The Billionaire and the Virgin(17)

She merely looked thoughtful. “It suits you.”

“It does?” Was this sexual innuendo? He’d heard them all before, and they were usually f*cking awful. Rob’s packing a cannon. Fire a shot over my prow, Rob. Do me in the poop deck. But he’d never heard innuendo come out of such an innocent-looking face.

“I think so. It sounds strong and fierce.”

“Yeah.” Christ, she really had no idea who she was dating, did she? Why did he find her innocence so f*cking adorable? “What’s your last name again?”

“Ivarsson. Norwegian ancestors, hence the height.” She grimaced.

“There’s nothing wrong with your height.”

She didn’t look convinced, but he noticed she tactfully changed the subject. “So . . . your friends call you Rob?”

“Sweetie, I don’t have many friends.”

“I’m not your sweetie.”

Ah, a spine. So there was one under there after all. He liked a bit of sass in the right girl. “Fair enough. I apologize.”

She nodded. “Don’t apologize . . . cupcake. Just don’t do it again.”

He laughed.

She pulled her hand from his, and he was a little disappointed at the loss of contact. Marjorie picked up the menu and studied it again, her shoulders relaxing a bit. “I don’t suppose you’re going to just let me order a nice bowl of soup?”

“Nope. It’ll go shi—er, badly with the really expensive wine.”

She looked unhappy. “Can I pay for my own dinner?”

“Do I look like a cheap piece of—uh, do I look cheap to you?” Fuck, this no-cussing thing was hard.

She lifted one eyebrow at him, her serious expression ruined by the silly grin on her face, and he found himself smiling in return.

“I suppose I shouldn’t ask that.”

“Probably not,” she teased.

They paused as the waiter returned, and Rob ordered for both of them—a surf and turf special so she wouldn’t protest the price. She looked mildly unhappy at the thought of spending so much money, but said nothing. When the waiter left, she leaned in again. “So, Mr. Cannon—”

“Rob,” he said warningly.

“Rob,” she amended. “Are you here for the wedding or vacationing?”

It was clear she had no idea who he was. He liked that. To think that he might get to know a girl like Marjorie without the inevitable turning up of her nose once she found out what he did for a living. One thing was for sure, she was damn sheltered if she didn’t, though. He—

They paused as the waiter gave them a spiel as he brought out the wine and showed the bottle to them. Rob barely paid attention, watching Marjorie’s rapt face as the waiter told her about the vintage and the flavor and poured her a glass, swirling it as he handed it to her.

To his surprise, Marjorie downed the entire inch in the glass. She coughed and put a hand to her mouth, then pressed her napkin to her lips.

“Are you all right?” Rob asked.

She continued to cough and waved a hand. “Wrong pipe.”

He sipped his wine, and gave the waiter a nod. “Thank you. We’ll take it from here.”

The man gave him a concerned look but nodded and walked away, no doubt to laugh about Rob’s date swilling her taster. Rob poured her another inch into her wine glass. “Do you enjoy wine, Marjorie?”

“Oh sure, I drink it all the time,” she told him.

“A connoisseur? What kind is your favorite?”

She blinked and then pointed at her glass, eyes watering. “This one.”

Right. Somehow he doubted that.

She gave him a big smile and picked up her glass again, taking another big gulp as if to prove her point, and choking only a little this time. It was a little ridiculous, but also a little adorable, so Rob didn’t comment on it.

The waiter returned a minute later, put down their salads, then disappeared again. When he was gone, Rob picked up his flatware and tried to turn the conversation back to the original topic. “Wedding?” He feigned ignorance.

She nodded. “Brontë and Logan? I guess if I have to tell you, that means no, right?” Her mouth quirked in a rueful smile and she reached for the wine, taking another sip.

“I’m not here for the wedding,” he admitted truthfully. “Are you?”

“You are looking at bridesmaid number four out of five.”

Just as he’d suspected. Rob wanted to groan in frustration. If Logan knew that Rob was out on a date with one of the bridesmaids in the wedding? After their little talk? He’d think Rob was up to no good.

And he couldn’t blame him for that. Not after hinting of blackmail to the man. He’d definitely have to keep his relationship with Marjorie on the down-low.

Because he definitely intended on having a relationship.

“Bridesmaiding, huh? Sounds like fun,” he lied.

“It’s pretty awful,” she admitted, which made him laugh again. “I’m not a fan of attention as it is, and Brontë’s marrying a guy that seems to be a pretty big deal. I’m told this will be in the society papers and everything.” She shuddered. “Add that with a bridesmaid dress that seems to accentuate my height, and I’m in my own sort of quiet hell.”