Текст книги "The Billionaire and the Virgin"
Автор книги: Jessica Clare
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
Chapter Six
For the tenth time that day, Marjorie wished she’d packed more clothing. She studied her dress in the mirror and frowned. “You don’t think this is too . . . I don’t know. Floral?”
Seated on the bed, her friend Angie flipped through Marjorie’s magazine and didn’t even look up. “Did he say formal dress or just to wear a dress?”
“I . . . I don’t know. My head was spinning a little,” Marjorie confessed. Okay, it had been spinning more than a little. It had been whirling like a carnival ride. She’d been sleepy from the late hour as they’d returned from the pre-bachelorette party, and even though she hadn’t been drinking, she was exhausted from watching the antics of Brontë, Gretchen, Maylee, and the newcomer, Violet. They’d taken a ferry a few islands over, and it had made poor pregnant Audrey seasick, and she remained sick all night. So Marjorie, being responsible down to her bones, had taken charge of the evening. She’d shuttled the drunks (and the one sick pregnant lady) from dinner to the nightclub then on to the strip bar, where they’d lost all the money they’d brought and Audrey proceeded to get sick at the table, and then Marjorie spent the rest of the evening holding a damp cloth to poor Audrey’s forehead while the others partied.
Still, Brontë had enjoyed herself, and that was all that mattered. Marjorie did her best to ensure that the bride had a truly wonderful time at her pre-bachelorette party, since Gretchen (as the maid of honor) was determined to drink and have just as much fun instead of running things. That was fine with Marjorie—she liked to see the others enjoying themselves.
But she’d been more than a little exhausted when the cab had pulled up to the hotel, and it had stunned her to turn around and see the man she’d been daydreaming about right at her elbow.
He was just as good-looking as she’d remembered, too. Handsome, with that dark hair, chiseled jaw, and those gorgeous eyes she could stare into for hours.
He was also shorter than she remembered. That had been disappointing, and she’d worn heels that night since it was just girls, and standing on the curb, she’d towered over him. Just standing next to her in heels made most men retreat. No one wanted to date a string bean, as she’d been told a million times before. But her dream guy hadn’t commented on her height at all. In fact, he’d kissed her hand, charmed her figurative socks off, and invited her to dinner.
And now, here she was with less than four hours of sleep, after running around with Brontë and Gretchen and the girls for additional fittings and a last-minute change of shoes because Audrey’s feet were swelling and wouldn’t fit in the Louboutins that Brontë had elected for all the women, she was now getting ready for her date.
Her date.
Just the thought of having a date made Marjorie’s breathing speed up. She’d dated all of twice while in high school, and in college, she’d flirted with a guy at a party who hadn’t seemed to mind how tall she was . . . until the next day, when he’d sobered up. He’d then gone to his friends, laughing about how he’d been so drunk that he’d made out with “the flagpole.”
So yeah. Other than that, she really didn’t date. Any guy she was vaguely interested in, she was too terrified to ask out, and no one ever asked her out. Other than that one night at the frat party, she’d never even made out with a guy. Second base was as far as she’d ever gotten.
It was downright embarrassing. And it made her feel like an idiot.
So having a date tonight? Despite the height difference of herself and the man in question? To say she was nervous was an understatement. And she didn’t know what to wear. Normally she’d have gone to Brontë, who was sweet and friendly and wouldn’t steer her wrong. But Brontë was wrapped up in wedding preparations and Marjorie didn’t want to bother her.
So she’d gone to Angie. Angie had worked with Brontë and Marjorie at the diner for the last couple of years, and she was a nice enough lady. She was a mom, divorced three times, and a dainty Southern belle with a tiny figure and big hair. Angie was utterly friendly, but around her, Marjorie always felt a bit more ungainly. More like a misfit.
Still, she knew Angie dated a lot, and she knew Angie better than the other women, who were only casual acquaintances. If they teased her about her lack of dating history, she wasn’t sure she could handle it, whereas Angie was just being Angie. She might say something hurtful, but Marjorie knew she didn’t mean it.
