“All right, soon,” she agreed, and snuggled down next to him. Moments later, he was pretty sure she was asleep. He ran his thumb over one of her nipples thoughtfully, enjoying the automatic shiver that rippled through her even as she slept.

He’d never had a woman spend the night before. But now that he had Marjorie in his bed, he didn’t want her to leave it anytime soon.

Maybe ever.

Chapter Eighteen

Marjorie woke up out of a delicious sleep to the feel of something hard prodding against her buttock. She blinked at her surroundings. Big hotel room. Strange art on the walls.

Warm body against her. One hand squeezing her bare breast. Erection pushing against her backside. Her pajama pants still on her legs, but no top.

Oh.

Flashes of last night flooded through her mind and she bit back her gasp. Arousal snaked through her veins, and she recalled vividly what she’d done to him . . . and what he’d done to her. And oh, it was fun. More than fun—amazing. She wanted more.

But she peered at the alarm clock on the bedside table and sighed. Eight in the morning. She had to be at breakfast with the other bridesmaids in an hour, and then they had one last fitting and a makeup trial run to go through. There was no more time to lie back in bed and cuddle, as tempting as the thought was. So she peeled back the covers and started to edge out of bed.

“Nope,” Rob said sleepily, and pulled her back against him. “Stay here with me.”

“I can’t,” she said, though she was smiling as he gave her breast another squeeze. It sent pleasurable shockwaves through her body, a reminder of last night. Gosh, last night had been wonderful. “I just realized, by the way, that you switched rooms.”

“I did,” he mumbled. “Shower broke in the other.”

“Oh.”

“This shower comes with a free back rub if you stay, though,” he told her, giving her breast another squeeze.

“I wish I could, but I have a full schedule this morning.”

“Call in sick.” He moved a little closer and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“I can’t,” she said again, and when his thumb began to stroke her nipple in teasing circles, she regretfully had to pull his hand off of her. “I owe Brontë being present. This is the last fitting and she’s stressed out of her mind as it is.”

“So responsible,” he said, kissing her shoulder again. “That’s sexy. Let me know when you’re free?”

“I will.”

“Text me?”

“Sure.”

“Text me pictures of your pussy?”

She gasped and slid out of his grip. “No way.”

He chuckled, eyes closed, and tugged the blankets closer around his body. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“You devil.” She scooped her top up off of the floor and buttoned it, then reluctantly looked back at him. Rob had fallen asleep again, so she tiptoed out of his room and closed the door quietly behind her.

An hour later, she was showered and changed, and racing down to the reserved dining room so she wouldn’t be late to meet the others. Marjorie arrived with one minute to spare, and the only person waiting in the dining room was Brontë, her hair pulled up in a bun and her eyes bright. She looked happy and relaxed.

“I’m here,” Marjorie said as she sat down next to Brontë at the empty table. The places were set for five others—the bridesmaids and Violet, who was unofficially included—but no one else had arrived. “Where is everyone?”

“I think we’re all running a little late this morning. No worries. They’ll be here.”

“You look relaxed,” Marjorie told Brontë with a smile. “Everything going well?”

“Nope,” Brontë said. “The cake was flown in from the mainland and crumbled to pieces so Logan’s flying in a new cake chef and paying a ridiculous amount of money because he doesn’t want me to cry. The flowers are the wrong shade of red. Again. And that awful man that’s pissing Logan off is still somewhere on the island.” Her smile widened. “But I’m good because Logan scheduled me a three-hour massage yesterday.”

“You look good,” Marjorie said. “Very relaxed and happy.”

“I am happy,” she admitted. “I know as crazy as things get with the wedding, it doesn’t matter, because at the end of the day, I’m with a man who’s bending over backward to try and make me happy. And that’s all I could really ask for, you know?” She leaned forward. “Speaking of happy . . . you look pretty good yourself. Is the mystery man turning out to be everything you’d hoped?”

“And more,” Marjorie told her, a dreamy smile on her face. “He’s so wonderful. We’re opposites in a lot of ways, but when we’re together . . . we just click, you know? It’s like magic. We’ve been spending every free moment together since we met, and it still doesn’t feel like enough time.”

“I know that feeling,” Brontë said, and clapped her hands. “I’m so happy for you! This is wonderful. You’re such a lovely woman, Marj. I knew someone would see it eventually!”

“I feel so lucky,” Marjorie admitted. “I just . . . I don’t know what I’ll do when it’s time to leave.”

“Is he from Kansas City, then? Do you want to stay instead of taking the job with me? I’d miss you, but I’d understand.”

“No, I think he’s actually from California.” Marjorie unrolled her cloth napkin from around her silverware and laid it flat on her lap. “I still want to go to New York with you. That hasn’t changed. And we . . . haven’t really talked about what happens later. We’re still enjoying each day.” Though two days from now, that would have to change. A twinge of unhappiness marred Marjorie’s cheery mood. “I’ll have to broach the topic at some point, I guess.”

“Oh!” Brontë said, snapping her fingers. A smile lit up her face. “Logan had a last-minute cancellation for dinner tonight. We should go out on a double date. You bring your guy, and Logan and I will join you. It’d be lovely. I’m dying to meet this guy and see you two together.”

“I’d love to,” Marjorie said, pleasure flushing through her at the thought of introducing handsome, quick-witted Rob to her friends. “I think you’ll really like him. He’s a bit of a cusser—”

“So is Logan,” Brontë interjected with a grin.

“—but underneath, he’s really sweet and kind.”

“Then I absolutely cannot wait to meet him,” Brontë said, reaching over and giving Marjorie’s hand a happy squeeze. “Tonight should be so much fun.”

It really would. Marjorie couldn’t wait to text Rob and surprise him with the plans. He knew she was here for the wedding—wouldn’t it be fun to show him off to the bride and groom, who were the reason why she was here on vacation?

“Logan has dinner reservations for four at a black-tie restaurant,” Brontë said. “The other couple cancelled but you can join us and it’ll be an even better evening!”

And maybe tonight she could ask Rob what he thought about the future. Their future. Marjorie couldn’t stop smiling at the thought.

***

Rob straightened his tie, then removed it at the last minute. Black-tie or not, they’d simply have to make do without him having neckwear. He had a nice little hickey on his neck thanks to Marjorie, and he wanted to show it to the world. So, he’d wear a collared shirt and cufflinks, and a jacket, but that was the extent of it.

He whistled as he ran a comb through his hair one last time. Funny how spending the night curled up against a woman could put him in such a good mood. His insomnia—normally so prevalent—had utterly vanished, and he’d slept like the dead. His dick hadn’t even touched pussy and he still felt sated and replete. It was a good feeling.

It was a feeling he wanted more of, and he wanted more Marjorie.

Maybe she could put off being Brontë’s assistant for a while. He’d bring it up to her tonight, hopefully after her hand was wrapped around his cock. Maybe she’d come out to California with him for a bit so they could fuck like bunnies and get it out of their systems. Then when they were both tired of each other, they could go on with their lives.