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Violet shook her head. “I think he’ll want to do the right thing, but loyalty is really important to him and no matter how complicated their relationship is, JT will feel as if he’s betraying his father.” She finished the mousse-filled chocolate cup and began on the half of the cream puff Scarlett pushed onto her plate. “You know, I think he was almost as upset that I’m the one delivering this news about his father as he was by the thought that his dad might be a criminal.”
“It makes sense,” Scarlett said. “He’s not a man who wears his heart on his sleeve. Watching you two last night, it was obvious you have pried the oyster out of his shell. He trusts you, but behaviors rooted in childhood trauma are difficult to overcome and the more vulnerable he feels, the more he will overreact if he something scares him.” Scarlett’s lips curved. “And baby, the way you make him feel terrifies him.”
“I don’t want him to be afraid.” Doing the right thing shouldn’t cause this much anxiety and hurt. “I want him to be happy.”
“I know, and he’ll get there.”
But what if he never did? JT hadn’t yet learned to make lemonade out of lemons and wasn’t ready to rely on her for his wellbeing. The stockholders’ meeting was less than a month away. If he refused to let her in, she was convinced he would demand the divorce they’d agreed to in the beginning. And that would be bad. He needed her. She reminded him to laugh and appreciated his romantic soul. And she needed him. He made love to her with a ferocity she’d never known before. In JT’s arms, she wasn’t a team player. She was a star.
Buoyed by Scarlett’s assurances and a great deal of sugar, Violet went about her day with a lighter heart. It wasn’t like her to worry about what hadn’t happened yet. Obviously JT was rubbing off on her. If only she were having the same effect on him.
At five her cell phone rang. To her delight, JT was calling. She answered, hoping to keep her emotional state from showing up in her voice. “Hello, husband.”
“Hello, wife. I’m calling to apologize.”
Lightheaded, Violet leaned against a nearby pillar and squeezed her eyes shut. “No need.”
“As always, you are patient and understanding, but I simply must insist on making up to you for my bad behavior this morning.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Room service. Your suite. Fifteen minutes?”
“Sounds perfect.” After hanging up with him, she called her assistant and rescheduled the next three hours of meetings. Then she raced toward the elevators and jabbed impatiently at the Up button.
Ten minutes later she’d ordered a steak dinner to be served in an hour, dabbed perfume in all the places JT enjoyed exploring and was waiting for him wearing a smile and a nightie that left just enough to the imagination.
Her approach had been perfect because two seconds after he shut her door, he whisked her into his arms and made straight for the bedroom. A half an hour later she sat astride his narrow hips, breathing heavily in the aftermath of a powerful orgasm, feeling him pulse inside her.
“I could get used to this,” he said, cupping her face and pulling her down for a long, slow kiss.
“Me on top?” She gave him a cheeky smile.
“You period.”
Her heart lurched. It was the closest he’d come to mentioning the future. She drew his lower lip between her teeth and sucked gently. Beneath her, his chest rose and fell unsteadily.
“No reason you can’t,” she murmured, showing him how much she had to offer.
“I guess it’s something we should talk about.”
In her head she was screaming, Please, can we discuss it now? What came out of her mouth was a restrained, “I’d like that.”
When the door chimed announcing their dinner, JT slipped on his pants and went to let in the waiter. Violet took a second to throw on a robe and run a comb through her disheveled hair. By the time she entered the living room, her small table had been set for an intimate dinner for two, complete with candles, crystal and china.
“It smells wonderful,” JT commented as he held her chair while she sat down.
Violet lifted the silver dish covers and set them aside. By now she knew JT liked his meat rare and his vegetables steamed seconds beyond crisp. “Sixty-day dry-aged steak straight from Fontaine Chic’s award-winning steakhouse,” she said. “With sides of potatoes rosti and asparagus with aged Parmesan and browned butter.”
“What are these?” JT pointed to three small bowls.
“Red wine sauce, Béarnaise and a truffle sauce that I haven’t yet tried.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“Only the best for you.” And she meant it. “And for dessert—”
“You’re all the sweet I need.”
