It was the longest dinner in the world. By the time the check arrived and he paid, he'd ignored Violet as she moaned and chatted her way through her dessert, licking her fingers and lips with gusto. He paid, and he got the hell out of there.
As soon as he was back in his room, Jonathan practically ran for the damn shower. He turned it on-straight-up cold-and began to undress, ripping his clothing off. He'd jerk off a few times and then maybe he'd be able to concentrate on something other than Violet. He hoped. Christ, he was reaching for his c**k more often than a schoolboy lately.
A knock sounded at his door. Cursing, Jonathan zipped his pants again. When his c**k continued to jut out, a blatant sign of what he was about to do, he reached into his pants and adjusted himself, flattening the length and tucking the head of his c**k against his belt. It was painful, but f**k it. A little pain might distract him. With that, Jonathan headed for the door, shirtless.
A quick look through the peephole showed that it was Violet. Concerned, he unlatched the door and opened it. "Is everything all right?"
Her gaze went to his na**d chest, and then she looked up at him. He could have sworn her eyelashes fluttered a bit. "I do have a bit of a problem. Can we talk?"
"Of course." He opened the door wider and gestured for her to enter. If Violet had a problem, it was his problem as well. His heart panged. He hoped she wasn't asking to leave; he wasn't ready to let her go yet. Even if her being here tortured him, it was the sweetest, most delicious torture he'd ever experienced, and he wasn't about to give it up. He turned to face her, hating the slight frown marring her forehead. "What can I help you with?"
"I, well, it's hard for me to say." She twisted her hands and bit her lip, then began to pace in his room.
Damn it, she was going to ask to leave, wasn't she? Fury and possessiveness swept through him, and he clenched his fists as he slammed the door to his room. "If you're asking to go home, my answer is no. Not until we find whatever it is your father left us."
She looked surprised at his short temper. "What the hell crawled up your ass?"
You, he wanted to snarl. You, because you don't want to be here with me and I've done everything in my power to try to make you mine again, and it still isn't enough. "Nothing."
"It doesn't sound like nothing to me," she said, and put her hands on her hips. The movement only emphasized her curves, and he almost wished she'd put her arms down again. Almost. "Do you want to sit down so we can talk?"
"I don't know. Is this going to take long?"
Her nostrils flared, and for a moment, she looked as if she wanted to punch him. "Why are you being such a dick to me? What did I do?"
He was being a dick, and that was unfair to her. "It's not you. It's me," he said gruffly, and turned to the bathroom. A moment later, he had the shower off and emerged to see her sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands twisted in that nervous way again. "I'm sorry. Now, tell me what's wrong and maybe I can help."
"Well," she began, and tucked a lock of hair behind one ear nervously. "I . . . See, there's this thing."
He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting.
She put her hands back in her lap, and then tucked her hair behind her other ear, a sure sign of nerves if there was one. "Let's say I had a craving for baklava."
Now it was his turn to frown. He gestured at the phone. "Are you hungry? Did you want me to order you something-"
Her glare intensified, became withering. "Let me finish."
Jonathan lifted his hands in a silent apology, indicating she should continue. He watched her body language, noticing the tension there. Even distressed, she was beautiful to look at. He'd never tire of gazing at her exquisite form.
She shifted on the edge of the bed and placed her hands next to her thighs. "All right. Let's say that the last time I had baklava, it gave me vicious food poisoning. I swore off baklava for the rest of my life. Then, let's say someone shows up with a tray of it and it looks delicious, and I remember how much I like it. The question is, do I take a chance, knowing I could possibly get burned once more? Or do I keep my promise and stay away knowing that it's safer?"
He wasn't listening to a word she said. She'd started leaning forward as she spoke, and the neckline of her loose top kept sliding down, and all he could see were the tops of Violet's br**sts. That shirt was a f**king cruel tease. Why she'd worn it-
"Jonathan?"
"Hmm?" He forced himself to look away from those magnificent br**sts, to refocus on her intent face.
"Did you hear what I was saying?"
Something about baklava. And food poisoning. And . . . Christ, were her ni**les erect under that blouse? Jesus God in Heaven, he needed that cold shower. "You want me to order you something from room service?"