• • •
“This is her classroom,” Principal Esparza said to Jonathan, straightening her suit jacket. “You’re sure Ms. DeWitt is expecting you? She didn’t indicate to me that she was anticipating a visitor, and this is a closed campus.” The principal sounded disapproving, but she hadn’t kicked him out. It was amazing what you could do if you showed up in an expensive suit with your personal bodyguard. Of course, being famous—or infamous—in the right circles certainly helped.
“She’s expecting me,” Jonathan said, adjusting the front of his suit jacket. “Perhaps she simply forgot to notify you. Violet is an old family friend of the Lyons.”
“Well,” Esparza said with a happy smile. “I’m a big fan of your cars, though I certainly can’t afford one!” She gave a girlish giggle at odds with her advanced age.
He gave her his best rakish grin, playing the part of the flirty playboy billionaire. “Shall I have one sent to you?”
“Oh no,” Esparza giggled again, and tucked a gray-streaked lock of hair into her bun. “It’s against school policy. But you’re sweet to offer.” She moved forward and knocked on the cheerfully lettered “Fifth Grade Social Studies” door.
Jonathan swallowed the knot in his throat and shifted on his feet. It was pathetic to be nervous. He’d rappelled off of cliffs in Nepal, snorkeled with sharks, been in god-knew how many cave-ins, and once ended up on a ship attacked by Somali pirates. He’d never been nervous in all those situations. Adrenaline-fueled? Absolutely. Nervous? Hell no.
But standing outside of a fifth-grade classroom, waiting for a woman that he hadn’t seen in ten years? His palms were sweating.
What would Violet look like? His memories of her were of certain things instead of the entire package. He remembered a short girl, no higher than his shoulder, with long, dark braids streaked with wild pink, a wicked smile, a lean figure, and a tramp stamp that said “Carpe Diem” across her lower back. He remembered the way she smelled when he sniffed her skin, the way she made soft little gasping cries when she came, and the tight suction of her mouth on his dick.
Just thinking about her brought a wealth of memories and regrets surging back to the forefront. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t regret that last night, the last hour, last minute they’d spent together.
She’d wanted to get married. Wanted their little summer fling in Greece to turn into something real. She’d wanted to return to the States and settle down. And Jonathan had been nineteen, taking a semester off of college, and dazzled by the dynamic Dr. Phineas DeWitt, who seemed daily on the verge of yet another important archaeological discovery. They’d both been participating in DeWitt’s latest dig for the summer, and it was the most exciting thing Jonathan had ever done.
But Violet didn’t want a life of archaeological digs and adventure. She stressed that she wanted to return to the States and start a family, all at the tender age of nineteen. She’d suggested that last night that he give it all up and settle down with her.
Jonathan had laughed in her face, being a young asshole full of himself and full of life.
She’d slapped him, burst into tears, and stormed out of his life.
That was the night he’d lost her, and it didn’t take long before he regretted his cruelty. Greece without Violet at his side just wasn’t the same. In fact, nothing was the same. He began to miss her with the same intensity that he’d loved the archaeological expedition, and confessed to Professor DeWitt, whom he viewed as a mentor and friend, of his longing. He was thinking about going after Violet. Apologizing. Trying again.
But her father told him it was a mistake. Violet had been stateside for all of a week before she’d shacked up with an ex-boyfriend. And he’d handed Jonathan a stack of field notes. Devastated, Jonathan threw himself into work.
A few weeks later, Dr. DeWitt had told a moping, despondent Jonathan that Violet had married and it was time to move on. Did Jonathan want to accompany him to an unearthing of a new tomb in the Valley of the Kings?
He did. He had. And he’d sunk himself into adventuring, archaeology, extreme sports—whatever it took to distract himself from the fact that he’d fucked up and lost Violet.
It didn’t work, of course. Ten years later, he was still mooning about Violet DeWitt and how different things would have been if he’d settled down with her after all.
Footsteps clicked on the linoleum flooring of the school, bringing him back to the present. An endless moment later, the door opened. Jonathan lifted his head.
There she was, standing next to the heavy wooden classroom door, a faint, disappointed frown on her face, as if she’d expected to see him but had hoped otherwise.
Just like that, his palms began to sweat again.
Violet was different than he remembered. That was to be expected—he wasn’t the skinny nineteen-year-old boy with questionable skin and a lack of chest hair anymore. If anything, though, Violet had grown more beautiful than the last time he’d seen her . . . and more sedate. Gone was the wild, devilish look he’d loved so much, and the waist-length, streaked braids. This Violet was still tiny, but her lean figure had softened to lush curves, outlined by a demure black skirt and cream-colored blouse with a bow at the neck and long, billowing sleeves. She had plain black kitten heels on, no jewelry, and the long hair he remembered was cut into an asymmetrical black bob that was tucked behind one small ear and swung at her chin.
