Текст книги "The Billionaire and the Virgin"

Автор книги: Jessica Clare

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Chapter Eighteen

Marjorie woke up out of a delicious sleep to the feel of something hard prodding against her buttock. She blinked at her surroundings. Big hotel room. Strange art on the walls.

Warm body against her. One hand squeezing her bare breast. Erection pushing against her backside. Her pajama pants still on her legs, but no top.

Oh.

Flashes of last night flooded through her mind and she bit back her gasp. Arousal snaked through her veins, and she recalled vividly what she’d done to him . . . and what he’d done to her. And oh, it was fun. More than fun—amazing. She wanted more.

But she peered at the alarm clock on the bedside table and sighed. Eight in the morning. She had to be at breakfast with the other bridesmaids in an hour, and then they had one last fitting and a makeup trial run to go through. There was no more time to lie back in bed and cuddle, as tempting as the thought was. So she peeled back the covers and started to edge out of bed.

“Nope,” Rob said sleepily, and pulled her back against him. “Stay here with me.”

“I can’t,” she said, though she was smiling as he gave her breast another squeeze. It sent pleasurable shockwaves through her body, a reminder of last night. Gosh, last night had been wonderful. “I just realized, by the way, that you switched rooms.”

“I did,” he mumbled. “Shower broke in the other.”

“Oh.”

“This shower comes with a free back rub if you stay, though,” he told her, giving her breast another squeeze.

“I wish I could, but I have a full schedule this morning.”

“Call in sick.” He moved a little closer and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“I can’t,” she said again, and when his thumb began to stroke her nipple in teasing circles, she regretfully had to pull his hand off of her. “I owe Brontë being present. This is the last fitting and she’s stressed out of her mind as it is.”

“So responsible,” he said, kissing her shoulder again. “That’s sexy. Let me know when you’re free?”

“I will.”

“Text me?”

“Sure.”

“Text me pictures of your pussy?”

She gasped and slid out of his grip. “No way.”

He chuckled, eyes closed, and tugged the blankets closer around his body. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“You devil.” She scooped her top up off of the floor and buttoned it, then reluctantly looked back at him. Rob had fallen asleep again, so she tiptoed out of his room and closed the door quietly behind her.

An hour later, she was showered and changed, and racing down to the reserved dining room so she wouldn’t be late to meet the others. Marjorie arrived with one minute to spare, and the only person waiting in the dining room was Brontë, her hair pulled up in a bun and her eyes bright. She looked happy and relaxed.

“I’m here,” Marjorie said as she sat down next to Brontë at the empty table. The places were set for five others—the bridesmaids and Violet, who was unofficially included—but no one else had arrived. “Where is everyone?”

“I think we’re all running a little late this morning. No worries. They’ll be here.”

“You look relaxed,” Marjorie told Brontë with a smile. “Everything going well?”

“Nope,” Brontë said. “The cake was flown in from the mainland and crumbled to pieces so Logan’s flying in a new cake chef and paying a ridiculous amount of money because he doesn’t want me to cry. The flowers are the wrong shade of red. Again. And that awful man that’s pissing Logan off is still somewhere on the island.” Her smile widened. “But I’m good because Logan scheduled me a three-hour massage yesterday.”

“You look good,” Marjorie said. “Very relaxed and happy.”

“I am happy,” she admitted. “I know as crazy as things get with the wedding, it doesn’t matter, because at the end of the day, I’m with a man who’s bending over backward to try and make me happy. And that’s all I could really ask for, you know?” She leaned forward. “Speaking of happy . . . you look pretty good yourself. Is the mystery man turning out to be everything you’d hoped?”

“And more,” Marjorie told her, a dreamy smile on her face. “He’s so wonderful. We’re opposites in a lot of ways, but when we’re together . . . we just click, you know? It’s like magic. We’ve been spending every free moment together since we met, and it still doesn’t feel like enough time.”

