . . ?”

He extended his hand. “Jonathan Lyons, ma’am. Have you heard of me?”

The woman giggled and placed her fingers in Jonathan’s hand. “Oh, my. You’re that man with the cars, aren’t you?”

“That’s me.”

“Is this for television?” She peered around them, looking for cameras, and seemed disappointed to see none.

Jonathan grinned. “No, ma’am. I need to ask a favor of you. May we come in?”

Two minutes later, they were in Violet’s childhood home while Jonathan talked to the owner and explained to her why they were visiting. Violet stared at her surroundings uncomfortably. Her memories of this house were dark floors, tightly drawn drapes, and sadness. This house was just as cute inside as it was outside. Light, airy colors and open windows filled the living room with sunlight and cast shadows on the knickknacks that filled dainty shelves along the wall. A small table with Queen Anne chairs sat under one of the windows, and a rag rug decorated the retiled kitchen floor.

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