The Billionaire and the Virgin (Billionaires and Bridesmaids #1)(37)

Marjorie began to feel weak. “Three . . . grand?” She had to work all month for that much. “Rob—I can’t—take them back, please.” She stopped and began to take them off.

“No,” he told her, grabbing one of the shoes and forcing it back onto her foot. For an absurd moment, she thought they were going to get into a wrestling match over putting the shoe on her foot, and the thought was so ridiculous that she giggled again. “That stays on your foot and it’s yours,” he told her. “It was a gift.”

“It’s a really expensive gift,” she protested.

“Not to me.”

Oh. Oh, no. Her fingers tightened on his sleeve. “Um . . . I forgot to ask what you do for a living.”

“I’m in business. Why?” The look he gave her was wary.

“Are you doing business here?”

“No. I’m just here enjoying a little R&R.”

“With your assistants?”

“My assistants could probably use a little R&R, too.”

She tugged at her dress, feeling a little uncomfortable. “Rob, I don’t want you to think that I’m dating you for your money . . .” Her words trailed off as he threw his head back and laughed, and she felt a twinge of annoyance. “What’s so funny about that?”

“You,” he said, looking over at her with such a broad smile that she felt weak in the knees. “Sweetheart, I know you’re not dating me because of that.”

“Not your sweetheart,” she reminded him.

“Not yet,” he agreed cheerfully. “But the night is young.”

***

The rest of the night, Marjorie decided, was downright magical. They headed off the island again, which surprised her, but Rob said he wanted the privacy. So they took another chartered boat and headed over to a nearby resort for ice cream. They got cones, two spoons, and sat at a tiny table in the back of the cafe and talked, sharing occasional bites out of each other’s ice cream. And they talked for hours and hours, which surprised Marjorie. She’d thought that they’d sit down and find they had nothing in common . . . and while there were plenty of differences, there were also a lot of similarities. Rob was an only child, like her. Rob grew up without parents around, like her. However, though she’d been raised by loving grandparents, Rob had spent his childhood in a state home. They both shared an intense sweet tooth, a like of Johnny Cash’s music, and dogs instead of cats.

More than common interests, though, Marjorie found Rob fascinating. She loved to hear him talk and tell stories of growing up, of famous people he’d met, of the run-in he’d had when he was in the Army with a drill sergeant that had screamed at all the men so much that they’d played pranks on him all through basic training. And she found herself opening up about her own past, her friends, her dreams. She even told him about the not-to-be-believed job that Bront? had offered her, and they’d celebrated with a shared root beer float. She’d reached for the straw and gotten whipped cream on her fingertips, and Rob had grabbed her hand and licked it clean, which made her feel giddy and needy all at once.

And when the date was nearing its end and they could eat no more ice cream, Marjorie grabbed Rob’s hand. “Why don’t we go down to the beach and enjoy the nighttime surf?”

Rob—brash, confident Rob—visibly shuddered. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’d be happy never seeing another beach again.”

“What? Why?”

“You know why,” he said with a grin. “Some classy girl had to come and save me before I got pulled out to sea. I’d prefer not to have that happen again.”

“I bet it wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t take that bet.”

She shook her head. “Then why remain at a resort on an island?”

“I found something here that made me want to stick around,” Rob told her. And his hand moved over her own, and he rubbed his thumb on the back of her knuckles.

And Marjorie found herself blushing all over again.

They went back to the resort, fingers locked together, and Rob walked Marjorie back to her room since it was late. They stood at her doorway, talking in soft voices, and when Marjorie reluctantly told Rob she had early plans in the morning, they got to the goodnight kiss. Rob’s hands went behind her neck and he pulled her against him, and they kissed for what seemed like forever, and when they parted, her breasts were pressed against his chest, her arms wrapped around his neck, and she was flushed and out of breath.

“’Night, sweetheart,” he told her in a husky voice.

“Not your sweetheart,” she said automatically.

“Not yet,” he agreed. They kissed one more time, and then he left her for the evening, and she went back to her room, flopped down on the bed, and touched her fingertips to her mouth.

They’d only kissed. Rob had been a perfect gentleman.

Why was that so thrilling and so disappointing all at once? Why did she want so much more? Wasn’t she waiting for love? Not lust? She’d waited this long, what was a few dates more, right?

But . . . she kind of wanted to see if Rob was interested in experiencing other bases with her. Hugging her pillow against her front, Marjorie thought about their next date.

She wanted more than just a kiss. Now . . . how to get it?