This was his wild Violet? It looked like her . . . and yet, not. Married life suited her, that was clear. She was as gorgeous as when he’d last seen her, and the thought of another man in her life made him ache inside. It should have been him at her side, but he’d been a selfish ass.
“Jonathan,” she said in a flat, polite voice. “What a lovely surprise.” Her voice indicated that it was neither a surprise nor lovely.
“Just a reminder, Ms. DeWitt, that visitors need to be checked in to the office in the future,” Principal Esparza said, casting another friendly smile in Jonathan’s direction.
“Of course. My apologies,” Violet said, ever so polite. “Won’t you come in, Jonathan?” She gestured at the classroom.
He gave a nod to his security guard, who turned to stand at the doorway in an alert pose. Not that Jonathan was expecting trouble at Neptune Middle School, of course, but Jonathan had found out a long time ago that looking important got you as many places (and sometimes more) than greasing palms did.
Violet’s little heels clacked as she returned to sit at her oversized desk at the front of the room. He noticed she didn’t offer him a seat, and eyed the ancient student desks lined up in neat rows. Her classroom was colorful and bold, pictures of exotic locations and maps of the world covering the walls, along with charts and flags. Despite the surroundings, the school was old and dark, the wood paneling warped with age, and he was pretty sure the tiles in the ceiling were going to fall in due to water damage.”Nice place. Where are your students?”
“It’s three thirty,” she said in that too-smooth, too-controlled voice. “Class is over. This is detention.”
He turned to look over at her, grinning in what he hoped was his best flirty smile that had never failed to melt her in the past. “Guess I’ve been naughty.”
Violet clasped her hands on her desk. “Mr. Lyons, I think we both know why you’re here.”
“Jonathan.”
“Mr. Lyons,” she echoed, her even gaze almost daring him to contradict her. She stared him down for a moment longer, then reached into her desk drawer and pulled out an envelope and held it out to him.
He approached, taking the envelope from her, noting that the seal on the back was still intact. “You didn’t open it?”
“I’m quite familiar with my father’s little games. I don’t need to open it to know I’m not going to play along. This is all a ploy of his for some purpose I haven’t yet figured out, nor do I care to.”
Jonathan wondered at her icy demeanor. Violet was being downright chilly to him, and he hadn’t done a thing. “Yo
u still holding a grudge from the past?”
Her eyes narrowed.
That would be a yes. “Look, Violet. I was a kid, you were a kid. We were young. We did stupid things, made stupid mistakes. Can’t we get past that and work together?”
“Work together? On what?”
He pulled his own envelope out of an inner pocket in his Fioravanti suit jacket and held it out to her.
She simply gazed at him, arching an eyebrow.
All right, he was going to have to do this the hard way. He flicked the envelope open, pulled out the paper inside, and read it to her. The first line was the middle school’s address. The second line said “My daughter Violet holds the key.” He looked over at her to see her reaction to the cryptic statement.
Violet rolled her eyes.
“Well? What do you think?”
“I think my late father missed his calling as a dramatic actor,” Violet said. “If there’s a key to be found, it’s probably in my envelope. You can have it.” She nudged it toward him and took a stack of papers off the corner of her desk and pulled them in front of her. Then, she bent over and picked up a red pen and began to grade, as if he wasn’t there.
Jonathan stared at her for what seemed like forever. She truly wasn’t curious? She didn’t want to know? “Aren’t you the slightest bit interested in what your father was hiding?”
“No.” She didn’t look up, just kept on grading.
“Would you be surprised to hear that upon his death, not only were all his journals missing, but there was rumor that he’d stolen something important from his latest dig?”
“I would not be surprised,” Violet said, still not looking up. She scribbled a note in red on a test, flipped it over, and went on to the next one. “If it could create drama and tension for my father, he’d do it.”
“That was my dig,” Jonathan said. “Your father stole from me.”
She ignored him.
“Don’t you care?”
At that, Violet looked up and gave him another cool look. “I’m told that upon my father’s death, an anonymous third party settled all of his debts and that they were not to be a concern of mine. I was also told to be thankful.” Her mouth puckered on the last part, as if she’d bit down on a lemon.
So she knew he’d handled things and wasn’t pleased. It didn’t deter him. “I want that journal. More than that, I want what was at that dig site.”
She looked back down at her test again, and nudged the envelope with her other hand, easing it toward him a bit more.
“Goddamn it, Violet. Talk to me, here.”
“I am talking,” she said in that same even voice.
“I want to work together on this. I need those journals and what he stole.”
“I told you. You’re free to take my envelope.”
Irritated, he snatched it off her desk and tore it open. There was nothing but a symbol inside, one completely unfamiliar to him. “I don’t know what this means.”
“That’s really not my problem.” She smiled faintly at him and pointed at the door, as if to suggest he should leave.
It was clear that she was done with him, just as it was clear to Jonathan that if he was going to get anywhere, he’d need Violet’s help. Violet would have access to information about the late Dr. DeWitt that he wouldn’t. Memories. Insider knowledge.
