“’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?

Chapter Fifteen

As he left Marjorie at her doorstep, Rob adjusted his aching cock and headed into the elevator, toward his new room under the name Ron Glasscock. His time with Marjorie had been a pleasant idyll tinged with aching every time she laughed or licked her lips, or brushed up against him, because he wanted her with an intensity that was driving him mad.

But he had to play it carefully, because she was a virgin. He didn’t want to scare her away. He’d go slow, even if it killed him.

By the time he got back to his room, his cock was aching even more. Time for his nightly jerk-off session to Marjorie. But first, a call.

One of his assistants picked up. Smith. “Yes, sir?”

“The Tits crew. They’re filming here, right?”

“I believe so, sir.”

“One of them approached Marjorie. My Marjorie.”

“I take it she wasn’t flattered, sir?”

“No. Absolutely fucking not. She was devastated. You tell those jackasses that if they come near her again, I will fucking ram their cameras down their goddamn throats, understand?”

“Understood, sir,” Smith’s voice was cool. “Whom shall I describe for them to avoid?”

“She’s fucking six feet tall, Smith. Tell them to avoid any girls that are taller than them. Christ!” He terminated the call, and when that didn’t feel like it had enough oomph, he went to the room phone and slammed it in the cradle, over and over again.

His own fucking crew. His own goddamn crew made the woman he liked feel like she was attacked. Jesus fucking Christ.

How was he ever going to tell her what he did for a living?

Rob groaned and rubbed his face, his erection gone.

***

“How do I get a guy to notice me?” Marjorie asked at the bridesmaids’ breakfast four days later, her fork toying with her scrambled eggs. The long table in the private dining hall was filled with Brontë’s bridesmaids . . . well, minus Angie, who’d found a new guy while hanging out at the resort and was spending all her time with him instead of the bridal party. In her seat sat Violet DeWitt, who was dating one of the groomsmen and was becoming a close friend of Brontë’s.

All the women turned and stared at Marjorie as she spoke, and the table got quiet. Inwardly, she quailed, but she forced herself to repeat the question. “I want a guy to really, really notice me. How do I swing that?”

“Boobs,” Gretchen said between mouthfuls of fruit. “Guys love boobs.”

Audrey rolled her eyes and pulled off a corner of her dry toast. “You’ll have to forgive my sister, Marj. She doesn’t believe in things like ‘politeness’ or ‘filters.’”

“Sure I do,” Gretchen said. “But I believe in honesty more.” She pointed her fork at Marjorie. “Boobs. Trust me.”

“Or legs,” Violet called across the table. “Some men like legs, and I bet yours does, Marjorie.”

“You’re not helping,” Audrey said, but a smile dimpled her round face.

“A good blow job,” Maylee chimed in.

They all turned and stared at the angelic-looking blonde.

“What?” she asked, an impish smile on her face. “Don’t tell me y’all don’t do that kind of thing in the north?”

“I’m suddenly looking at stuffy Griffin in a whole new light,” Gretchen said.

“Well, don’t, because he’s mine,” Maylee said with a grin. “And you can’t have him.”

“I don’t want him. I have Hunter, thank you very much, and I’m not trading for anyone.” A dreamy look crossed Gretchen’s face. Then she looked over at Marjorie. “Your guy, is he a virgin? Because let me tell you from experience, it is hell trying to nail that down.”

“He’s not,” Marjorie said, cheeks red with embarrassment. “I just want him to, you know, take things up a notch. Not necessarily get into bed together.” Since the ice cream date four days ago, they’d spent just about every waking moment together. They’d played board games, gone to bingo, had dinner together, and simply enjoyed each other’s company. It was nice. Really nice.

He never went further than kissing her goodnight.

She was starting to get a little tired of nice. And the doubts were starting to creep in. Was Rob just not that interested in her? The wedding was in three days, and things were scaling up. Her time was going to be taken up by the wedding more and more, and then she would be flying home two days afterward. She wasn’t going to have much more time to spend with Rob.

And she wanted to. She really did. But she just didn’t know how he felt about her. He held her hand, and he kissed her . . . and that was it.

Didn’t he want more? She did.

“I don’t understand why we don’t want to take things up a notch,” Gretchen said. “What’s wrong with taking things to the next level? I love sex.”

“Ignore my sister,” Audrey said in a placating voice. “You don’t have to sleep with a guy to have a relationship move forward.”

“Like you would know, Miss Oh-oops-I’m-full-of-your-baby-batter-and-we-forgot-a-condom,” Gretchen retorted.

Audrey blushed, her face turning red from her ears to her hairline. “One time. One time!”

“This is crazy,” Violet said, “But have you tried actually telling this man that you like him and want to take things a step further? Because I find that grabbing a guy by the collar and telling him how you feel works wonders.”

“‘You will never do anything in this world without courage,’” Brontë chimed in. “Aristotle.”

“I knew she had one of those in her,” Gretchen said.

“She always does,” Audrey said fondly.

This was as bad as asking Edna and Agnes for advice. “Thanks, ladies,” Marjorie said politely. “You’ve given me a lot to think on.”

Maylee beamed at her from the far end of the table. “When in doubt, blow jobs.”

A chorus of snickers and giggles arose from the table, and Marjorie felt like the only one not in on the joke. She wasn’t going to just grab Rob and give him a blow job . . .

Was she? That seemed awfully like fourth base. Maybe three point five. She just wanted to see what two was like.

Maybe three.

Okay, she probably wanted to see three first.

Chapter Sixteen

Things were going pretty fucking good with Marjorie, Rob thought as he gazed at her from across the dinner table. She was animated as she told him another tale about another dress fitting and how she’d gotten her dress and it was almost half a foot too short. The bride had panicked and burst into tears, another bridesmaid had yelled at the seamstress, and someone else had gained weight and burst through her dress. Marjorie’s expression was a mixture of amusement and sympathy for the stressed bride, but he had to admit that he wasn’t listening to the story half as much as he was watching her movements. The way that she brushed her hair off her shoulders when she got animated. The way her eyes lit up when she talked about her friends. The graceful curve of her neck. Hell, he was even fascinated with the way her throat moved when she swallowed her drink.