“Floor twenty-five,” the elevator attendant said, smiling at her. “Have a nice evening.”
“You too,” she said breathlessly and stepped out into the hallway.
Floor twenty-five was a narrow, straight line from the elevator, with two potted plants and a bench right in front of the elevator doors. Down one end of the hall, she could see one door, and on the other side, another door. Only two doors on this floor. These must be penthouses, Marjorie realized, and her stomach gave another funny lurch. She’d known that Rob had a big room back at the resort, but it had never really occurred to her how much money a billionaire had.
Or was he even a billionaire anymore? Either way, he was still obscenely rich. She could only imagine how much a Park Avenue penthouse cost to buy, given that her tiny apartment on the Upper East Side was almost two grand a month to rent.
Swallowing hard, she crept toward Rob’s door. Her stomach lurched in protest. What if he was entertaining someone? Oh god, what if he wasn’t home by himself? Should she have called? Or was it better to just spring her visit on him and hope to catch him doing something? She felt sick. Was that trust? Did he even deserve trust yet?
Good sweet lord, what was she doing here? She was pretty sure she was going to throw up from nerves, even as she walked to his door and knocked twice.
“Coming,” called a male voice from the other side. She heard steps jogging toward the door and her courage threatened to give out. Oh god, what if he was here with someone? She’d die. She’d just curl up and die right here on his doorstep. She’d—
The door opened.
Rob stood there, his hair messy, his chest sweaty. His chest naked and sweaty. He wore a pair of grubby jeans with holes in the knees, and his feet were bare. White flecks covered his skin. He was holding a paint roller.
His eyes lit up at the sight of her. “Holy fucking shit, Marjorie! What are you doing here?”
Oh, no. Oh, no. “Um, you told me to come by anytime—”
“I know I did, but Jesus, it’s—” he looked at his bare wrist, grimaced, and then craned his neck, looking into the apartment behind him. “Two in the morning,” he declared, then looked back at her. “Why are you here at two in the morning?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest protectively. “Why are you painting at two in the morning?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said with a grin. “Insomniac, remember? Anyhow, I was looking at the walls of this place and kept thinking that they needed a coat of fresh paint, and the painters weren’t coming until next week and I figured I could just do it my goddamn self, and,” he paused as the paint roller dripped on his foot. “And . . . shit. I think I just left a trail from the bedroom all the way to the front door.”
A giggle escaped her, the sound slightly hysterical. Yeah, she was pretty sure she was going to pass out.
He gave himself a little shake, then grinned. “Come in. Come in. Come get high off my paint fumes with me.”
Marjorie laughed again, and stepped inside.
The apartment was a mess. Plastic sheeting covered the floors, and the walls were bare—and stained from the prior occupant, she guessed. A stack of boxes were piled into one corner of the room. Overall, though, the apartment was enormous, much bigger than her own. Actually she was pretty sure his living room area was bigger than her entire apartment. “Are you moving in?”
He blinked at her. “No, I thought I’d break in and paint the place, and then just leave again. Like a vigilante.”
She snorted. Okay, that was a stupid question. A vigilante painter. Even as she thought about it, she chuckled. And then she began to laugh.
His smile curved his mouth, and he rubbed his neck with his free hand, and she realized he was nervous to have her here, too.
And she kept laughing. The entire thing was absurd. She’d been so freaking nervous, and here she was, and he was painting. Painting! There were no party girls. No sexcapades. Nothing but Rob in bare, paint-spattered feet on plastic sheeting and a penthouse that smelled of paint fumes.
Hysterical laughter erupted from her, and she just kept laughing and laughing.
“Marjorie?” He asked, a puzzled look on his face. “You okay?”
She smothered the hysterical laughs that kept bubbling up, pressing her fingertips to her lips, and nodded. When she could breathe again, she pointed out, “You’re dripping on the plastic.”
He looked down. Then, he shrugged. “Eh. Carpet’s shit, too. If paint gets on it, I’ll replace everything.”
“Your place is huge. Don’t you have friends that can help you with this?”
“Sweetheart, I don’t have any friends.”
For some reason, that sobered her and tugged at her heartstrings. She pulled off her sparkly shoes and placed them by the door, and then held out her hand. “You’ve got me.”
The smile on his face grew broad as he looked her up and down, admiring her form. “You’re the sexiest friend I have.”
