“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.