Текст книги "The Billionaire and the Virgin"

Автор книги: Jessica Clare

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Ah hell. Why was she being so goddamn sensitive about this?

Rob gazed at her for a long moment, trying to decide what to do. She hadn’t noticed him there. Then, with an inward sigh, he sat down on the beach next to her and looked out at the dark, murky water. It looked rather ominous at night. He had a brief mental vision of Marjorie holding him under the water and drowning him for hurting her feelings.

She looked up as he sat down and flinched away. “W-why are you here?”

“Hell if I know.” Rob stared out at the waves.

Marjorie swiped at her cheeks and he heard a loud sniff, but he didn’t look over. Better to give her time to compose herself. He sucked at handling tears. Most of the time they were just used to try to get sympathy, and he had no sympathy to give. But seeing smiling, happy Marjorie crying made him feel . . .

Well, it sure as shit didn’t feel good.

“You should know I wasn’t trying to be critical,” Rob began. “I’m just . . .” he sighed. “I don’t know. I was kind of hoping this would go better than it did.”

She sniffed again. “I’m sorry.”

He glanced over. “Why are you apologizing?”

Her cheeks gleamed in the moonlight and her eyes looked swollen. Shit, she looked terrible. All woebegone and miserable, and he felt so damn bad that he immediately regretted coming out here. It seemed that puppies, good ratings, and weepy amazons were his weaknesses. And wasn’t that just ducky.

“I’m just . . . you know. An idiot.” She wiped at her face again. “I’m not good at impressing people. “

He snorted at that, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “You were trying to impress me?”

She nodded, her expression woeful. “I’m pretty rotten at it, huh?”

“Well, it wasn’t good,” he agreed. “Is that what all the arm-touching was for? And the laughing?”

“Was it obvious?”

“I wasn’t sure what you were doing. Thought you were on drugs at first.”

“I don’t normally drink, either.”

“No shit.”

She batted at his arm with one hand, but she was smiling now. “Gosh, you must think I’m such a fool.”

“Nah.” He laughed. “Okay, actually, some of it was pretty fucking ridiculous.”

She threw a handful of sand at him. “Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better about this if I confess my sins?”

“You got the wrong guy for that,” he said, ducking away from the flying sand. “But thank god all of that was just to impress me. You were acting weird as shit.”

Marjorie stuck her tongue out at him.

“Careful,” he teased. “I might bite that.” Immediately the tongue went back into her mouth, and he couldn’t stop grinning. God, sitting here and having a real talk with her was so much better than the last two dates. “Since we’re coming clean,” Rob said, tugging at his sweater vest. “This isn’t me. I’m a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy, and I cuss like a fucking sailor.” He tore the sweater vest off over his head and flung it into the ocean. “So I guess we both tried to be something we’re not.”

“Looks like we’re both ridiculous,” Marjorie agreed.

“I don’t know jack shit about bingo, either.”

“I do,” she confessed with a small, cheeky little grin. “You’re not very good at it. You were missing half of your numbers.”

“That’s because some nut kept touching my arm,” he retorted.

Marjorie laughed. She laughed hard and clutched her sides, rolling onto the sand. “Oh my goodness. What a nightmare. I can’t believe you wanted to go out again!”

He had, because he remembered this about her. These brief glimpses of pure sweetness and no pretense. The Marjorie who brayed with laughter when she truly found something funny, who had a mischievous smile, and who didn’t bat an eye when he threw f-bombs her way. “I guess we can just keep tallying up my ridiculousness, huh?” When she smiled, he leaned closer to her. “I don’t like to dance, either.”

She gave a small sigh. “Neither do I.”

That surprised him. “Really? I thought you liked it.”

Marjorie wiggled her sandy toes at him. “No. Everyone stares at me when I stand up as it is. Why would I want to go out and perform in front of them?” She gestured at her heels. “The only reason I wore these tonight was because the other shoes had been puked on.” She grimaced and looked over at him. “I really am a terrible date.”