So, Angie it was.
Marjorie had called her over to her room and then proceeded to go through her clothing, looking for something date-worthy. Since she’d pictured spending the next two weeks on the island playing shuffleboard and attending wedding functions, she’d gone for comfort more than style. Her closet was full of knit shorts, floral tank tops, and flimsy sundresses in bright patterns.
In short: nothing date-appropriate.
There was no point in stressing over it, though. They were on an island resort, so he’d expect her to look, well, island-y, right? She pulled a new dress out of her closet and held it against her frame. “What about this one?”
“That’s terrible,” Angie proclaimed. “I hate to say it, sugar, but it makes your shoulders look bony. You’re already all angles, girl. You want to look soft for him. Vulnerable.”
Marjorie swallowed hard, feeling vaguely ashamed of her shoulders. “What if I wear a shrug over it?”
“Then you’ll look like a flamingo in a sweater,” Angie proclaimed, putting the magazine down. “You’re tall like a model. Wear something like what models wear. They always look perfect. I don’t know why you can’t do the same.”
Marjorie returned to her closet, digging through the few hangers desperately. “But models are taught how to dress or someone picks out their clothes for them.”
“Well, that’s true,” Angie said. “We’ll make do with what we have.” She looked Marjorie up and down. “Even if what we have is quite a lot of girl.”
She resisted the urge to hunch her shoulders down to make her body seem smaller.
“I’d offer to loan you something of mine, but I don’t think anything could stretch that much,” she said, eying Marjorie’s hips critically. “Not enough fabric, you know.”
“I know. I’m sure we can find something sufficient in my closet, right? Let’s just work with what we have.”
“What kind of guy is he?”
A dreamy smile touched Marjorie’s mouth as she held a dress. “Handsome. Really handsome. And friendly.”
Angie waved a hand. “No, no. I mean, what’s he like? Is he the kind of boy you bring home to Mama after a day of church or is he the kind you make out with in the back of the club?”
“Oh.” Marjorie blinked, thinking. “I guess he’s the latter.”
“Then that’s not going to do, sugar,” Angie said, pulling the dress out of Marjorie’s hands. “Do you want to just have a nice friendly date with this guy or do you want him to look at you as a romantic prospect?”
Her cheeks heated. “Romantic prospect, of course.” Oh, gosh, if he didn’t look at her romantically, she’d just be crushed. So crushed. Her hopes were up so high.
“Then do you really think wearing something that looks like a Sunday school dress is going to get his attention?”
Chagrined, Marjorie looked down at the dress they’d decided on. It was subdued, a red-and-orange, patterned sundress with a long skirt, a scoop neck, and cap sleeves. “I guess not. What should I wear then?”
“Something with boobage, sweetie. You’ve got nice, tiny little boobies. Show them off.”
She did? Marjorie consulted her wardrobe again.
“What about this romper?” Angie nabbed a bright red swath of silky fabric. “It’s kind of cute. And it’ll show your legs off.”
“All right,” Marjorie said. “Let me find the tunic that goes under it and the leggings.”
“Wait, tunic? Leggings? What? Just wear this.” Angie pushed it at her. “Show some skin if you want to win your man.”
“He’s not my man,” Marjorie said, blushing.
“And he never will be with that kind of wardrobe,” Angie said in a practical voice. “Now, do you want to wear something that screams virgin, or do you want to wear something that screams confident woman?”
Well, when she put it that way, it was a no-brainer, wasn’t it? Marjorie grabbed the tunic top and went into the bathroom to change, and came out a moment later, chagrined and plucking at the silky material. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“Why? Come show me. What’s wrong?” Angie gestured at the full length mirror on the far wall. “Come stand here.”
Marjorie did, miserable. The light, silky fabric of the tunic was loose at the collar and clearly made to be worn with a tank underneath. The collar dipped deep between her breasts, exposing her plain white bra. To make matters worse, the tunic itself was designed to be flowing and worn with leggings, so edges of the “skirt” only went to tall Marjorie’s upper thighs. She tugged at the back, sure that her ass was hanging out. “It needs layers.”
