And then, she was just fascinated.
“You went to Macchu Picchu?” She grabbed his hand, stopping him on the current photo before he could scroll past it. His fingers locked and twined with hers, something she tried not to notice.
“I’ve been twice,” Jonathan told her. “It’s fascinating but not quite as untouched as the Galapagos or even Easter Island.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “You’ve been to Easter Island?”
He nodded and looked over at her, and his thumb rubbed against one of her fingers still tangled with his. An accident, she told herself. “Want to see pictures?”
She nodded.
He pulled his hand from hers—almost reluctantly—and began to swipe through the photos again.
For the next couple of hours, Jonathan showed her photos and told her stories of his travels. While she’d been struggling through college and working shit jobs to make ends meet, he’d been traveling up one side of the world and down the other. There were photos of Antarctica, Tibet, the Great Wall, the Australian Outback, water caves in Thailand, Mongolian steppes, and more incredible locations. Each place had a story with it, and Jonathan filled her in on the details. How crisp the water tasted in Iceland, how you couldn’t toss any of your waste—even human waste—in the Antarctic. How nomadic peoples still crossed the steppes in Asia. How Tokyo seemed to be lit up like Christmas at every hour of the day.
It was all wonderful, and the way he described it with such enthusiasm made her imagine she was right there with him, snorkeling off the Great Barrier Reef, skydiving over the Grand Canyon, marathoning in the Antarctic. She snuggled against his shoulder and peered at the pictures as he talked, and dreamed of being there with him, living life to its fullest.
Eventually, though, her head began to nod and she yawned.
Jonathan put the tablet away but didn’t get up. “Get some sleep, Violet. We have a long flight tonight.”
“Mm, I should. The chair’s uncomfortable though. It’s not made for short people.” She’d curled her legs up under her now that she could lean on Jonathan, but as soon as he got up, she’d be without a prop to snuggle up against.
“You can use my arm as a pillow. I don’t mind.” His voice was low and soft and seemed just as sleepy as her own.
It occurred to Violet that she should protest and lean against the window or something. But Jonathan was warm and smelled good and he was right there already. She didn’t even have to move, really. Just close her eyes and doze off and let Jonathan’s strong arms handle things.
She shouldn’t lean against him, but she didn’t move. She didn’t want to. As she drifted off to sleep, it occurred to her that she never got to ask Jonathan the things she’d really wanted to ask him about the last ten years. Things like if he’d had a girlfriend, or a wife, or any children. Important things.
But then she fell asleep, and it didn’t matter.
—
Jonathan didn’t move a muscle as Violet curled against him and slept, as trusting as a kitten. Her dark hair lay against her cheek, so shiny and soft that he longed to touch it. But he wouldn’t move, lest she wake up, realize how close she’d tucked her body against his, and come to her senses.
He just savored the moment instead. The warm feel of her smaller form against his. Her soft skin where it brushed against his hand. The even breaths she took, even the tiny little snore she emitted when her head tilted back a bit. He loved all of it.
He thought about their conversations tonight. It had been rough on him to see the longing in her eyes as he showed her pictures of his travels. He’d avoided showing her pictures of the trips he’d taken with her father, unwilling to sour her mood. He’d showed her his personal trips instead, trips all over the world with friends, family, and sometimes by himself. To her, they represented adventures. To him, they were just distractions—another diversion to try to stop him from dwelling on his aching loneliness and the longing he had for Violet.
But he wasn’t lonely any longer. She was here, and she was curled up at his side. His heart felt so full that he might explode from the sheer joy of it.
He thought about DeWitt and his envelopes. Four rounds of these. Five, if he was lucky. That wasn’t enough time. There’d never be enough time. He’d have to figure out some way to stretch things out, to make his time with Violet last for as long as possible . . . without raising her suspicions, of course.
In her sleep, she sighed and burrowed against his arm, mumbling something under her breath.
Greatly daring, Jonathan reached with his free hand and gently brushed a lock of dark hair off of her forehead. She didn’t stir, just continued sleeping.
If there was a way to extend this to keep Violet at his side, he’d do it. He’d do anything.
SEVEN
This is Higginson Park,” Violet said, reading the tourism site she’d found online. Her fingers brushed over the tablet’s surface. “I think it’s where we need to be.”
“Sounds good,” Jonathan said, motioning to the cab driver. He offered the man money as they pulled over on High Street. “Wait here and we’ll be back shortly.”
They exited the cab and headed to the park together. Violet was practically trembling with excitement. It seemed stupid to get worked up over one of her father’s letters, but she was here in the United Kingdom, about to search under a two-hundred-year-old bridge for a clue that her father had left behind, after his death. She’d have to be a statue not to get a little antsy over that.
Couple it with the fact that she’d had more erotic dreams about Jonathan on the plane ride and had woken up to find her hand on his thigh? Well. That didn’t help her nerves any.
Violet smoothed her hair behind one ear and decided to ignore Jonathan and concentrate on her surroundings. There were trees, flowers, and greenery everywhere. It was early in the morning, and the skies were overcast and gray. A light fog hovered over the grounds, and along one of the paths she could see a decorative sign that read Thames Footpath. She pointed to it and Jonathan nodded. There were a few vendors just setting up down the road, and Violet suppressed a yawn. Maybe after they found her father’s envelope, they could head to a nearby coffee shop and get something to wake her up.
As they approached the river, several ducks began to swim toward them, quacking. “Oh, dear,” Violet said with a laugh as the ducks continued to follow them as they walked. “I think they’re expecting a handout.”