Billionaire Boys Club 5 : Romancing the Billionaire(45)

"Are you tired? Do you want to sleep?"

"A little tired," she admitted. Even though it was the middle of the day, she was suppressing yawns. Travel took a lot out of a person, and in addition to that, Violet felt as if she'd been on an emotional roller coaster for the last week.

"Use my arm as a pillow if you need to," he told her, pulling out his tablet computer.

He didn't need to tell her twice. For some reason, she craved being able to touch him. Maybe it was because she'd grown up so starved for love as a child, ignored by both parents, that she'd gone the opposite direction in her relationships.

Violet freely admitted she was a clinger. She liked to touch, she loved public displays of affection, and she adored any sort of physical contact when she could trust a person. Unfortunately her relationships had been few and far between. But now that Jonathan and she were friends again, he felt safe to cuddle with.

And she did love a good cuddle.

Violet wrapped her arms around his biceps and rested her chin against his shoulder, peering over as he began to pull up a search engine. "What are you looking at?"

"I thought I'd research your poem. See who the author was. Maybe there's a connection there we're supposed to pick up, like the Marlow Bridge."

"Mmm. Good idea."

He looked over at her, surprised. "Why, thank you, Violet."

Why was he so surprised and pleased by her compliment? She wasn't that mean, was she? Her fingers stroked his arm idly. "Jeez, I must be really rough to be around if you're thrilled about me saying 'Good idea.'"

"Not at all. I just . . . I thought you hated me." His expressive face was grave, his eyes soulfully dark.




 

 

"Oh, Jonathan," she said softly, and patted his arm. His rather nicely muscled arm. "I don't hate you. Not anymore."

"I didn't know about the baby." He stared ahead, as if unable to look at her. His voice was grave, wounded. "If I'd have known, nothing on earth would have stopped me from coming to your side. I swear."

But I left you a note, she wanted to protest, but kept those bitter words silent. Jonathan had been firmly in her father's clutches, and who knew better than she how much of a manipulator the old man had been? So she only squeezed his arm. "I believe you."

Strangely enough, she did. For the first time in what felt like forever, she was able to think of the lost baby and her abandonment without resentment, just a pang of sadness. The frustration and grief in Jonathan's face actually made her ache for the pain he was going through. At least she'd had ten years to adjust to it. It was fresh to him, and it seemed childish to throw this in his face now.

So she distracted him. Deliberately brushing her breast against his arm, she leaned over and gave him a curious look. "My poem?"

His eyes took on a glazed look, and then he seemed to give himself a mental shake. "Of course." His fingers danced over the tablet, and she watched him type a few of the phrases in. "Ah. Here we go. Lord Tennyson. The poem is called 'Idylls of the King; Song from the Marriage of Geraint.'" He read on for a moment more and made a disgusted sound in his throat. "Apparently it's a poem about one of King Arthur's knights and his marriage was torn apart by lies. Well, damn. Your father is a bastard."

Violet couldn't help it; she giggled. He looked so very disgruntled.

At her laugh, Jonathan gave her a sour look, his entire body tense with anger. "Do you think that's the message your father is intending for us to take away from this?"

"I certainly hope not," Violet said, her mouth still twitching with amusement. "Do you see yourself as one of Arthur's knights?"

His shoulders relaxed a bit and she gave his arm a placating rub. "I suppose that's a stretch, yeah. What is the message here, then?"

"I don't know," Violet admitted. "Is it something to do with Lord Tennyson himself?"

He tapped on the tablet for a bit longer, reading, and eventually shook his head. "The man had a colorful life, but I don't see a connection to Santorini." He looked over at her. "I feel like my clue pertains to us. I'm just not sure how we tie in with the poem unless it's in an insulting way."

"Well, I wouldn't put it past my father to throw in a few barbs from beyond the grave," Violet said. "Don't worry about it too much, really. I'm sure something will be glaringly obvious to us once we get to Santorini. And you figured out the bridge, so I'm sure you'll puzzle out this next part." 

He nodded absently and rubbed his chin, still staring down at the information on his tablet. A line of worry creased his brow.

For some reason, she didn't like seeing that worry there. "Since we're on the subject of poetry, do you know more?"