Angie thwapped her on the arm. “It doesn’t need layers, you prude!”
“You can see my bra!”
“You’re right.” She waved her hand. “Take the bra off and let’s look at it.”
“What? No!”
“Fine, fine,” Angie said, throwing her hands up. “You can wear this nice muumuu and tell me all about how he didn’t want to date you again.”
Marjorie swallowed hard and stared at her reflection. Rob was cocky, worldly. It was clear he wasn’t her type. Heck, she was so sheltered that she wasn’t even sure she had a type . . . which was kind of depressing. Would it really be so bad to wear a short dress out on a date? No one would see her except the guy she was trying to impress. She looked back at the dress that Angie was holding up—it was rather dowdy. With a sigh, Marj reached into the neckline of the dress and began to slip out of her bra. She tossed it on the ground a moment later and then they both looked at her critically in the mirror again.
Without the bra, her cleavage seemed to go on for miles . . . right on down to her belly button. She made an unhappy moan, but Angie clapped her hands. “Perfect!”
“It is?”
“Yes. Now show me your flats.”
Picking shoes was a special kind of hell. Since Marjorie figured nothing could hide her towering stature, she didn’t care about the height of her heels, and she loved a pretty pair of shoes. They were her favorite weakness like Angie’s was costume jewelry, but they didn’t see eye to eye when it came to picking footwear to go with her dress.
She still had the nude Louboutins that the bridesmaids were no longer going to wear in the wedding and that Brontë had suggested the women keep anyhow. Marj adored them, but Angie had taken one look at the stiletto heel and made unhappy noises, so she’d reluctantly put them aside for tamer wear. “What about these?” Marjorie held up a pair of strappy sandals with a wooden heel. “They match.”
“Goodness gracious, no,” Angie said, horrified. “Is that four inches? Girl, you’re going to tower over him as it is. No need emphasizing the flaws.” She picked up the only pair of flats Marj had brought. “You need to wear these. Trust me. No one wants to date Goliath, especially not a sexy man.”
Great. Now she was Goliath. And full of flaws. She felt rather homely at the moment, despite all the help to make her attractive for her date. “Flats it is. Thank you, Angie.”
“Of course, sugar.” She leaned in and pressed a kiss to Marjorie’s cheek. “Now I promised my son that I’d spend some time at the pool and relax. Can you handle your makeup and hair without me?”
Marjorie eyed Angie’s thick eyeliner and big, bouffant hair. “I’m sure I’ll figure something out. You go have fun.”
Angie beamed at her and waved. “Good luck on your date. Give me all the deets when you return.”
“I will.”
Her friend beamed, then left the room.
Marjorie sighed at her reflection in the mirror. Pale skin met her gaze everywhere she looked. Her boobs jiggled when she moved, and if she bent over even slightly, her butt was going to hang out of the back of the tunic. Worried, she looked over at her other dress choices, but Angie was right—they were frumpy and old-looking. She needed to be sexy if she was going to impress someone like Rob. Still, it was hard to be sexy in plain black flats when she was used to wearing heels. The flats made her feel ungainly, and she began to pull her hair up into a sleek knot, then shook her head and let it down again. Nope. A knot would just add another inch of height. That would be bad. She combed her hair into a loose, curling ponytail that lay at the nape of her neck and put on her makeup.
Her stomach was doing nervous flips in her belly. It had been late last night, and dark. Maybe . . . maybe Rob didn’t see how tall she was? Not that one could miss it, but you never knew. What if he took one look at her and regretted his offer for dinner?
She stared at her form in the mirror. Experimentally, she hunched down a few inches. Nope, too obvious. Nothing she could do about that. With a sigh, Marjorie straightened her shoulders and grabbed her handbag.
Time to meet her date. She crossed her fingers with a silent mental plea that he wouldn’t be horrified at the sight of her . . . and that there would be no stiff breezes that would show the world her panties.
Chapter Seven
Rob’s date was impossible to miss in the busy lobby.
