Page 8 of The Billionaire and the Virgin

Rob clenched his teeth and looked over. There stood the bellhop with the porter cart of his luggage, and his other two assistants sleepily yawning, their own luggage tucked under their arms. Assistant number three was hovering, clearly confused at the change in orders. Everyone was waiting on him.

He felt Marjorie’s attempt to pull her hand out of his again. “Are you leaving?” she asked.

“Nope,” he lied.

“But Mr. Cannon—” started the assistant again. He clearly wanted to get fired.

“I said no,” Rob repeated. “Didn’t they teach you that in school? No means no.” He kept his tone pleasant and looked back at the small crowd waiting. “Everyone can go back to their rooms. It was all a mistake.”

“I really should go,” Marjorie said, attempting to pull her hand from his again. “My friends are probably in the lobby waiting for me.”

“Not yet,” Rob said, squeezing her hand tighter in his. “Please.” He was probably going to fucking scare her if he didn’t let go of her hand, but he didn’t want her to retreat again. Not before he got her room number and her full name.

She hesitated, clearly torn, and glanced at his assistants. “I’m not keeping you?”

“Not at all.” He looked over at the others. “Go back to bed.”

Muttering, they slowly returned to the lobby. Not fast enough to suit Rob, but they were moving. A throat cleared behind him and he saw the cabdriver, waiting. Marjorie still stood at the curb, close to the cab. Right. He wanted to get rid of this man, too.

He wanted Marjorie all to himself.

So, reluctantly releasing her hand, Rob dug into his pockets and pulled out his wallet. Peeling a couple of hundreds out of his billfold, he handed them to the driver. “Here. Thanks for waiting, but you’re not needed.”

The driver took the money and pocketed it without a word. Now, Rob was free to devote his attention back to Marjorie, giving her his most charming smile. “As I was saying. Dinner?”

“I thought you said you wanted CPR lessons?” Her lips twitched with amusement. So fucking cute. He’d be masturbating to that sweet little smile of hers for weeks.

“Changed my mind. Dinner. Tomorrow night. You and me.”

She shook her head. “You don’t have to thank me for saving your life with dinner. Really.”

“I’m not.” Rob moved forward and put his hands on her shoulders, then hugged her before she could protest. A muffled squeak escaped her, but that was the only sound, and he pulled away just as quickly. “That was for saving my life. Dinner is because I want to have dinner with you.”

Marjorie blinked rapidly, still a bit stiff from recoiling from his hug. He guessed she wasn’t much of a hugger. She seemed too awkward for that sort of thing.

Didn’t matter. He’d ease her into his brash displays. She’d get used to him. “So... seven? Seafood okay?”

“Okay,” she said.

“Wear a dress.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” He grinned, resisted the urge to give her another hug, and then turned to walk away. He paused, and turned back to her. “Give me your full name and your room number.”

“Okay,” she said, her voice just as blank. Tired? Surprised? He couldn’t tell. Didn’t matter. He’d have all of dinner tomorrow night to figure Marjorie out, and then he’d have her in his bed. He’d fuck her a few times to get her out of his mind, and then he could go back to work and not think about women with incredibly long legs and freckled noses and too-earnest smiles.

She wasn’t saying anything else, so he prompted her. “Room number? Just in case I have to call you.”

“Three-oh-one,” she told him. “Ivarsson.”

He pulled out his phone and started typing. “You’re in the Ivarsson suite?”

“No, my last name is Ivarsson. Marjorie Ivarsson.”

He nodded. “Well, it was a pleasure to finally meet you, Marjorie Ivarsson. I look forward to seeing you for dinner tomorrow night at seven. Shall we meet at the bar?”

She nodded again and stuck her hand out to him to shake.

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