“You want to know what I think?”

“I’m not sure.” She gave him a faint smile, but her tone was nervous.

“I think,” Rob began slowly. “That you have beautiful, long legs. And that they look fucking fantastic in a pair of high heels. And if they make you feel good, you should wear them.”

“I’ll tower over my date—”

“Any man who’s not secure enough to be seen with a gorgeous woman who just happens to be taller than him doesn’t deserve the aforementioned gorgeous woman. He can go fuck himself.”

Her eyes widened and a shocked little giggle—a genuine giggle—escaped her.

“I think you should wear the fucking tallest shoes you can find,” Rob said, warming to his topic. “I don’t give a rat’s ass if they make you eight feet tall, if you feel like a goddamn goddess in them. Because I imagine you’d look like one.”

“I don’t know about that—”

“I do,” he said bluntly. “I’ve been having erotic dreams about your long legs over my shoulders in a pair of fuck-me heels, so just because it’s not every man’s fantasy doesn’t mean that it’s not mine.”

Marjorie’s eyes were round in the moonlight.

“Too crude? Sorry. Actually, no, fuck that. I’m not sorry. This is who I really am.” He kicked at the sweater-vest that kept washing up against his ankles. “I’m not this pansy little fucker. I’m just an average guy with a filthy mouth and filthy daydreams. I’m probably ruining any fantasies of yours.”

“No,” she said softly. “You’re not.”

Huh. “You like a guy that talks dirty to you?”

She shook her head. “I like a guy that’s real. And a little flawed. It makes me feel better about my flaws. You were just so utterly perfect that I felt like I couldn’t possibly be good enough for you.”

He snorted. Perfect? Him? “You have a strange idea of perfect, sweetheart.”

She nudged him with her shoulder. When had they drifted to sitting so close together? But now they were inches apart. “Not your sweetheart,” she reminded him in a pleasant voice.

“Not yet.”

Marjorie sucked in a breath and looked over at him, her eyes heavily lidded. It was obvious she’d liked that comment. Her gaze strayed to his mouth, and god, he wanted to fucking kiss her in that moment.

Virgin, his mind reminded him. Go slow, you cocksucking fool, or she really will run away.

So he just nudged her shoulder again. “I like you because you’re different from most girls. I liked that you didn’t seem fake.”

Marjorie gave an unhappy sigh and stared out at the water again, the moment broken. “And then I spent the next two dates being fake.”

“Drunk and then fake,” he corrected. “But it’s okay. I wasn’t exactly Prince Fucking Charming myself.”

She gave him a wary little smile.

An idea hit, and Rob jumped on it. “Let’s start over.” He got to his feet, took two steps forward, and immediately plopped down in the surf. It was only ankle high, but it took everything he had to lie in the goddamn water without panicking. He pretended to make a snow angel, and called out. “Help, help, I think I’m drowning.”

Marjorie’s peals of laughter were utterly gratifying. “You’re nuts,” she called out to him.

“I may be so, but I’m going to drown in another minute,” he told her. The water was fucking cold and his dick was threatening to crawl back inside his stomach cavity, but it’d be worth it if she took the bait and came to give him mouth-to-mouth. “If only someone could save me.”

Her laughter was downright musical, he decided. As he continued to make an ass of himself, she crawled over to him—fucking crawled, which made his dick hard despite the icy water—and hauled him backward a foot or so into the sand. “There. You are now officially rescued, sir.”

Damn it, he wanted that kiss. But if she was missing his signals, maybe he needed to let it go. “You saved me,” he joked. “How can I ever repay you?”

“Why, take me dancing,” she told him in a merry voice. “I promise to vomit all over your shoes and mine.”

Rob threw back his head and laughed, delighted at her sense of humor. This was Marjorie, not the simpering girl from earlier. This was the woman he’d wanted from the moment he’d laid his eyes on her. Everything she said just convinced him even more that she was right for him.

