Hear that, dick? She's just dreaming. Now go f**k off. She still hates us when she's awake.
Of course, his dick was listening about as well as Violet was. The cockpit of the Socata was small. Too small, he thought. His traitorous mind was telling him to reach over and put a hand on her thigh, slide it up her skirt and see if she was wet . . .
And then she'd really f**king hate him, wouldn't she? Jonathan scrubbed a hand over his face and then returned it to the yoke, staring grimly ahead. He'd just have to ignore her. So he concentrated on things that would make his rearing dick go back down to normal. Things like his wrinkled old housekeeper who worked in his NYC town house. Spotting the paparazzi waiting outside of a hotel he was staying at. His new lineup of sportscars rolling out as lemons. Jumping out of a plane and his parachute cord not responding.
After a few minutes, he was under control again. Good.
She shifted in her seat again, her skirt riding higher up her thighs. "Mmm, oh, yes-"
"Violet," he barked. Jesus. A man could only take so much.
She jerked awake with a small snort, limbs flailing a bit. Then she looked around, eyes glazed and narrow with sleep. "Huh?"
"Wake up," he said gruffly.
She raised a hand and rubbed her face. "I was trying to sleep, you know."
"Yeah, but I want company," he lied. She'd flip out on him if she knew the real reason he'd woken her up. "Talk to me."
"Grow up," she muttered, straightening in her seat. "I can't believe you woke me up because you were bored."
He glanced over at her, noticing that she crossed her arms over those erect ni**les to hide them, and her cheeks were flushed. Was she aware she was having dirty dreams about him? Sounded like they both needed a distraction. "Tell me, why is it you never opened the letter your father sent?"
She stared out the window to her right, avoiding his gaze. "You're kidding me, right? You should know more than most people that my father and I were never exactly on good terms."
"You never saw eye to eye. I remember that."
"Understatement," she said flatly.
"Still, he must have loved you quite a bit to put in all the work to set up some sort of scavenger hunt after his death. I assume we're not going to find what we're looking for at your childhood home?"
"Nope," she drawled out the word. "It's going to lead us to a clue, which is going to lead us to another clue, which is going to lead us, ultimately, to disappointment. Trust me on that one."
"I'm not so sure about that." Dr. DeWitt had put a lot of effort into this while sick and dying. It didn't strike Jonathan as a whim. As long as this trip had his stele at the end of it, and Violet's company during it, it would be a win in Jonathan's book.
"I'm sure," Violet said flatly. "This is my father we're talking about. Everything was always a disappointment with him."
"Yes, but for him to send both of us letters, it's clearly intimating that it's something we should work on together."
"Or, it's all part of my father's plan to keep you funding his projects after he dies. He dangles me under your nose, and you keep throwing money into the things that mattered to him."
"You don't know that's true."
"He sent you a list, didn't he? Of foundations and projects he wants continued after he's gone?"
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.