A full head taller than every other woman in the room, she was also the most acutely uncomfortable. Her pretty cheekbones were stained with a red too mottled to be blush, and she kept fidgeting with the impossibly low collar of her short, flimsy dress. The thing was bright red and barely covered her ass, and it was clear that Marjorie was uncomfortable as fuck in it.
It surprised him to see her in the odd choice of clothing. After all, she’d seemed shy, and from what her friends had said, she was old fashioned. The woman in that dress didn’t look like old fashioned a bit. She looked like she was gunning for cock tonight.
Which . . . didn’t make sense. He blinked as her braless breasts swayed as she headed toward him, tugging at the hemline of her tiny blousy dress. She wasn’t exactly dressed appropriately for where they were going, and her shoes were a pair of ugly black flats that made her feet look enormous.
He said nothing, though. With the panicked look on Marjorie’s face, Rob suspected that if he said one word about her appearance, she’d flee and he’d never see her again.
And that wouldn’t suit his plans to get her out of his head.
He raised a hand so she’d see him, and then adjusted his cufflinks as she crossed the room toward him, tugging at her clothing. Her wide-eyed gaze grew even wider at the sight of his black suit, and he watched her clutch her handbag in terror.
“Oh,” she breathed as she approached him. “Oh, I didn’t know we were going someplace important.” Her gaze moved over his double-breasted jacket. “Oh, no. Should I go change?”
“You’re fine,” he told her, and offered her his arm.
She bit her lip in that cute way again, and shyly took his arm like he’d offered her a present. “Thank you.”
For some reason, her obvious pleasure at that small gesture made him feel like a fucking king. He patted her hand. “You look incredible,” he told her. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Her eyes lit up, and once again, Rob was in love. Damn. He had it bad for this strange, sweet amazon.
“I’m happy to be here with you,” she told him in a soft voice. “Where are we going?”
“A little restaurant called Le Poisson. It’s a few islands over.” He led her to the waiting sedan and opened the door for her.
“How are we getting there?”
“I hired a private boat to take us. Come on. Our reservations won’t keep if we take too long.”
***
The boat ride was mostly silent, with a few comments on the weather. It was clear to him that Marjorie was nervous. That was fine with him. He’d get a few drinks in her at the restaurant and she’d loosen up. The silence allowed him to study her.
She’d been so happy and carefree on the beach, and even last night. Right now, she seemed like a different person, continually tugging the dress into place as the wind whipped past and the boat flew over the waves. Her profile was gorgeous, though, and he caught himself staring, fascinated. She turned and noticed him staring, and an overbright smile curved her mouth. “How about this weather, huh?”
“That’s the third time you’ve asked that in the last fifteen minutes.”
“Oh, is it?” She looked crestfallen. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He watched a lock of hair escape her ponytail and dance across her cheek. He wanted to touch it, but she’d probably be too skittish. “You don’t have to be nervous around me.”
She looked over at him and laughed, and for a moment, he had the uncomfortable feeling that she was going to say, But you’re Robert Cannon, billionaire and TV mogul and my one-way ticket to sugar-daddy-ville. Of course I’m nervous. But instead, she said, “Do you realize I haven’t been on a date in two years?”
His mouth curled into a reluctant smile. Of course Marjorie was exactly who she seemed. He was just nervous over nothing. “That so?”
Marjorie leaned in, tucking her arms close to her body. “Believe it or not, I don’t get asked out much.”
“Now, I choose not to believe that,” Rob said, but he felt a possessive streak of pleasure at her words.
“I’m afraid it’s true,” she said with an expressive sigh. “You’re the first man with enough courage to ask me out in a long, long time.”
He snorted, enjoying the banter. “There’s no courage involved in asking a pretty girl out.”
“There is if she can beat you in basketball,” Marjorie teased.
“I find that hard to believe,” he scoffed. Why was she putting herself down? So she was tall? He dated models all the time and they were tall. Maybe not as tall as her, but who cared? He didn’t. “I play a mean round of hoops.”