She nudged his shoulder, still grinning down at him. “You should probably get up out of the water,” she told him. “I think someone’s coming.”

He glanced down the beach, and sure enough, two shapes were heading in this direction. It was a couple, holding hands and walking, and as he squinted, he could just barely make out who it was.

Logan-goddamn-Hawkings and his soon-to-be bride.

Ah, shit. If they saw him here on the beach with Marjorie, everything would be over. Logan’s people would swoop in and hide Marjorie away from him and he’d never see her again. She’d have her ears filled with what a horrible fucking person he was and how she was better off avoiding scum like him.

He had to come up with something, quick. Something to distract the couple heading toward them before they made it any closer. Something to distract Marjorie before she realized just who was approaching. Luckily for him, she still leaned over him, smiling, her focus entirely on him and not the people heading in their direction. He only had seconds to figure something out.

So he did the only thing that came to mind. “I’m pretty sure this wasn’t how it went last time you saved me,” Rob murmured to Marjorie. “If I recall, it went a little something like this.”

And he grabbed her and hauled her down against him, pressing her mouth against his.

She gave a startled little squeak of surprise as their mouths touched, but then went silent. He felt her body stiffen against his, but Rob imagined that was just the shock of his sudden kiss. Cold water rushed over them as the tide swept in, but Rob kept his mouth locked against Marjorie’s unyielding one. Damn, she even kissed like a virgin. He had to make this kiss last at least long enough that Logan and his bride would see them making out on the beach and hopefully turn away. The darkness could hide the rest.

So Rob continued to kiss Marjorie’s firm, awkward mouth. He pressed soft little kisses against her lips, sucking lightly at the lower one to encourage her to open up. Her mouth softened under his, and he touched his tongue to the seam of her mouth to see how she’d respond to that.

And to his surprise, she opened up for him, and her hesitant tongue touched his own.

Suddenly, the kiss changed from being a disguise to being a kiss for its own sake. Rob dragged a sandy hand through her hair, pinning her against him, and began to deepen the kiss, sweeping his tongue into her mouth to see how she’d react to that. She shivered against him, but she didn’t pull away, and he felt his cock grow hard in response. Her tongue touched his again, a hesitant, shy caress, and he stroked it with his own tongue, coaxing her to continue. Those tiny, awkward touches from her were doing more for his dick than the last ten girls he’d fucked.

When she made that soft sound in her throat as he tongued her again? He nearly fucking lost control. With a groan of his own, Rob rolled their bodies on the beach, and then Marjorie was underneath him, her back on the sand, and he was pressing her down onto the beach. His knee moved instinctively between hers, and he felt her shift against him; all the while her lips clung to his and her tongue continued to sweetly brush and flick against his own.

He wanted to touch her everywhere. To drag her back to his hotel room, strip her out of the wet clothing, and run his tongue all over her skin, until she was making more of those soft noises in her throat. What would she sound like when he put his mouth on her pussy? He couldn’t wait to find out.

His hand strayed to the waist of her jeans, testing her, and immediately, her hand covered his, stopping him.

Not yet. Okay. He’d take that . . . for now. They were on a beach.

Rob lifted his head and pressed one last kiss to her now-swollen lips. He glanced around, but the beach was now deserted. Logan and his woman had likely seen them making out and steered clear—just as he’d planned. Perfect. He leaned down and kissed Marjorie again, his entire focus on her once more. “Come back to my room with me.”

Her hands pressed to his chest in a subtle refusal. “Rob.” She licked her lips, making them even wetter, and the sight of her tasting him made him even more aroused. “I . . . I’m not very experienced.” She said this like it was the end of the world, a depressing fact to be conveyed before intercourse. He’d heard much worse, though. Things like you should know I have herpes and I’m still with my ex. Things that made his dick shrivel and made him send the girl packing. This? He didn’t care. “I’ll try not to hold it against you,” he told her, leaning in for another kiss.

