The Billionaire and the Virgin(7)

“Yes, sir,” the pimple-faced kid said. “Right away, sir.”

“Good.” He peered at the guy. He knew he was an assistant, but wasn’t sure of the name. “Which one are you?”

“Cresson, sir.”

“Okay, Cresson. You get to keep your job because you know how to follow orders.” At the guy’s relieved look, Rob rolled his eyes inwardly. So hard to find good help. He pulled out his phone and texted the missing assistant again. You have 3 minutes to get your ass down here or you’re fired.

As he was looking down at his phone, someone bumped into him, and the phone went flying out of his hand.

In a rage, he turned on the person that pushed him. “What the f*ck are you doing?”

It was a drunk woman with bright red hair, her arm around a brunette’s shoulders. Both of them were wearing what looked like Mardi Gras beads covered with penises.

“Oh,” slurred the redhead. “Oops. My bad. We didn’t see you there.” She peered at him.

Great, just what he needed. “Is this entire resort full of drunks?” He stalked away from the women and recovered his phone, checking the screen. No cracks. Thank god for that. “You’re lucky this isn’t broken or you’d be buying a new one.”

The brunette’s eyebrows drew together and she looked as if she’d protest, but the redhead stumbled forward and pointed a finger at his face. “Don’t be a dick, sir. We saw plenty of those tonight. We’re full up.”

The brunette convulsed into laughter.

“Get your finger out of my face,” he told the obnoxious redhead, and looked over at the front desk. “And where’s my damn cab already? This f*cking island isn’t that big.”

“We just left one,” the redhead said, still wiggling her finger in his face. “But youuuu can’t have it—”

Like hell he couldn’t. Shouldering past the two drunks, he headed for the curb outside, just in time to see three other women emerging from the cab. A pretty blonde with a wild haystack of hair was drunk and hanging off of an extremely pregnant woman, and a lean woman had her back to him, her front half in to the passenger window, paying the driver. Good.

Rob pushed forward and tapped the taller blonde on the shoulder. “If you and your drunk friends are done making everyone miserable, I’d like your cab—”

As the woman turned, Rob realized two things.

One, that it was the woman who’d rescued him on the beach.

And two, that she was really, really damn tall.





Chapter Four



The woman’s eyes widened in surprised at the same time that his did.

“Oh, it’s you,” she breathed, and a smile lit up her face. “My swimmer. Hi again. Feeling better?”

Rob stared. He looked her up and down, his first time to really get a good look at her.

She was tall as f*ck. There was no disguising that. He was six foot himself, and he was pretty sure she had at least an inch on him. She was also wearing high heels, which made her seem towering. She was delicate for her height, but still had an attractive pair of small, high breasts and an impressive curve to her hips, and legs that went on forever in the dowdy skirt she was wearing.

So she was tall. So f*cking what? He didn’t care if she was seven foot. She was just as gorgeous as he remembered, in all the right ways.

Oh, she wasn’t the typical Hollywood girl that was considered beautiful right now. Those freckles still spattered her nose, and her hair was a tangled mess about her shoulders. Her lips weren’t plumped full of collagen and her jaw was probably too strong. But her eyes were beautiful, and her expression was full of genuineness, and he wanted to just grab her and pull her against him and soak in everything that she was.

Which was weird, but there it was.

So he thrust his hand out. “I don’t think we got to meet properly the other day. I’m Rob.”

She bit her lip—god, that was f*cking cute—and put her hand into his and shook it, surprisingly firmly. “I’m Marjorie.”

“Oooo, look! Marj’s picking up men at the curb,” someone catcalled drunkenly. Probably that damn redhead.

Marjorie’s face flushed bright red and she glanced back at her friends. “Are they bothering you, mister? I’m sorry. We’re just getting back from a bachelorette party.” A lock of hair dragged across her cheek from the wind, and she tucked it behind an ear absently. “Actually, it’s a pre-bachelorette party. This one was bridesmaids only. The real one is in a few days. I think some of the girls got a little carried away with the fun.”

“It’s all right,” he told her easily, though it wasn’t all right thirty seconds ago, even. “And it’s Rob, not ‘mister.’”

“Rob,” she said shyly, hugging her arms against her chest.

“But if you’re just getting back from a party, where’s your beads?” He couldn’t help himself—he reached forward and flicked the pearl choker at her neck. Classy and dowdy all at once. It was like something his grandma would wear. Actually, everything she wore—from the floral, high necked blouse to the ugly hippie skirt—was like something his grandma would wear on vacation. Except for the tall nude f*ck-me pumps.

He liked those. He liked those a lot.