“I know that feeling,” Brontë said, and clapped her hands. “I’m so happy for you! This is wonderful. You’re such a lovely woman, Marj. I knew someone would see it eventually!”

“I feel so lucky,” Marjorie admitted. “I just . . . I don’t know what I’ll do when it’s time to leave.”

“Is he from Kansas City, then? Do you want to stay instead of taking the job with me? I’d miss you, but I’d understand.”

“No, I think he’s actually from California.” Marjorie unrolled her cloth napkin from around her silverware and laid it flat on her lap. “I still want to go to New York with you. That hasn’t changed. And we . . . haven’t really talked about what happens later. We’re still enjoying each day.” Though two days from now, that would have to change. A twinge of unhappiness marred Marjorie’s cheery mood. “I’ll have to broach the topic at some point, I guess.”

“Oh!” Brontë said, snapping her fingers. A smile lit up her face. “Logan had a last-minute cancellation for dinner tonight. We should go out on a double date. You bring your guy, and Logan and I will join you. It’d be lovely. I’m dying to meet this guy and see you two together.”

“I’d love to,” Marjorie said, pleasure flushing through her at the thought of introducing handsome, quick-witted Rob to her friends. “I think you’ll really like him. He’s a bit of a cusser—”

“So is Logan,” Brontë interjected with a grin.

“—but underneath, he’s really sweet and kind.”

“Then I absolutely cannot wait to meet him,” Brontë said, reaching over and giving Marjorie’s hand a happy squeeze. “Tonight should be so much fun.”

It really would. Marjorie couldn’t wait to text Rob and surprise him with the plans. He knew she was here for the wedding—wouldn’t it be fun to show him off to the bride and groom, who were the reason why she was here on vacation?

“Logan has dinner reservations for four at a black-tie restaurant,” Brontë said. “The other couple cancelled but you can join us and it’ll be an even better evening!”

And maybe tonight she could ask Rob what he thought about the future. Their future. Marjorie couldn’t stop smiling at the thought.

***

Rob straightened his tie, then removed it at the last minute. Black-tie or not, they’d simply have to make do without him having neckwear. He had a nice little hickey on his neck thanks to Marjorie, and he wanted to show it to the world. So, he’d wear a collared shirt and cufflinks, and a jacket, but that was the extent of it.

He whistled as he ran a comb through his hair one last time. Funny how spending the night curled up against a woman could put him in such a good mood. His insomnia—normally so prevalent—had utterly vanished, and he’d slept like the dead. His dick hadn’t even touched pussy and he still felt sated and replete. It was a good feeling.

It was a feeling he wanted more of, and he wanted more Marjorie.

Maybe she could put off being Brontë’s assistant for a while. He’d bring it up to her tonight, hopefully after her hand was wrapped around his cock. Maybe she’d come out to California with him for a bit so they could fuck like bunnies and get it out of their systems. Then when they were both tired of each other, they could go on with their lives.

Even as he said it to himself, he frowned. Marjorie wasn’t the type to just turn a blind eye to the fact that his business ran off of tits and ass. Her friends were already on the lookout for him, thinking he was determined to ruin the wedding. He wasn’t, not after spending time with Marjorie.

In fact, he’d called Smith (the only competent assistant he had) this morning and told her to pass along the message to the Tits crew that they were to make themselves scarce for the next while. He didn’t want Marjorie upset over anything that might happen with the wedding. Not because he cared about her friends, but because he cared about her.

He checked his phone for new messages. Nothing beyond her earlier one of Meet me in the lobby for dinner tonight. Black tie. I have a nice surprise for you. She’d even thrown in a smiley face at the end, so he knew she was excited. And he couldn’t wait to see her again. He’d worked for most of the day but it still felt like forever since he’d last touched her.