She pushed at his chest again. “Rob,” Marjorie said softly. “Wait.”

He waited.

“I’d love for us to start over,” she said softly. “But I think you should know the truth about me. All the truth. I’m a virgin, I’ve only dated two guys, and I’ve never been further than second base.”

She called it second base still? Okay, that was kind of cute. “I’m willing to tutor,” he told her, leaning in to kiss the tip of her adorably freckled nose.

“Yes, but . . .” she bit her lip again. “Since I’ve waited so long, I think I want to wait until I’m in love.”

“That’s no problem. I’ll just make you fall in love with me.”

Her eyes widened, and she thwapped his arm with her hand again. “That’s not how it works!”

Rob grinned down at her. “Isn’t it? You’re setting your boundaries. I’m fine with that. I’d rather you tell me your hard limits now than me find out when my dick is an inch from sinking inside you.” Her scandalized little gasp told him she was picturing that, too. “Here’s my confession. I don’t know if I can love anyone, Marjorie. I’m a jaded fuck, and it takes a lot to impress me anymore. But I’ve been fucking crazy over you since the day you dragged me out of the water and put your mouth on me, and I’m determined to make you just as crazy about me as I am about you. And if you’re fine with that, then I’d love to see you again. The real you, not the one you think you need to be.”

She shifted under him, gazed up at him with a slight frown on her face. “Are you telling me that you want to still go out with me thinking that you’ll somehow convince me to sleep with you?”

He thought about that, then shrugged. “Pretty much?”

Marjorie laughed again. “Wow, this is an honest conversation.”

“I’m not promising anything,” Rob said, gazing down at her. There was a bit of sand on her cheek and he brushed it off, then caressed her jaw, enjoying the simple pleasure of being able to touch her. “I’m definitely not promising anything after two terrible dates. But I like you and I want you, and I think we should take it day by day.”

Her smile softened a bit more. “I think I can handle that.”

“And my nuts are fucking freezing on this beach.”

She laughed again. “I’m pretty cold, too. Should we call it a night?”

“Only if you’ll promise to see me again tomorrow,” he told her.

“Tomorrow?” She gave a small shake of her head. “I have lunch with the bride and another fitting.”

“Exactly when is this wedding?”

“A week from today. We’re just all here early as an all-expenses-paid vacation and to help Brontë out with any wedding stuff that she might need help with. I think it’s so she doesn’t have a nervous breakdown over place cards or something.” Marjorie fiddled with the front of his shirt. “She’s really stressed. The guy she’s marrying is super rich and super important, and Brontë’s afraid she’ll mess something up.”

He didn’t blame her. Logan seemed like a real dick. “Your wedding fitting can’t take all day. Neither can lunch. Should be plenty of time for me somewhere in there.”

“Somewhere,” she agreed, a bit breathless. “Want me to text you?”

Letting her call the shots? Hell, why not. “Sure. But if you don’t text me by three in the afternoon, I’m going to think you stood me up—”

“I would never!”

“—and I’ll send you dick pics.”

Her laughter echoed across the quiet beach, so happy and carefree that he found himself laughing, too.

***

That evening, when Rob went back to his room, he turned on the shower, undressed, and climbed in so he could jerk off.

His cock was as hard as a rock after his little aborted date with Marjorie. So it hadn’t gone so great in the beginning. That didn’t matter. What was important was that little talk on the beach afterward, and their kiss.

Good god, that kiss.

He couldn’t get it out of his mind: the soft, dazed expression she’d had as he’d dipped his tongue into her mouth, the feel of her long, slim body pressed against him, the way she’d licked her wet, swollen lips and made them gleam in the moonlight.

Goddamn. He squirted a handful of conditioner into his palm and began to work his cock, one hand braced against the wall. It didn’t matter that she’d told him that she wouldn’t sleep with someone if she didn’t love him. She’d come around to seeing things his way. And in the meantime, there were kisses and more dates to be had.