She plucked the paint roller from his hand, trying not to blush. “You just told me I’m the only friend you have.”
“Fair enough.” He shut the door and headed back into the apartment. “You’ll have to forgive the mess. I’m still getting set up. Just signed paperwork on this place last week. The old tenants were smokers so the place has been airing out for a few days, but I can still smell it, so I’m hoping the paint kills a lot of it.”
Marjorie gave it a tentative sniff. Sure enough, it did smell like cigarettes. “That’s awful.”
“Yeah, but I got the place for a song because of the stink.” Rob stretched and turned toward the hall. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”
Her gaze fixed on his tight ass in his jeans, and the two dimples at the base of his spine. There was a smear of paint there now, and she longed to put her fingers there and wipe it clean . . . actually, she just wanted to put her fingers there.
This was just . . . weird. She’d come to Rob’s in the middle of the night expecting to make a passionate declaration, and instead they were being friendly and . . . painting.
Marjorie tiptoed across the paint-splattered plastic and followed his more confident steps down the hall. She peeked through doors as she passed them, seeing a study with ugly wallpaper and wooden built-in shelves, a posh, tiled bathroom, and an empty room that might have been a bedroom. “So you bought a fixer-upper?” she asked politely.
“Yep.” He gestured at the ceiling. “The old owner lived here for thirty years or something. That’s why everything’s so outdated. I figured I could put a little elbow grease and a few dollars into the place and make it nice.”
“I see,” she said carefully as he walked down the hall into a room with double doors. This had to be the bedroom. It was enormous, with a lifted step where the bed would go. There in the center was an air mattress with a blanket and pillow tossed on it, and his laptop propped open on one corner. Cords trailed over to a plug in the wall. It looked so incredibly college-dorm-era and so out of place for a billionaire that she just stared at it for a long moment before glancing around again.
On the far end of the room, there was a door to the master bathroom, and off to one side were the painting supplies. A wall of windows looked out on the Manhattan skyline, and the windows were currently open to let the air ventilate. Faint sounds of traffic murmured below.
Despite the outdated look, the place was still huge. And for Manhattan, that couldn’t be cheap. She wondered just how broke he was after donating his money, and an uncomfortable twinge of guilt hit her. “Um, exactly how much was the ‘song’ you paid for this, Rob?”
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.
r /> 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.”
“Let’s get some of this paint off you, first,” he said, and his mouth curved into a smile. “I’m not the one rolling around on the wall.”
“You pushed me against it,” she protested, even as she leaned back so he could undo the snap on her jeans. It came free and she wriggled them down her hips, just in time to hear hi
s groan of pleasure. He’d noticed that her panties matched her bra, then? She had one pretty set of black-and-pink, see-through lingerie, and she’d worn it tonight.
“Just looking at you is killing me,” Rob told her, his hands caressing her skin as she stepped out of her jeans.
“Well, it’s your fault I have to shower,” she told him, and added a little wiggle into her movements as she stood up again. Her bra was unhooked on her back and still cupped her breasts in the front, and now she wore nothing but it and her panties. To tease him further, she turned around, stuck her bottom out a little, and began to slowly wiggle the panties down her hips.
“God damn,” he murmured, and his hands caressed her buttocks lovingly. “I thought your legs were gorgeous, but your ass is downright insane.” His fingers moved over her skin as she bared it, and when she stepped out of her panties, she let her bra drop from her shoulders, too. Then she turned and tugged her hair loose from the ponytail holder and stood in front of him in her paint-splattered glory. Rob pulled her naked body against him and ran his hands up and down her back. “So beautiful, and all mine. I am so goddamn lucky.”
She smiled and gave him another kiss, then reached between them for the buttons on his fly. “Now your turn.” His hands moved down to help her, and she batted them away. “Let me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a chuckle, and put his hands on his head in an exaggerated motion.
“That’s better,” she told him, and slowly undid the first button of his fly. He had five, altogether—no zipper since he liked to go commando—and she took great, excruciating care in unbuttoning each one, letting the anticipation build. When she finally had the last button undone, she pushed her hand into his pants and cupped his hard dick, a hint of a blush heating her cheeks. “I see all of you missed me.”
“He missed you the most of all.” Rob’s hand tangled in her hair and he tilted her head back for another kiss, this one possessive and deep, even as her hand curled around his shaft.