Idly, he wondered what the surprise was. Were they going somewhere new? Was she going to jump him as soon as he got off the elevator? Was she not wearing panties under her dress? Whatever it was, he hoped she was wearing the heels he’d gotten her—he wanted to see those on her while he undressed her, wanted them wrapped around his back while he fucked the hell out of her.

Picturing Marjorie in nothing but those shoes made his dick hard, and he adjusted himself before stepping out of his room. A quick trip in the elevator led him down to the lobby, and he scanned the room for an impossibly tall blonde.

Sure enough, there she was, beautiful enough to make his heart skip a beat. Her blonde waves cascaded over her shoulders, teased into curls. Her dress was plain black, her long, luscious legs bare, and he saw those sparkly stilettos adorning her gorgeous feet. She looked incredible.

He started to walk toward her, and stopped.

She was standing next to Logan Hawkings and his fiancée. They were talking quietly, and Logan’s fiancée had her arm linked in his. Her dress was a sparkly red, and Logan wore a dark suit.

They were dressed for a fancy dinner.

He was going to a fancy dinner with Marjorie . . . who had a surprise for him.

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

Rob turned around and headed back to the elevator before anyone could spot him. He sprinted, barely catching the doors as they began to close again, which earned him a few irritated looks from the others on the elevator. He didn’t care. His brow had broken out into a cold sweat, and he punched the number to his floor again, and then paused.

Shit. If he went back to his room, Marjorie would just come looking for him there. She’d think he’d forgotten the time or something. And she’d probably have Logan in tow.

That would be no good, either. Fuck.

He put his phone to his ear—an awkward feeling, after using his Bluetooth for so long—and called his assistant hotline.

Smith answered. Thank god. “Yes, sir?”

“I need a room. Now.”

“A different one? Let me see what I can manage, sir. Give me five minutes.”

“No. Now.” He hammered at the door-close button when the elevator opened. Someone shot him a dirty look as he pushed past, but Rob ignored it. “What floor are you on?”

“I’m on two, sir. You are welcome to come and stay here if you need to—”

“Be right there.” He hit the button for two and tapped his foot impatiently. Even as he did, his phone buzzed with an incoming text.

Where are you? Marjorie sent. Did you get lost?

Christ. She’d sent another smiley face at the end of her sentence. He felt like such a dick. The door opened to floor two and he hesitated.

He could go downstairs and admit everything to Marjorie in front of Logan’s judging face. Tell her that he was the jerk behind Tits or GTFO and she’d probably hate everything he was ever associated with, and know that her friends loathed him because they thought he was a scummy businessman. Which he kinda was. And then he could watch her expressive eyes fill with tears and he’d ruin the rest of the time she had at her best friend’s wedding.

Or he could be a dick tonight and pretend sickness. Or that business came up. Something. She would be hurt, but he’d make it up to her with a little smooth talking, a little romance, and then they could cuddle their way back into a good mood.

Immediately, he knew which one he was going to pick. Rob stepped off the elevator, paused, and texted.

Something came up with work. Sorry.

***

“I don’t understand,” Marjorie said, her brows furrowing. “I talked with him earlier today and he said he was looking forward to dinner.” Maybe if she dated more, she’d be used to cancellations and blow-offs. This one felt like it was ripping a hole in her heart, though, and she didn’t know what to do.

His message wasn’t even personal. It was cold, succinct. His normal messages were filled with crass flirting and attempts to make her blush. This . . . this wasn’t even trying.

“I wonder if I said something to make him upset?”

“I’m sure that’s not it,” Brontë exclaimed. “You’re looking for problems that aren’t there, Marj. I bet he just had a meeting come up that he couldn’t miss. Logan knows how that is, isn’t that right?” She looked up at her handsome fiancé with an adoring expression.

Marjorie’s heart hurt all over again. “But if it’s work, he didn’t say when he was going to get out of there.” And Rob had told her that work was taking a backseat this week so he could spend more time with her. Hadn’t he said his assistant had it handled? “I don’t understand.”