“I’ll pay you a million dollars if you’ll assist me with this.”
She looked up from her paperwork, her eyes going wide with surprise. “You’re serious?”
“I’m a billionaire now, or didn’t you hear? I took over the Lyons empire.”
“Hooray for you.” Her face was impassive.
“So. One million dollars for you to agree to be my employee until we figure out whatever this means.” He waved the letter in the air.
Violet thumped her pen on the papers, as if thinking. Then, she shook her head. “No.”
“You’re a schoolteacher. I’m sure you need the money.”
“I am a schoolteacher,” she agreed. “And it’s the middle of the school year. I can’t leave. That would put the school district under terrible distress.”
“It’s an adventure,” he cajoled, remembering how her eyes used to light up at the thought of something like that. His Violet used to love a thrill as much as he did.
This time, the gaze she turned to him was steely. “No, Jonathan.”
“Why?” He clenched his fist around the paper, dangerously close to losing his temper and storming out of the room.
“I just don’t happen to care about my father’s last little ploy to get the two of us together.”
He inhaled sharply. So she thought her father was deliberately throwing her at him? No wonder she thought he was the worst kind of scum, here to hit on a married woman. “Look, Violet, while it’s great to see you—”
“I’m afraid I don’t share the sentiment—”
“—I’m not here to fuck with your marriage,” he continued, heart aching. He wasn’t sure what he’d hoped for from her. Maybe a bit of affection? Wistfulness over old memories? Wishing over what once might have been between the two of them? It was clear that whatever had been was dead and buried, and Violet didn’t want anything to do with him. She was married, anyhow. No sense in mooning after a happily married woman. “I just want an old friend to help me with something important to me, all right?”
She looked up. Tilted her head, frowning slightly, and tucked a lock of black hair behind her ear in a motion that brought back a wealth of memories. He remembered that thoughtful expression, and desire and longing came flooding back through Jonathan.
Ten years, and he was still insanely in love with Violet DeWitt, ice princess act and all. No wonder she wanted to scare him off.
“What did you say?”
He toyed with the button in the front of his suit jacket, thankful that it was buttoned up so it would hide any hint of an erection he’d just gotten at that small gesture of hers. “I said, I’m not here to mess up your life, all right?”
She got to her feet, smoothed her skirt, and then came around to his side. She extended her hand. “Let me see that letter.”
Finally, he was getting somewhere. Eager, Jonathan held both of them out to her.
Violet skimmed them, and then cast him another puzzled look.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I’m not married.”
Now it was his turn to be confused. “Excuse me?”
“I said, I’m not married. Wherever did you get that idea?”
The blood began to roar in Jonathan’s ears. He watched, entranced, as she tucked a lock of hair behind her other ear. It made both of her ears stick out—which he remembered that she hated—but he found adorable. His Violet.
He’d given up on her so long ago because she’d married someone only days after she’d left his bed and regretted it ever since.
“You,” he coughed, irritated at how hoarse his voice was. He felt like all the blood had rushed to his face . . . well, that and one other extremity. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “You called off the wedding?”
Again, she gave him a curious look. “What wedding?”
“Your father said that when you left . . . you married someone else. Right away.”
She raised both eyebrows at him, as if to say ‘really’? “And you believed him? Jonathan, your family was funding all of his digs at the time. He’d have told you cows flew on the moon if it was what it took to keep you at his side.”
Well, goddamn it all. He’d known that Phineas was a sly old dog, but he’d had no idea he’d been taken for a ride on something so important. “You’re . . . not married?”
“I don’t see why it’s any of your business—” She yelped as he grabbed her hand in his. It was just as soft as he remembered, her nails bitten short. It was a habit she’d never been able to break. There was no ring on any finger.
He’d been lied to.
He should have been furious. Filled with
anger and hate and loathing that ten years had been wasted, ten years that had kept them apart.
But Jonathan didn’t see any of that. All he saw was Violet—his Violet—standing so close to him that he could reach out and touch her again for the first time in so long that his entire being ached. Violet, with her hand in his. Never mind that she was trying to draw it out of his grasp.
His Violet was here, in front of him, and she’d never married. He’d be damned if he’d let opportunity slip through his fingers again.
Grabbing her shoulders, Jonathan turned her toward him fully, leaned down, and pressed his mouth firmly to hers. He kissed her with all the fierce passion and longing of ten long, lonely years. She wasn’t responding, but that was okay. He had enough need and love for both of them. She’d come around. He’d show her just how much he missed her. He’d never let her go again. He—
Violet’s knee went between his legs, and connected with his groin.
Jessica Clare also writes as Jill Myles and Jessica Sims. As Jessica Clare, she writes sexy contemporary romances, including the Bluebonnet series and the Billionaire Boys Club series. You can contact her at jillmyles.com or at twitter.com/jillmyles, facebook.com/jillmyles, or pinterest.com/jillmyles.
The Virgin's Guide to Misbehaving Page 28