He moved over to the paint supplies and unwrapped a new roller. “Ten? No, wait, I think it was eight and a half after the haggling. Only three bedrooms, though.”

She felt weak. “Ten . . . million?”

“Eight and a half,” he corrected. “I’m trying to slim down my lifestyle in accordance with my new budget.” Rob said it all so happily.

Marjorie’s stomach gave another queasy lurch. “Rob, I don’t mean to pry, but . . . how broke are you if you’re buying an eight-million-dollar apartment?” He was full of mixed signals. He’d bought a penthouse . . . but was painting it himself. He was a rich man . . . sleeping on an air mattress. She was so confused.

“Hm?” He dipped the roller in the paint and she stared at his tight ass as he did so. Why was he being so casual and friendly? Didn’t he want to tear her clothes off? She was itching to divest him of those jeans.

But she needed to know. “Rob . . . are you almost broke? Because of me?”

He looked over at her, surprised. “Marjorie, sweetheart, I’m still a billionaire. Well, for now. I might give away more money. It felt pretty good to give away the last chunk. Did you know, some of those women cried like babies when I signed over the check? Never saw anything like it in my life.”

“I’ll bet.” She walked over to the wall slowly, feeling wooden.

Rob slapped the roller on the wall, and paint splatted. “So. You never said what you’re doing out so late. It’s not safe, you know.” He glanced over at her. “You should be more careful.”

It struck her as a funny thing to say. Was there an appropriate time frame to come to a man’s house to proposition him? Had she missed the window? The idea struck her as funny and she began to laugh again, the hysteria creeping back into her throat. Why wasn’t this going the way she wanted? Why were they being so weird about things?

“Marjorie?” He put down his paint roller and walked the few steps separating them over to where she stood, stiff-limbed and awkward, holding a drippy paint roller. He quietly took the roller from her and laid it on the plastic. His hands went to her shoulders and his gaze sought hers. “Sweetheart, why are you here?”

She swallowed hard. “I’m leaping.”

He tilted his head. “You’re wha—”

She threw her arms around his neck and hauled him against her. Her mouth sought his, and then she was pressing her lips to his in a quick, passionate kiss.

Chapter Twenty-six

Marjorie felt Rob stiffen against her for a split second, and the next thing she knew, she had her back pressed to the wall of his bedroom and Rob was kissing her, his mouth hungry and passionate on her own.

And oh, sweet Mary, she’d missed him. She’d missed him so much. Hot tears began to trail down her cheeks even as she continued to kiss him, giving him every bit of pent-up passion she’d stored up in the last miserable month. His mouth licked at her own, his hands cupping her face even as his knee worked between hers. And it was frantic, and glorious and—

And her back was wet and sticky and when she turned her head, it made a squelching sound against the wall.

“Wet paint,” she murmured against his hot, insistent mouth, and then dove her tongue back between his lips.

Rob groaned against her, his cock grinding against her hips as he pressed her back against the wall. “Sorry. Actually, not sorry.” And he continued kissing her. “Does this mean you love me again?”

She nodded, her mouth frantic on his. “Never. Stopped. Loving. You.” She punctuated each word with a hard little kiss.

He groaned again. “God, I love you, sweetheart. I know I’m little better than a shit-stain on humanity, but I’m working to be the kind of man you can be proud of—”

“You are,” she reassured between quick nibbles on his lips. “You are, Rob. You’re wonderful. It’s me that’s the jerk.”

“No,” he breathed against her mouth, and then pulled away a little so he could look her in the eyes. His hands gripped the sides of her face, and his thumbs stroked her cheeks. “No, Marjorie. You were right to feel that way. Like I said, all my life, I never gave a shit about what anyone else thought. And then I met you and there was someone to impress. I wanted to make you proud. And I’ve never felt like that before.”

“I am proud of you,” she told him, breathless. “So, so proud. You did an amazing thing. I never expected it in a million years. I thought you’d forget about me once I left the island.”

“Forget about you?” He chuckled and shook his head. “If only I could. You’re constantly in my mind.” He kissed her again. “I take it back. I wouldn’t forget about you, even if I could do it. I love you. I adore you. I want you with me, always.”

“I love you, too. I love you so much, Rob.” She kissed him again, so very happy. Her heart felt like it was bursting at the moment. “I can’t believe you followed me out to New York.”

“Of course I did,” he told her, pressing his mouth against hers once more. “You were out here, so this was where I wanted to be.” Even as his mouth caressed hers, his gaze slid over to the side. “I think your ponytail is in my paint, though.”

“Does the shower work here?” she asked.

“Think so. But I don’t know that I have any towels.”

She glanced over at the bed. “How clean is that blanket?”

“Clean enough.” He grabbed her behind the knees and tugged her into his arms. Then, swinging her against him, he carried her to the bathroom.

Marjorie pressed her mouth against his neck, glorying in his scent. Even sweaty and streaked with paint, he smelled wonderful.

He groaned. “God, your mouth.” His hand slid to her back, and he gently set her down. “Don’t laugh at my seventies-tastic bathroom, sweetheart. I’m going to get this all remodeled.”

She looked up for the first time . . . and giggled.

The bathroom was awful. Really awful. The walls were a horrid mustard color that had been textured with a darker gold. The tile itself was a dark, stormy green and looked as if it was designed to be the same color as a dead frog. The counters were a matching swirling green and the mirror in front of the vanity had enormous ornate gilt edges. The shower was encased in mirrors—mirrors, of all things—and across the far side of the bathroom was a claw-footed tub.

“Oh wow,” she breathed. “This is really, really awful.”

“Isn’t it?” Rob chuckled. “I’m almost proud of its hideousness to the point that I want to leave it as an homage to the decade.”

“Please don’t,” she said, laughing. “Please.”

“All right,” he teased, and his arms went around her again. “But just for you, sweetheart.”

She smiled to hear the words, and her arms went around his neck again, and then they were kissing once more. His hands tugged at her shirt and she obediently pulled away from him and raised her arms so he could lift it over her head. It came off her skin wetly, and he grimaced as he pulled it off of her. “I hope this shirt wasn’t important to you, because it is now covered in paint.”

“I don’t care,” Marjorie told him, running her hands up and down his chest. “I would gladly sacrifice my entire wardrobe to the paint gods if it meant I get you in my arms again.”

“You don’t even have to go that far,” he told her, and his hands slid around her waist and down to her ass. “My requirements are easy.”

“What are they?”

His forehead pressed to hers and his nose rubbed against her own. “Just love me, Marjorie.”

Oh god, her heart was breaking. “I do,” she told him softly. “So much. There’s no one for me but you.”

“I feel the same.” He gently kissed her mouth, and his hands went to the back clasp of her bra. “And I can’t wait to get you naked again.”

She couldn’t, either. As he unhooked her bra, her hands slid down his back and then she pushed her fingers into the waistband of his loose pants. He still wore no underwear, which made her sigh with pleasure. Her hands plucked at his skin. “I want you undressed, too.”