He had a week to romance the hell out of Marjorie Ivarsson, virgin.

His cock gave an aching throb as he continued to stroke his conditioner-greased palm up and down his length. Marjorie was a virgin, and she was shy, but she was also eager. He’d seen the way she’d licked her lips and then looked back up at him. She’d wanted to keep going. He’d let her make all the first moves, of course, but until then, he had his hand.

And so he pictured Marjorie in a variety of ways. Up against the wall of the shower with him, clinging to his back as he drove into her. Under him on the bed, tall shoes making her impossibly long legs even longer. Marjorie tonguing his cock with those wet, wet lips. Marjorie’s mouth nibbling on his sac—

He shot his load in record time. But it didn’t help. When he went to bed that night, he was still semi-hard just thinking about her.

Marjorie might be dazed with the flush of infatuation, but Rob was a jaded piece of shit. He didn’t get infatuated. What he was feeling for her right now? Rob was in love. Insta-fucking-love. Who’d have thought that he’d be one to get all sappy over a chick the moment he saw her?

All he knew was that polka-dotted swimsuits had suddenly gotten extremely fucking sexy to him.

Chapter Twelve

The next day, Rob was feeling pretty damn pleased with himself, all things considered. The date had been a disaster, but afterward . . . yeah. Afterward was good. And this morning? He was feeling even fucking better. Things were looking up. He sat on the balcony of his suite, enjoying a tequila sunrise and the cool breeze that rolled off the ocean. There was breakfast on his plate, but he wasn’t hungry. Instead, like a spider, he sat in his web and managed his prey.

First on the list, a to-do left over from last night. He texted his assistant, Gortham, since he was on Rob’s shit list at the moment. His conversation with Marjorie last night had spurred more than a few thoughts, and this one was about shoes. He’d sent an assistant on the task. Have you found a maid to bribe?

@ wmn @ rm 311? Gortham sent back. U can cnt on me 2 get it, no woryrs.

Jesus fucking Christ, was that even English? He did not want this shit fucked up by some pimple-faced shithead who took a job as his assistant because he thought it got him free travel and free snatch. He texted back furiously. First of all, it’s room 301. And if you don’t start sending me texts in complete sentences, you’re fucking fired. Got it?

Got it.

Good. I want that answer from ROOM THREE OH ONE in five minutes.

Yes sir.

He gulped down his drink, impatiently waiting for an answer. Just when he was about to lose his shit, his phone buzzed with an incoming text.

Maid found. She went in the room. Said the woman wears a size 11 shoe.

Rob rubbed his unshaven jaw. That sounded about right. A woman as tall as Marjorie would have long feet, too. Good. Okay, he texted back. Now I want you to charter a helicopter out to the nearest designer shoe store and look for a size eleven stiletto heel. We’re talking tall. And sexy. And expensive. It needs to be all three and it needs to be back here by four o’clock this afternoon. Get me?

I’m on it, boss.

Good. One issue down. Rob mentally pictured Marjorie—tall, luscious Marjorie with the legs that went on for light-years, in a pair of strappy heels and felt the need to rub his groin. God, she’d be pretty like that. Would her eyes light up with pleasure at the sight of the shoes? His lust-filled mind provided images of him fucking Marjorie on his bed, her shoes digging into his ass, and he gave his dick another thoughtful rub. Ironic that he was so fucked-up over a freckled amazon. She did things to him that all the silicone titties in Hollywood didn’t.

Speaking of . . . he decided he’d text her, too. You awake?

The response was slow in coming. I am.

Well, he didn’t get much out of that. Not even a smiley face? You have a good night? He sent back. Sleep well?

Yes.

I thought about you last night, he sent to her. Jerked off three times.

What??

Joke.

Oh.

Okay, so much for phone flirting. Don’t suppose you want to send me a selfie to make my day better?

I don’t know how to use the camera on this thing.