Oh, no . . . what if it was something she’d said or done last night? What if she’d somehow come across as terribly unsexy and he’d woken up this morning and realized he didn’t want to be with her? She felt stricken at the thought.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Brontë reiterated. “I can tell from the look on your face that you’re worried, but these things happen all the time.”

“What business did you say he was in?” Logan asked, his mouth a firm line.

Marjorie felt a twinge of nervousness, as if her aborted date with Rob had somehow messed up Logan’s evening as well. “I uh . . . well, he said business. I never really pried too much because Rob said he was on vacation.”

Logan’s cool gaze continued to assess her. “I see.”

“M-maybe I should have asked him?” Gosh, how was Brontë marrying this icy man? He was scaring the pants off of her tonight. It was odd how he could be so very warm to his fiancée and so controlled to the rest of the world. “It just never really came up. I—”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Logan said, cutting her off. “And I have an idea,” he said, turning to Brontë. “Since it’s both of you ladies, why don’t you see if Violet and Maylee are free tonight and take them with you to the restaurant? I’m sure they’d love to join you. You know they probably feel as if Gretchen is monopolizing your time.”

“Oh, no. Do you think so?” Brontë looked concerned. “They’re all my friends. I don’t want anyone to feel left out.”

“I’m sure they’re not,” Marjorie reassured her, pushing back her own concerns. “And we don’t have to make it a girls’ night out just because my date canceled. It’s really not necessary.”

“I insist,” Logan said, and he gave them both a smile that was both charming and predatory at once. “I have unfinished business to attend to myself, and should probably beg off.” He leaned in and whispered into Brontë’s ear for a long moment.

Eventually, she nodded. “Well, if you’re sure,” Brontë said. “We’ll miss you.”

Logan pulled her against him and gave her a tender kiss. “I’m sure, love. Call the girls. Go enjoy yourselves.” His eyes gleamed. “Business calls.”

***

Tucked away at a desk in Smith’s room, Rob lost himself in work. His inbox was endless. Lawsuits, tabloids, ratings drops, ratings increases, advertisers, unhappy advertisers, people wanting to advertise . . . he should have been able to concentrate on it. To tear through things as he normally did.

But he kept thinking about Marjorie. How she’d been waiting for him, radiant . . . and he’d stood her up like a coward and was now in hiding.

What a fucking chicken he was.

He knew it, and yet, if the other option was hurting her, he’d be a goddamn chicken if he had to. Anything to avoid hurting Marjorie’s feelings and ruining her time on vacation. So maybe it was cowardly of him, but he had a reason, and a purpose.

“Sir?” Smith asked, interrupting him from his work-slash-mooning.

Rob looked up, removing his headphones and closing his laptop. “What is it?”

“Gortham is staked out on the fourth floor, and he says that Logan Hawkings is hovering at the doorstep to your old suite. He’s making calls trying to locate you.”

Ah, so Logan had come sniffing after him after all. Figured. The asshole just couldn’t resist, could he? “I’ll go up and say hello.”

“Are you sure that’s wise, sir?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not, but it needs to be done.” Plus, he wasn’t a coward. Logan wasn’t the one he was hiding from, not really. It was Marjorie, and the knowledge that he really, really wasn’t good enough for her and wanted her anyway.

So he headed up the elevator, back toward his old room—the one Logan had kicked him out of so politely—and strolled down the hall.

Logan was still there, phone to his ear. He turned, spotted Rob, and hung up his phone. He stalked down the hall toward Rob, a contrast from his own strolling, forced casual steps. “I might have known you were still here, you piece of shit.”

“Hawkings,” he said broadly, extending his arms in a fake hug. “Come on. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“I thought I told you to leave,” Logan snarled. “But no, you decided to play like a dirty dick when you didn’t get your way.”

Irritation sparked, even though Rob knew it shouldn’t have bothered him. He’d been called worse. “Actually, not at all—”

“Going after a sweet, innocent girl just to worm your way into a meeting with me? Don’t you think you’ve gone a little far with that?”