“Do you?” She looked interested. “I played in high school until some of the parents got upset. We weren’t a big enough school for co-ed teams, so I played with the boys. I was pretty good, though, when I did play. At least, I was once I figured out the secret advantage.”
“Secret advantage?”
“Boobs. Seems the boys were afraid to guard me once I grew boobs.”
He threw his head back and laughed.
Her smile was pleased, easy now. “It’s true. They didn’t know where to grab me and so I could make it all the way down the court in no time. Why do you think the parents wrote and complained?”
“Because they were shi– er, not nice people?” Damn. He probably shouldn’t cuss around her. She was a sheltered virgin, right? So his normal foul-mouthed conversation was probably a no-go. He eyed the cleavage she was currently trying to tug her clothing over. The night was a windy one, and her nipples were visible through the thin fabric.
And if he was going to be a gentleman, he wasn’t going to stare at them, goddamn it. Not matter how much he wanted to reach over and touch them.
“Well, that, too.” Marjorie said, drawing his attention back to the conversation. He forced himself to meet her gaze, and couldn’t remember exactly what they were talking about. She glanced around as the boat sped through the dark waters and hunched over a little, crossing her arms over her breasts.
“You cold?” He moved to take his jacket off and offer it to her.
“Not cold.”
He studied her, trying not to look down at those enticing and too-obvious breasts. “You sure? You seem . . . uncomfortable.”
She gave him a shy smile. “I’m not dressed all that nice for a dinner date. Not like you.” She licked her lips nervously as she studied his suit, and he wanted to taste that darting tongue. “I didn’t bring anything dressy to the island.”
“You look fine. Don’t worry about it.” It was he that should be feeling all out of sorts. He was in a goddamn suit. With goddamn cufflinks, for chrissakes. But he’d dressed up for his date with Marjorie, sure that she wouldn’t want to go out with a guy who tended to wear a slobby t-shirt and jeans to four-star restaurants. Right now he felt a bit like a fucking show pony. Which was a bit ironic, considering that Marjorie practically had her tits hanging out of her dress.
Not that he was complaining about that part. It just didn’t seem . . . virginal. That’s all.
Then again, in his line of work, he didn’t exactly fall over a lot of virgins. Maybe this was just how they all dressed nowadays.
She glanced around as if seeking something to talk about, then looked back at him. Her eyes were full of amusement. “This boat must have been expensive to charter just for two people.”
“Maybe it was.” He had no idea. He didn’t really look at price tags anymore.
“You know you didn’t have to get this just to impress me. I would have been just as happy eating dinner at one of the resort restaurants.”
He wouldn’t have been, though. With his luck, Logan would show up, and he didn’t want anything interfering with his date with his cute blonde amazon now that he had her to himself. Don’t tell me how easy a date you are or I’m going to end up disappointed if this date ends with anything less than your legs wrapped around my face.
Of course, that’s what Normal Rob would have said. Nice, Datable Rob said, “Don’t be silly. I wanted to treat you.”
Man, Datable Rob was such a bland putz. He hoped Marjorie appreciated him, though.
She was smiling, though, and leaning over so much that her tits were about to pop out of that flimsy dress. Christ. It took everything he had to keep eye contact with her. “So do you date a lot, Rob?”
It should have been a coy question, but Marjorie’s wide-open gaze told him that she was serious . . . and she probably wouldn’t like the answer. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he could snap his fingers and get more pussy than a regular man could ever dream of.
But she was watching him with that earnest expression and Rob realized that he was probably just as rusty at dating as she was. The girls he normally “dated”? They approached and propositioned, and he let some of them fuck him in exchange for getting on TV or getting into an exclusive party. That wasn’t really dating. Dating was spending time with someone that you were interested in to learn more about them. He sure as shit didn’t want to learn anything about the parade of disposable tits and ass that were readily available.
So he said, “Yeah, I guess I’m pretty out of practice, too.”
She leaned in, and he got another glimpse of those gorgeous shoulders and a hint of cleavage. “I won’t hold it against you.”
Will your thighs? Hold it against me, that is? But Bland Rob smiled and said, “Why, thank you.”