How did she not know how to use the camera? He thought all girls did. Every woman he’d ever dated sent endless streams of pictures of herself. Strange. But he was starting to learn that nothing Marjorie did seemed to be like other women. Maybe that was why he was attracted to her? Her uniqueness.

So he sent back a I’m just fucking with you. Trying to make you blush.

It’s working, she sent back, accompanied with a smiley face.

Ah, his kingdom for a smiley face. Strange how one stupid emoticon could turn a man’s morning around. Smiling to himself, he held up his glass. One of his assistants plucked it from his hand and went to get him a refill as he contemplated what else to send to sweet, blushing Marjorie. He wanted in her pants before the week was out. And that’d be a long time for him, really. Normally he bedded his conquests by the end of the first date. Second, if she was holding out. Of course, he never really went back for another date. What was the point once you saw what the girl had to offer?

It was mercenary of him, but Rob didn’t normally stop to think about other people’s feelings. Hell, if he did, he’d never have a show called Tits or GTFO. Actually, most of the programming on The Man Channel would be a bust.

And Rob liked money. He liked money a lot more than he liked most people.

The assistant—Cresson—returned with his drink. Rob tasted it, grimaced at the strength of the tequila, and drank it anyway. “We hear anything from Logan Hawkings yet?”

“No, sir,” Cresson said. “Shall I call down to the front desk and check on things again?”

“Do that.” Rob had mulled over his shitty run-in with Logan at the bar a few days ago and had come to the conclusion that only spitters were quitters, and he’d be a dumbass if he didn’t try to reach out to Logan again. They were both here, they both had a mutual interest in money, and Rob was sure that if he could just get Logan to see his point of view, they could make a lot of money together. He’d had his assistants order a massive gift basket and send it to Logan and his new bride-to-be, along with another request for a few minutes of Logan’s time. That was early this morning, and since it was nearing noon, he was bound to get an answer sooner or later.

Rob checked his phone but no more texts from cute Marjorie. Either she was busy or a shitty texter. He’d have to ask her about it tonight when he saw her. Speaking of . . .

We still on for tonight? he sent.

We are, she sent back a few minutes later. Meet you at five.

Well, if she wasn’t the most cheery texter, at least she used complete sentences. He could work with that.

The glass double door to the balcony opened, and Cresson came back, an unhappy expression on his face. That was never a good sign.

“What is it?” Rob asked.

“Mr. Hawkings left a message for you down at the desk,” Cresson said, holding out a tri-folded piece of paper.

Rob took it from him, flipped it open, and read.

Mr. Cannon,

I regret that I am too busy to entertain business consultations with you. Please be aware that I’ve taken the liberty of letting the front desk know that you will be leaving today and your suite will be paid in full as a thank-you for the thoughtful gift.

Sincerely,

Logan Hawkings

“Fuck!” Rob wadded up the piece of paper and threw it over the balcony. “That fucking cocksucking stuck-up asshole!”

“What is it?” Cresson asked, taking a step backward.

“We’ve been fucking tossed out of the hotel,” Rob sneered. “He’s booting us and disguising it as a favor to me.”

“So we’re leaving today?”

Rob drummed his fingers on his mouth furiously. There was no way he was leaving today. Not with his date scheduled for later tonight with Marjorie. Not when he hadn’t got what he came for. Clearly Logan wasn’t receptive to pleasant overtures. He’d just have to get vicious. “We’re not leaving,” he said after a long moment. “Go downstairs and check us out of this room. Then tell Gortham that when he gets back, I want him to get me another suite under a different name. I don’t care what name, just as long as Hawkings doesn’t realize I’m still here. And then get my other assistant.” He snapped his fingers, trying to think. “What’s her name—”

“Smith,” Cresson supplied helpfully.

He pointed at Cresson in thanks. “Smith. Yes. Get Smith to call the Tits or GTFO people and get them on the first flight out here.” His smile was cruel. “If Logan thinks my being here is fucking up his wedding, he hasn’t seen a thing yet.”

It was officially time to misbehave.