“Now wait just a goddamn minute—”

Logan threw his hands up, just as furious as Rob. “You want a meeting with me? Fine. I’ll meet with you, but you need to leave Marjorie Ivarsson alone.”

Rob clenched his jaw, rage blinding him. “You fucking leave her out of this. She’s mine.”

“You’re the one that needs to leave her out of this,” Logan roared. “She’s an innocent woman and you’re fucking trash to use her like this.”

“‘Use her’?” Now Rob was yelling. “Fuck you, Hawkings. I’m not using anyone.”

“Bullshit,” Logan said. “You win. You get your meeting, but you leave that girl alone.” He clenched a fist. “We won’t tell her about any of this. She’s a sweet, sheltered girl, and it’d break her heart. I’m not about to stomp on her feelings. I happen to give a shit about them.”

“Fuck. You.”

“Like I said. You win. We can meet tomorrow.”

“I don’t want your goddamn meeting. So you can tell me no? Go fuck yourself.”

“Get out of my goddamn resort.”

“If you kick me out, so help me, I will make the biggest fucking scene you can imagine.” Rob gave him a cold smile. “Your wedding is in what, two days? Hate to have a scandal show up on your doorstep just in time for it. The missus would probably be mighty upset.”

Logan’s shoulders heaved, and for a moment, Rob thought the man might punch him. Instead, Logan’s nostrils flared, he gave Rob one last simmering look, and then he stormed away.

Rob maintained his cool until Logan turned the corner. Then, he moved to the nearest wall and put his fist through it, leaving a gigantic hole in the drywall. His knuckles split, but the pain only momentarily dimmed his rage.

Fuck him. Fuck Logan if he thought that Rob was dicking around with Marjorie’s feelings. What kind of lowlife bastard did they think he was?

Worse, what kind of lowlife bastard was Marjorie going to think he was, once they told her the truth?

He punched the wall with his other fist. Great. Now both of them hurt, and he was still pissed.

Chapter Nineteen

When midnight passed and Marjorie didn’t call him, Rob started to get concerned. Surely they weren’t out to dinner this late, were they?

When one A.M. slid into two in the morning, Rob decided to go to Marjorie’s room and talk to her. If she was hurting, he wanted to try to fix it. He knocked on her door, but there was no answer. He texted her. Still no answer. He waited outside of her room for ten minutes, impatient, and then when no one came by, he slipped a credit card into the lock and jimmied it. If she was in her room and ignoring him, the latch would be flipped and he wouldn’t be able to get in.

But a moment later, he was able to get in, and the door swung open. The room was empty. Marjorie wasn’t in.

Where the hell was she?

A twinge of worry cut through him, and he shut the door quickly again, then headed to the elevator.

She wasn’t in the lobby. He searched the gardens, and she wasn’t there, either. The restaurant was closed due to the late hour, and the bar was empty of all but a few booze hounds. He didn’t really think she’d be there—after that one bad evening, she hadn’t drunk a drop.

There was only one place left to check.

Rob headed out to the beach, took off his leather Bettanin & Venturi wingtip shoes, and began to walk the shoreline, looking for a huddled figure and blonde hair.

Sure enough, at the far end of the beach, almost a mile away from the resort, he saw a lonely woman walking the waves and staring out into the distance. From where he stood, she looked fragile and sad, not the strong, smiling Marjorie he was used to.

And he knew in his gut that he’d hurt her tonight. That thought weighed on him like a stone around his neck. His sweet, sensitive Marjorie had been wounded by his callousness. God, he was such a dick.

He walked up to her and waded out ankle high to where she was standing. She didn’t speak, so he looked out on the horizon with her, trying to see what she was regarding. After a moment, he teased, “I hope you didn’t lose your top again. If it’s out that far, we might never find it.”

