Violet stared at it, then at Jonathan. "And you're the pilot."
"I'm the pilot."
She shook her head as he pulled out the tiny staircase for her to get on board. The plane was red and white, and she counted three windows going down the body. As she climbed on, she couldn't suppress another moan of horror. The interior was about the size of her hatchback, all beige leather, and seemed barely big enough for the bucket seats inside. "I can't believe we're flying in this thing."
"I won't let anything happen to you," Jonathan said. "Just get in already."
Reluctantly, she did so, heading for one of the back seats.
"In the front," Jonathan said. "I'm going to need company to keep me awake while I fly."
"I hope you're joking," she snapped. When he only winked at her, she sighed and headed to the front, squeezing into the passenger seat. She wasn't relieved to see the massive control panel at the front or the twin sets of steering-wheel thingies. It only made her more upset. What if Jonathan couldn't fly and she had to take over? They'd die for sure; she had no idea how to fly a plane.
"Can't you have a private jet like every other billionaire?" she grumbled while he slid into the front next to her.
"It's more fun to fly your own toys," he told her with a grin, buckling in. "You get to really appreciate them."
"Appreciate is not the word I'm thinking of," Violet muttered, and made sure her seat belt was on tightly. Then, she closed her eyes and began to bite her nails, praying that the flight would be over soon.
-
The weather was great all the way across several states, and the flight itself was a breeze. Jonathan tried talking to Violet at first, but when it became clear that she was surly with anxiety, he left her alone and she fell asleep. So instead, he just watched her as she dozed, slumped over in the copilot's seat.
She was still incredibly lovely. For all her prickly demeanor, he could spend every minute of the rest of his life with Violet and not grow tired of her. He was fascinated with the thick fringe of her dark eyelashes, for one. They hid those lovely dark brown eyes he couldn't forget. The stubborn curve of her jaw was just as he remembered it, though, and he remembered pressing kisses there.
Not that she'd let him do that now. She loathed him.
Jonathan was disappointed she'd clearly nurtured hatred toward him over the years. Sure, they'd had a messy breakup, but time had passed and they were both adults. He didn't hold a grudge for her running home and leaving him. He didn't hold a grudge because she'd changed her mind on what she wanted overnight and demanded that they start a family, and when he hadn't liked that idea, run off back home to her mother. He figured they were both young and stupid at the time, and now they could be adults. Friends, if nothing else. But she acted like he was her mortal enemy, and he didn't understand it.
He'd just have to win her over again.
He'd won her once, back when she was a closed-up teenager. He'd talked and smiled and flirted and made an utter fool of himself until she'd broken down and started responding. He could do the same with a stiff, angry Violet. Just keep talking and bothering her until she exploded and told him what was pissing her off so bad, so he could fix it.
Fuck, he'd do anything to fix it. He'd never wanted anyone but Violet. She was everything to him. He didn't care what it took.
As if she could hear the turn of his thoughts, Violet shifted in her seat, snuggling down farther against the leather, her cheek cradled against the seat belt that separated her still-magnificent br**sts. "Mmm, Jonathan."
He froze, staring at the instrument panel. He no longer saw the gauges in front of him, or the sky that filled the windows. His mind was on Violet's sleepy moan.
Obviously she was dreaming. Obviously. He repeated this in his mind, but it wasn't sticking. His dick had gotten hard as a rock within seconds. What was she dreaming about? What was she imagining that he was doing? His hands grasped the yoke tightly, the dual sticks reminding him of gripping his cock, of all things. Fuck. Fuck. Like he needed to be thinking about jerking off at the moment? Just because she'd moaned his name in her sleep?
"Mmm," Violet said again sleepily, and he glanced over at her sharply. Was she just f**king with him? But she didn't stir. Against the thin fabric of her proper blouse, her ni**les were stiff.
Oh, Jesus.
Jonathan began to sweat. He wasn't going to ogle her while she was sleeping. He was going to ignore it. Ignore the fact that those delicious ni**les were poking against the filmy blouse, just begging to be touched. He remembered how much she'd loved to have her br**sts played with, how she'd cried out and thrashed when he'd tugged on her ni**les with his lips . . . He wiped his brow, surprised that it wasn't coated with sweat. Violet always talked in her sleep, he remembered. No big deal. She was just dreaming.