"Well, my note did say Kallista Hotel," Jonathan agreed. He ran a hand over the cardboard backing of the cheap picture. "So it has to be something with this hotel."
Violet stared at it, thinking. "This isn't an original. I wonder if the other rooms have a similar painting in them?"
Jonathan gave her a musing look. "You want me to rent out the entire hotel?"
"Can you do that?"
He gave her that slow, lazy smile that made her heart turn over. "A billionaire can do whatever he wants, love."
THIRTEEN
The next morning, Jonathan had rented out every room on their floor-the second floor. They'd gone through every room and only found two with the same painting as the one she'd been staring at in bed, and neither had a message written on them.
They'd returned back to Jonathan's room, no closer than when they'd started.
Puzzled and frustrated, Violet returned to the poem, studying it over and over again. "That has to be the wheel. It has to."
She leaned over the tablet, staring at the scanned message and wishing inspiration would strike.
As she did, Jonathan leaned over and murmured in her ear, "Shall I rent out another floor?"
"That's just a waste of money if we're on the wrong track," Violet said, though she shivered at the feel of his breath caressing her ear.
"You know I don't care about the money," he said, and leaned in and kissed the side of her neck.
Violet gasped and arched, giving him more access to her throat. After last night's marathon loving, they'd slept for a few hours, and she'd woken up to Jonathan's hungry kisses in the middle of the night. They'd made love twice more, each time more fierce than the last, and when dawn had hit, Violet had fallen into an exhausted, dazed slumber.
Even now she was curled up in the blankets, naked, and seated at the table in their room despite the late afternoon hour. After finding no luck with the second floor, they'd returned to their room and made love again.
And again.
Jonathan had just showered and he smelled fresh and clean, and she wanted to lick the droplets of water off of his bronzed skin. God, the man was delicious.
"Some of us are trying to work here," she teased him as he continued to nibble at her neck. She squirmed away from him with a grin and pointed at the tablet. "Look what you made me do." Her fingers had hit the screen when he'd kissed her and she'd accidentally zoomed in, the handwriting on the note enlarging to an extreme degree.
"It's fine," Jonathan said, his mouth moving to her ear and his nibbling continuing onto her earlobe. "Just ignore it. We'll work on it later."
"You're incorrigible," she told him with a grin.
"Mmm, big teacher word there." He gently bit her earlobe and slid a hand into the blanket, cupping one of her br**sts. "That turns me on."
"Everything turns you on," she teased.
"Everything about you," he agreed, and she forgot all about working for the next few hours.
-
When Violet begged for mercy, Jonathan got dressed and headed downstairs to get them something to drink. They'd cleaned out the minibar of bottled water during their steamy night, and they were both thirsty. As she waited for Jonathan, Violet took a quick shower and pulled on one of Jonathan's shirts, since her clothes were still in her room. He wouldn't mind her borrowing it; heck, he'd probably like the way the slogan on the front of the T-shirt stretched tight across her br**sts.
While she waited for him, Violet grabbed the tablet and returned to the bed, determined to puzzle out the poem. The tablet was still open to the screen she'd left it at, and the giant font glared at her as soon as she tapped the screen. She flicked her fingers over the surface, trying to reduce the font down, and as she did, she noticed something curious: the "i" in the second line seemed to be darker than the rest of the lettering. It was impossible to tell when she was viewing it from afar, but close up, it was clearly darker.
Curious, Violet scanned through the rest of the poem. A few more letters were also darker. She got a pen and a piece of scratch paper from the bedside table and began to mark them down.
Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel, and lower the proud;
Turn thy wild wheel thro' sunshine, storm, and cloud;
Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.
Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or frown;
With that wild wheel we go not up or down;
Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great.
Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands;
Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands;
For man is man and master of his fate.
Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd;
Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the cloud;
Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.