She didn’t laugh. She just looked over at him with sad eyes. “Why are you here, Rob?”

He tossed his shoes down on the sand behind him and shoved his hands in his pockets, like a guilty kid. “I came out here because I was worried about you.”

“Really? You didn’t seem all that worried earlier tonight when you blew me off.”

“Something came up.”

Marjorie gave him a look that told him she knew he was lying.

“I swear, I never meant to hurt your feelings, Marjorie.”

“Then why did you?” She crossed her arms and finally looked over at him, and he realized she was still in her dress from earlier that evening, all long-legged and beautiful. Her shoes were nowhere to be found, her feet bare as the water rushed over them. “Why was it that after spending all day telling me you couldn’t wait to see me, you suddenly had some ‘issue’ that came up and made you cancel on me? In front of my friends?”

“Oh, is that what the surprise was?” He asked, feigning a grimace. “Man, I’m sorry.”

“You’re not sorry!” She glared at him and then looked away quickly, dashing her hand to the corner of one eye in a movement that made his heart squeeze. “I mean, if it was something I did, at least have the guts to tell me—”

“Something you did? What do you mean?” When she didn’t look at him, Rob moved in front of her and held her by the arms, trying to get her to look at him. She avoided his gaze. “Marjorie, what do you mean, something you did?”

She swallowed hard, her throat working, and kept her head ducked. “It’s just . . . last night was my first night . . . for a lot of stuff. And I thought it was great and that there was no shame in the room, right? But then today, you avoided me, and I couldn’t help wondering if it was something I did or didn’t do—”

“What? No, no, no. Not at all.” His hands rubbed her arms and he tried to draw her against him but she pulled away stiffly. “Marjorie, I don’t even know how you can think that. You were fucking amazing last night.”

“But not so amazing that you wanted to see me today?”

“I’m here, aren’t I? I came out looking for you. And to me, you were so goddamn amazing that I wanted you to sleep next to me all night last night. I didn’t want you to leave. Do you know how rare that is for me?”

“No,” she answered honestly, and he was dumbstruck again. Of course she didn’t know. He hid so much shit from her that she’d be appalled if she ever found out who he really was.

Well, fuck. “Something . . . something just came up,” he said lamely.

This time she looked at him. “Just stop it, Rob, okay?”

“All right. I’m fucking lying. Nothing came up. I just freaked out tonight, but it had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me, all right? I’m a selfish fucker and I shouldn’t have blown you off. I didn’t want to, and I know you don’t believe that, but it’s the truth.” He grabbed her hand and pressed both of his around hers and held it against his chest. “The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you. I know you don’t believe me, but I swear to God and Jesus and Buddha that it’s the truth. You’re the first person that has been genuinely happy to know me in fucking years, and you have no idea how good that feels and how scared I am of fucking that up.”

“How can I believe you?” she asked in a soft voice.

“Ask me for something,” he said quickly. “Tell me what to do to make it up to you, and I will.”

“The rehearsal dinner is tomorrow night,” she told him. “Dewey’s my date, but—”

“Wait,” he said, a surge of jealousy roaring through him. “Who the fuck is Dewey?”

Her mouth curled in a reluctant smile. “He’s an eighty-year-old man I met playing shuffleboard. He’s lonely, so I introduced him to Agnes and Edna when we started spending time together.”

“Oh.” His heart slowed down a little. Just a little.

“But I want you to be my date instead,” she told him. “I’d love if you went to the rehearsal dinner with me.”

Ah, fuck. The moment he showed up, Logan Hawkings would lose his shit, and Rob’s presence would ruin things for everyone involved. “I . . . can’t.”

She tried to pull her hand from his grip, flinching backward.

“Marjorie,” he began.

“Let me go.” He could hear the tears in her voice.

“It’s not what you think—”

“I think you’re ashamed to be seen with me,” Marjorie told him, her voice thick. “That’s what I think. That it’s perfectly okay to date Big Bird when no one sees you with her, right? But the moment someone will, all bets are off.”

