"'And on the pedestal these words appear,'" Jonathan murmured, getting to his feet and dusting off his jeans. His intense gaze held hers. "'My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'"
Her eyebrow went up. "Ozymandias?"
"Shelley," he said excitedly, and his hands gripped her arms and he pulled her into his arms. "It's Shelley!"
She was going to ask him to explain when he grabbed her and pulled her against him in a quick, brisk kiss of excitement. Before she could chastise him, he pulled away from her, grinning, and turned and grabbed the elderly woman and gave her a big smacking kiss on the cheek. "Shelley!" he pronounced again.
The elderly woman tittered.
Violet didn't laugh. It was a nothing kiss. Just excitement.
Still, Violet's cheeks flushed as she remembered her dream from earlier, and Jonathan's mouth between her legs. She forced herself to remain outwardly indifferent. "Do you mind explaining what you mean by 'Shelley'?"
Jonathan turned back and gave her a brilliant smile, his solemn face lighting up in a way that made him impossible to look away from. "Percy Bysshe Shelley," he explained. "He wrote the poem 'Ozymandias' when he saw a statue of Ramses the Great in London."
"So," she said thoughtfully, tapping the paper on her hand. "Knowing my father, we're either to follow the rabbit trail after Shelley himself and go to London, or research Ramses the Great. What does your clue have to do with any of this?"
"No idea," Jonathan said, that boyish smile still on his face. "But I'm positive there's a connection somewhere. We just have to figure it out."
"Mmmhmm." Violet nodded, staring at the paper. She traced her finger over the lettering. "Some of these characters are darker than others. That must be part of the clue." She folded up the letter; she'd figure it out later. Right now, she couldn't stop thinking about that brief press of his mouth against hers. Damn it, what was wrong with her? One day in his company and she was salivating over him just because he ate a good pu**y? Jesus. Did she have no morals? He abandoned her when she was nineteen and pregnant. Why did she care if his eyes lit up when he was excited about something, or if he'd been a great kisser? None of that mattered if he was a terrible person, and he was.
He was just like her father, using people for his own means.
She glared icily at him when he smiled back at her, determined not to be swayed by his charm. "So now you're going to drag me off to London, I take it?"
His exuberant expression died slowly, his face smoothing. "Unless you think we should start with Egypt?"
Violet shrugged. "I'm just the hired help. You're the one calling the shots."
He nodded, lost in thought, and tucked his letter into his jacket. He turned back to the owner of the house and gave her another charming smile. "I cannot thank you enough, madam."
"You could give me one of those fancy cars you sell," she told him, and then tittered behind a liver-spotted hand, her curlers jiggling.
He bowed over her hand as if responding to a command. "It's done. I'll have one delivered."
Her eyes widened into two circles. "I-Mr. Lyons, I didn't mean-I was just teasing-"
"I know," he said. "But I shall insist." He took her hand in his, kissed the back of it, and grinned. "Cherry red?"
She gave him an awestruck nod.
Again, Violet had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. If the man was going to give a car to every person he ran across, he'd be broke in days. That was no way to run a business, Violet thought grumpily.
They thanked the woman once more and Jonathan texted her information to his assistant, and then they headed back out to the waiting car.
Once they were inside, Jonathan grabbed her and dragged her across the seat toward him.
"Jonathan-"
His mouth covered hers, and he kissed her again. Shocked, Violet remained frozen as he pulled her against him and his lips coaxed hers apart. Memories blasted through her, along with his kiss. Memories of his excitement on the dig; he'd never been more turned on than when they had an breathtaking discovery. Adrenaline made him hard as a rock, whether it was from archaeology or something else. It appeared that adrenaline was pumping through him right now, and he'd forgotten that she hated him.
She tried to pull away, but his tongue slicked against hers, and she weakened. It coaxed into her mouth, firm, decisive thrusts that were just as intense as the man himself. His hand moved to her nape and he held her against him, groaning her name between hot, fevered kisses. "Violet. God, Violet."
The way he said her name made her ni**les harden. Her mouth parted under his and she fell into his spell. The flavor of him was sweet against her mouth, tasting faintly of mint. His lips were firm against hers, as insistent as his grip on her. When his tongue thrust into her mouth and then curled along her own, she moaned. Oh, God, he'd always been such a good kisser. He knew just how to push her buttons-