Romancing the Billionaire

Book 5: Billionaire Boys Club

by Jessica Clare

Genres: Romance; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

Playboy, billionaire, and adventurer Jonathan Lyons lives life on the edge. When he hears that his mentor, Dr. Phineas DeWitt, had a secret journal that leads to a legendary artifact, Jonathan takes action. It stirs his blood, but it comes with a heady challenge: DeWitt's daughter Violet. She has what Jonathan needs. And she's not giving it up to the man who broke her heart.



Violet is Jonathan's weakness-he's still in love despite their volatile breakup a decade ago. But Violet's memories have a sharper edge. She has never forgiven him for abandoning her-or so she thought. When Jonathan's attentions turn seductive, she's in danger of falling for him all over again. And she can't help but wonder . . . does he really want her, or just what she's hiding?



Contains mature themes.

Release date: November 4, 2014

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 304

Sample

AUTHOR’S NOTE

ONE

Violet DeWitt held the envelope marked “To Be Opened by My Daughter Upon My Death” and ran her fingers along the edges.

“Well?” the solicitor asked, clearly curious. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

But Violet only eyed the calligraphic writing in her father’s hand, reminiscent of medieval illuminations. She studied the ornate wax seal. It was such an unnecessary thing on a modern envelope. So very much something her father would do.

She carefully placed the envelope in her lap and gave the man across the desk from her a polite smile. “No, I’m not.”

The man’s broad forehead wrinkled, and he looked disappointed. “But it’s your father’s last wish, Ms. DeWitt. Don’t you want to honor it?”

“I’m fairly certain I know what it says already, Mr. Penning,” Violet said, keeping her voice brisk and cheerful as she tucked the envelope under her hands. “Now, is there anything else involved with my father’s estate that you need me for?”

He cast her another puzzled look before turning to the stack of papers on his desk and flipping through them. She understood the look he was giving her. Most people that the solicitor saw were probably grieving or concerned about money they would inherit; Violet was not interested in anything of the sort. She just wanted to leave.

“Your father was a great man,” Mr. Penning commented as he pulled out another piece of paper and peered at it through his bifocals.

“Yes.”

“His work was so very respected. I’ve read three of his books, and even though I’m only an armchair enthusiast, I couldn’t help but be fascinated. What an exciting life the man led. Really, just a great man.”

“So I am told.”

Now, Mr. Penning looked surprised. “Did you not know your father, Ms. DeWitt? I was under the impression—”

“I knew him,” she corrected, wishing the conversation wasn’t heading in this direction. The estate solicitor probably didn’t want to hear about her workaholic father’s long absences, his abandonment of her mother, and Dr. DeWitt’s own callous treatment of Violet. Everyone just assumed that the legendary archaeologist Dr. Phineas DeWitt was as lovable and endearing to his family as he was to the documentary cameras. Not the case, Violet thought to herself. Not the case at all. But she put a patient smile on her face and leaned forward, as if interested in what the paper Mr. Penning was clutching read. “His estate is all handled, right?”

“Oh.” He adjusted his glasses, refocusing back on the paperwork in front of him. “Yes, actually, I believe that envelope is the last item outstanding. Your father, I’m sorry to say, racked up quite a bit of debt prior to his death. It seemed he was privately funding a few personal expeditions and ran up several mortgages on his house, which was taken by the bank three weeks prior to his death.”

Violet made a sympathetic murmur in her throat. She didn’t care about the money or the house, and she hadn’t expected anything. She just wanted to leave.

“Luckily, there was an anonymous third-party donor who has paid off all of your father’s outstanding debts.”

“Very lucky,” Violet agreed, her fist clenching. She had an idea who that donor was, and she hated the jerk. Anonymous, indeed. Now he’d expect her to be grateful and throw herself at him with gratitude. Not in this lifetime.

“I think that’s everything, then.” The solicitor gave her one last expectant look, his gaze sliding to the envelope in her lap. When she made no move to open it, he sighed and handed her a paper to sign. She did, and he stood and extended his hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Penning. Call me if I can be of any further assistance,” she told him, all business. Then she shook his hand and left the law office, the unopened envelope clutched in hand.

When she got out to her car, Violet started the engine, tossed the envelope into the passenger seat, and then paused. She rubbed her forehead, willing the headache behind her eyes to go away. Envelopes were an old favorite of the late Phineas DeWitt. When she was eight, her father had given her an envelope for her birthday. Inside was a clue that, if followed, would lead her to a trail of additional clues. She’d been so excited at the time, and after a series of envelope clues, each one more complex than the last, she arrived at her present.

It was a copy of The Encyclopedia on the Study of Ancient Hieroglyphics. Used. The inscription inside said: To Phineas, thanks for being a great teacher.

Granted, it was an interesting book, but her eight-year-old self had wanted a Barbie.

Phineas paid no attention to Violet’s other birthdays until she turned sixteen. She’d received another envelope in the mail and had been excited despite initial trepidation. At the end of the chase, however, her present had been a copy of a doctoral thesis written by one of her father’s students on Minoan frescoes. He’d tacked a note to it that read: Pay attention, Violet. This is the sort of thing you’ll need to write if you want to work for your father!

Again, not something she’d particularly wanted. But Phineas DeWitt believed in two things—knowledge and adventure. All else was foolishness.

