He remembered the way she smiled, as if she knew a secret no one else did.
She’d been giving that smile to another man earlier today, the one who sat next to her in the meeting. Jonathan’s hand clenched his phone, fury bolting through him. Violet had said she wasn’t married. That didn’t mean she wasn’t seeing someone. Jealousy snaked through him. If she wasn’t married, she was still fair game. He’d simply have to seduce her back to softness, back to smiling at him like that.
He wanted her. Pure and simple. He’d always wanted Violet. He’d never stopped.
The car pulled up in front of the hotel and Jonathan got out, still lost in thought. To think that he was in Detroit several times a year for auto industry meetings, and had never known that his Violet was right under his nose, teaching at a local school.
Fate worked in mysterious ways.
Jonathan headed up to his familiar hotel room. He tended to be in Detroit a lot for business, and though it probably would have been fiscally wiser to purchase a residence here, he stayed in the Townsend because he couldn’t be bothered with setting down roots. He didn’t want a house. Not if it meant coming home and finding it empty and hollow.
As he entered the suite, he noticed things were set out the way he liked, without having to ask. He was here often enough that his assistant simply faxed his schedule to the manager of the hotel, who made sure that Jonathan’s every need was met before he had to ask, and he was paid handsomely for it. Thus he had extra pillows, bottles of his favorite water at the bedside, and bath sheets instead of a robe.
He also had a hooker in his bed. As usual.
The woman sat up as he entered the room and tugged off his tie. Jonathan barely glanced at her. He didn’t have to. He knew what she’d look like. All the girls he got had a profile: Short. Dark haired. Jonathan didn’t like romantic entanglements. He hadn’t had a girlfriend since, well, since Violet. It was so much easier to pay someone for a quick f**k and then have them leave.
She sauntered over to him, dressed in nothing but thigh-highs and a corset. Her tits were huge and probably fake, but she had a pretty face. “Hello there,” she purred, coming over to help him unbutton his shirt. “My name is Sally,” she told him in a low, sultry voice. “And my safe word is ‘Kitty.’ I’m open for anything you might want to do.”
And she reached for his cock.
He stopped her, grasping her wrist. “I’m tired tonight, Sally.”
She looked surprised, and then hurt. “Oh. Do you . . . um, do you want me to call the agency and ask them to send someone else?”
“I don’t want anyone tonight,” he said gently. Well, he did want a particular someone, but she was probably sticking pins into a voodoo doll of him at the moment. The thought of f**king Sally instead of Violet was displeasing, like wearing brown shoes with a black suit. There wouldn’t be repercussions, but it just didn’t feel right.
The girl in front of him bit her bright red lip. “Oh.”
Sally still looked hurt, and he felt like an ass. He’d never turned down a girl before, and the agency had sent over just what he liked. She’d probably been filled with stories about how if she made him happy, he’d start asking for her on a regular basis, and he tipped well.
Jonathan guessed that Sally was probably more upset about the money than about not getting his dick. So he pulled out his wallet and began to flip hundred-dollar bills out of his money clip.
She put up a hand, trying to stop him. “Oh, Mr. Lyons, the agency pays me—”
“I know. And I want you to tell them that I was very pleased with your services tonight. Very pleased.” He pulled a total of two grand out of his clip and offered it to her. “My driver’s downstairs. Tell them at the front desk that you have his services for the rest of the evening. And I’d love for you to go shopping, on me. It’s my way of apology.” He waved the money at her.
Sally looked at it, then at him, and beamed with pleasure. “Thank you, Mr. Lyons.” She took the money from him and grabbed her clothing from the neat stack on a nearby chair.
“Enjoy,” he told her as she hauled her clothing on and left a moment later.
Then, he was alone. Thank God.
Shrugging his jacket off, he tossed it on the foot of the bed and sat down. He rubbed his jaw, thinking. Then, he pulled out his iPad and brought up a PDF of Violet’s letter from her father. He did a reverse search for the image on the Internet, but it brought up nothing recognizable. Huh. Frustrated, he tossed the tablet aside and lay back, thinking of Violet.
The pillows on his bed smelled like Sally’s perfume. It was a thick, musky fragrance, very different from Violet’s own scent. She smelled like coffee and, well, paper. Funny how he’d found that arousing. He thought of Violet again, but this time, instead of her cold response to him yesterday, she was raging with anger, anger that melted into raging hunger when he touched her.
With Violet on his mind, he undid his trousers and began to jerk off.