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 f**k 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?”