She’d tossed the photocopied thesis into the garbage and tried to forget about her father’s terrible ideas for birthday gifts. When she was eighteen, she fell for it one more time, and was just as disappointed. The end of that envelope chase led to an ugly copper ring that turned her finger green and looked like something out of a tourist shop. That was after a week of frantic searching to find what her father had left her, hoping against hope that he’d remembered what she liked, her fears and hopes and dreams, and that he’d give her a present that showed he really, truly did understand his daughter.

Not so much. Phineas DeWitt gave presents, but in the end, it was still all about him. Just like everything else with her father’s games, she knew that her initial excitement would lead to inevitable disappointment. The envelopes and the challenge were to mask the fact that Phineas put no thought or effort into her presents . . . just like he’d put no thought or effort into being her father.

And she knew what—and who—this last envelope game would lead to without even having to look.

Oh, Father. I know what you’re up to. This is just one more little game, and I’ve no intention of playing this time. Nothing you say or do can make me want to talk to Jonathan Lyons ever again.

Violet didn’t think she was a hard, unforgiving type. She was nice, darn it, and understanding. But when a guy gave you pretty words, got you pregnant, and abandoned you? That wasn’t so easy to forgive, or forget, no matter what her father wanted.

Some things you just couldn’t let go.

—

“This is her classroom,” Principal Esparza said to Jonathan Lyons, gesturing at the door ahead. “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 Lyonses.”

“Well,” Ms. 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, adopting 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 scent of 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, the 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 insisted on returning to the States and settling down. And Jonathan had been nineteen, taking a semester off of college, and was 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. Growing up, Jonathan was the younger son of a businessman in desperate need of a miracle. Jonathan had watched, year after year, as his father poured every hour of his time and every dollar in his wallet into making Lyons Motors a viable company, all without success. Jonathan hadn’t been jealous of his father’s obsession with his car business; it simply was something that one had to shrug and ignore.

In Dr. DeWitt, however, he’d found a mentor and a father figure who cared what Jonathan thought. Suddenly, he was important, and it was intoxicating.

But Violet had a quick and decisive change of heart. She didn’t want a life of archaeological digs and adventure. She wanted home and a family, in that order. No more adventure, no more college, all at the age of nineteen. And she’d suggested that last night together that he give it all up and settle down with her.

Jonathan had laughed in her face, being a young asshole full of himself.

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 with which 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. According to him, 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 to bury his sorrow. 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. When his father died and his older brother declared he didn’t want the family albatross of Lyons Motors, Jonathan had taken over, determined to make a success of things. Ten years later, with hard work, ingenuity, and help from the Brotherhood—the secret society of businessmen he was part of—he’d turned it into a billion-dollar company. Between work and his excursions around the world, Jonathan kept a hectic, jet-setting lifestyle.

It never quite succeeded in distracting him from what he’d lost, though. Ten years later, he was still mooning over 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 classroom 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.

She 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 he 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 rickety 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 down 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 familiar 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. “You 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 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. “Should I care? 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. “I consider this one of those handled debts.”

So she knew he’d taken care of things and wasn’t pleased. It didn’t deter him. “I want those journals. More than that, I want the stele he stole from my dig. It’s irreplaceable.”

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 Lyons Motors.”

“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 don’t happen to care about my father’s little ploy to get the two of us together again.”

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, his 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 and 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 him.

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 front of his suit jacket, thankful that it was buttoned up so it would hide any hint of the 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 the letters, and then cast him another puzzled look.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Where did you get that I was 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 pushed 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 he’d 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 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.

—

By the time Violet left work, went to the grocery store, went to the gym, got home, and cleaned her tiny condo, she was still pissed. In fact, she was furious.

How dare Jonathan Lyons stroll back into her life just because her father died? How dare he think that she would drop everything—her life, her career—to help him out on some wild-goose chase that her father had bestowed like some sort of archaeological version of Willy Wonka?

How dare Jonathan think that he could just grab her and kiss her? Simply because she wasn’t married?

A lack of a wedding ring didn’t mean she was up for grabs; it didn’t mean she didn’t hate him with every fiber of her being. Fuming, Violet threw her groceries in the fridge, and then cussed when her carton of milk tipped over and spilled all over her carton of freshly washed spinach. Damn it! Swearing a blue streak, Violet grabbed paper towels and cleaned her fridge, and when she went to wash her hands, she noticed they were still shaking.

She was still trembling with fury, hours later, her nails bitten down to the quick.

She didn’t want to deal with this. Any of this. Her life was nice and compartmentalized. If it wasn’t exciting, it was safe and secure and there were no surprises. Violet didn’t like surprises. They always ended up being disappointments.

So she took a shower, changed into flannel pajamas, read a mystery novel in bed, and went to sleep. Or tried to, anyhow. Her entire body was a locked mass of angry nerves, and she stared up at the ceiling, just brimming with frustration.

Jonathan Lyons had kissed her.

He’d waltzed back into her life like he hadn’t abandoned her ten years ago, when she’d needed him the most. Still selfish after all these years. Some people never changed. She thought of the look on his face as she’d kneed him in the balls. It hadn’t even been satisfying, really. She’d been so damn angry, and he’d looked so shocked and utterly surprised.

And hurt.

Like he couldn’t believe that his Violet would harm him.

And that just made her crazier with anger. Like she