The Billionaire and the Virgin

by Jessica Clare

  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.”

  Chapter Eight

  The boat ride ended far too soon, and they made it to Le Poisson, a ritzy little restaurant near the docks of a neighboring island. Chinese paper lanterns lined the docks and white tableclothed tables lined the patio, and there was the faint sound of live music from inside.

  As they walked into the restaurant, he watched her visibly tense and her hands went to hold her short, floppy skirt down. He’d known that was coming. Le Poisson was a black-tie sort of place and she was wildly underdressed. Still, if she acted like she owned her look, no one would think anything of it. But judging from her hunched shoulders and unhappy expression¸ that was too much to hope for.

  Rob put a hand to the small of her back in solidarity and guided her forward. “No backing out now.”

  Marjorie looked over at him, startled. “Oh, I wouldn’t. That’d be rude. And I want to be here with you.” Her smile grew overbright, and he wondered if that was Marjorie’s version of flirting. It was awfully toothy. And was rudeness the only reason she wasn’t backing out of this date? Damn. His ego had just taken a massive beating at the thought.

  He guided her inside. The entryway to the restaurant was crowded with waiting people, but Rob Cannon never waited. He kept his hand firmly on Marjorie’s back and pushed forward. At the sight of him, the maître d’ nodded and grabbed two menus. He led them to a small, private corner of the restaurant, the white tablecloth lit in the center by an antique bubble glass lantern. Nearby, several couples moved on the dance floor.

  Everyone looked in their direction, and he felt Marjorie shrink a little more. He wondered if she had any idea yet as to who she was dating, or if she was getting an inkling, thanks to the quick service of the mâitre d’, who knew how to deal with celebrities.

  Nah. She probably thought everyone was staring at her skimpy dress. Though she probably wouldn’t be wrong on that aspect, either. Rob caught a flash of black panties as Marjorie sat down in the chair he pulled out for her. The mâitre d’ handed them menus, talking about the name of their waiter and the specials for the day, but Rob wasn’t listening. He was watching Marjorie’s face. She stared up at the man, rapt, as if he were reciting poetry to her instead of fish specials. When he finally left the damn table, Marjorie looked over at Rob and gave him a hesitant smile, and then opened her menu.

  Her eyes widened and she immediately slammed it shut again.

  “Something wrong?” Rob asked.

  She leaned forward, the menu pressing against her breasts in a rather delicious way. “Did you see the prices here?”

  “No.” He flipped open the menu and scanned it, looking for something outrageous. “What’s wrong?”

  “They’re charging fifteen dollars for a house salad.” She looked scandalized.

  He chuckled. “Wait until you see the wine list.”

  But this time, she didn’t smile. If anything, she looked more uncomfortable.

  A waiter stopped by and put down two crystalline glasses of water. “Welcome to Le Poisson. My name is Aubrey and I’ll be your waiter tonight. Shall we start with a nice vintage? We have a bottle of 2008 Didier Dagueneau Silex Sauvignon Blanc that has a lovely grapefruit scent. It makes the perfect compliment to seafood.”

  And he guessed it was the most expensive bottle they had on hand at the moment, since they were in the VIP section. He shrugged. He preferred his alcohol hard, but wine seemed more civilized. “Wine?” He asked Marjorie.

  She hesitated a moment, thinking. He could practically see the wheels turning on her face, and he expected her to decline. Maybe she didn’t drink. But she nodded, her eyes wide again. “Wine sounds good.”

  “Bring the bottle,” Rob told him. “We’ll take it.”

  “Very good,” Aubrey the waiter said, and disappeared.

  Rob sipped his water—now there was a fucking novelty—and watched Marjorie reopen the menu and skim the pages quietly. “You’re looking for the cheapest thing, aren’t you?”

  She looked up, startled, and then gave him a sheepish glance. “That obvious?”

  “I’m paying, so order what you like. Even if it’s the filet mignon.” He gave her a teasing wag of his eyebrows.

  To his surprise, her face turned a mottled red, and she licked her lips nervously. “Rob . . . I . . .”

  Oh hell. He’d let Douchey Rob out of the bag again, hadn’t he? “It was a tease, nothing more. I’m sorry if it alarmed you.” Christ, now he was apologizing for cracking jokes? Were his nuts in a sling? But she continued to look uncomfortable, so he added, “You should know that I expect nothing out of this date . . . except possibly a second date.”

  Her smile brightened. “I think I can handle that . . .”

  He put his hand on the table, palm up, and inviting her to put her hand into his. “Trust me.”

  Marjorie gave him a shy look and put her hand in his. “I do trust you.”

  Those were rare words for him, he had to admit. Trust Rob Cannon? Normally he’d be laughed out the door. But this girl with her big eyes and her tall body and the breasts that were practically falling out of her ridiculous dress? He wanted her to trust him. Rob squeezed her hand and then ran his thumb across her palm, enjoying her little jerk of response. “I’m glad, Marjorie.”

  “Call me Marj. Everyone does.”

  Dear god. He was dating a Marj. That was fucking horrible. “Must I?” It made him think of cigarettes and BenGay. “You’re Marjorie to me, which is beautiful.”

  She gave a happy wiggle in her seat, which made her unbound breasts bounce . . . and dear god, it was painful to keep eye contact and not leer at the tits just begging for his attention. But somehow, miraculously, he did it. God, being Dull Rob suuuucked. But Marjorie kept smiling at him, which somehow made it worth it. “All right then . . . Robert.”

  He winced. Robert Cannon was his “business” name, and he had started to hate every time he heard the second syllable of his name. “I prefer Rob. It’s what close friends call me.”

  “All right.” Her smile grew broader, her hand flexing against his as he ran his thumb over her palm again. She had the most delightful full-body shiver every time he did that, so he was going to keep right on doing it. “What’s your last name?”

  He hesitated for a moment. D
id she want it because she was going to google him? Or was it simply an innocent question? He had no idea, but he figured he might as well throw it all out there. “Cannon.”

  She merely looked thoughtful. “It suits you.”

  “It does?” Was this sexual innuendo? He’d heard them all before, and they were usually fucking 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 fucking 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.