“That’s not it at all.”

“No?” She tried to yank her hand out of his again.

“No. I’m not ashamed of you at all. I don’t know why you would think that—”

“Because I’m six foot one, Rob. And because no one has even given me the time of day before I met you. So how am I supposed to think that twenty-four years of nothing is somehow magically changed after a week of your attention?”

“You’re also gorgeous as fuck and my dick gets hard every time I look at you,” he told her. “Don’t believe me? I’m hard for you right now because you’re so fucking beautiful.”

To his surprise, she reached down and grabbed his junk. She looked a little startled to see that he was, indeed, sporting wood. Then she quickly snatched her hand away again. “That could be anything. You could get hard for any woman you saw here.”

“That’s not true. I’ve seen lots of women here and you’re the only one I’m interested in. I haven’t dated anyone seriously in three years—maybe longer—because when they open their mouths, they no longer interest me. But you? You eat up my thoughts all day long. You make me wonder what you’re thinking even when you’re not around me. I’m fucking crazy about you, Marjorie.”

“Then go to the rehearsal dinner with me,” she said in a soft voice.

Fuck. He was cornered, wasn’t he? There was no escaping this trap. “Will nothing else make you happy?”

“No,” she said, and her voice was stubborn. “That’s what I want. I want us to go to the rehearsal dinner together.”

“Then I’ll go.” And put the final nail in his coffin. “For you. If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” she said, and a hesitant smile returned to her mouth. “Is it truly so terrible to go out with me, Rob?”

“It’s not terrible at all.” He pulled her against him, and this time she yielded, putting her arms around his neck so that her body pressed against his. “Like I said, I’m utterly fucking crazy for you, Marjorie. I haven’t felt this way about a woman, ever. It’s probably insane to be thinking about love and relationships after a week of spending time together, but the thought of you leaving me in a few days is like a knife in the gut. I don’t want you to go home to Kansas City. I don’t want you to go to New York. I want you to come to California with me. Come live with me and let us spend time together. I don’t want to be apart from you a single day.”

“Rob,” she said softly. “I . . . I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to answer it today. Or tomorrow. Just know that the offer stands. That the thought of you leaving me and returning to life without me makes me want to punch something with misery. You’re the only good, decent person in my life.”

“That’s not true,” she protested. “You’re a wonderful person.”

“I’m not,” he said bluntly. “I’m a dick and an asshole and I worry constantly that the moment you see who I really am, you’re going to regret ever knowing me.”

“Never!”

“Never say never, sweetheart.” He cupped her jaw. “I can call you sweetheart still, can’t I?”

She nodded, her eyes shining in the moonlight.

“I missed you today,” he told her in a soft, husky voice. “Felt fucking endless because you weren’t at my side.”

“Today sucked,” she agreed. Her hand moved down the front of his shirt, and to his surprise, she reached down and cupped his dick again. “However . . . tonight has potential.”

“Marjorie,” he groaned. Had he thought he was hard before? That was nothing compared to how he was now. Her gentle touch turned his dick to steel.

“I want you to make love to me, Rob.” Her mouth hovered near his, a teasing, almost-kiss.

Ah, fuck. That sounded like the best idea—and the worst ever. If he fucked her tonight and she hated him tomorrow, she’d hate him even more. “We can’t, sweetheart.”

“We can,” she told him again, and rubbed her hand up and down his shaft, her touch so good that he had to pause and pull her hand away or else he’d start humping her leg like a fucking dog.

“You’re a virgin. We should wait so you don’t make any rash decisions.”

Her fingers moved to his collar instead, and began unbuttoning his shirt. Christ, was his little virgin seducing him? She was far too fucking good at that and he was having a hell of a time resisting. “I don’t know,” she said. “I think twenty-four years seems slow enough for me.”

Damn, she had a point. “I don’t want to rush you.”