Owning The Virgin (The Virgin Auctions, Book Two)

by Paige North

  The anger of what he did to me still makes me sick. And I wasn’t sure I could ever forgive him for it…

  When I found Highest Bidder, I figured I would get the anger out of my system by trying out another man, and then maybe, just maybe I would be able to forgive my ex.

  Impulsive? Yes. But at the time, it sounded so reasonable…

  As I walk into the grand bedroom, it suddenly hits me. I’m going to have sex with an experienced, highly recommended playboy.

  I think about how Robbie and my best friend Ella got drunk a few months ago, and one thing led to another. It was so easy for them to betray me.

  I’m hoping tonight will be at least as easy for me—and I have nothing to feel guilty about, either. Despite the hopes and prayers of my overbearing parents, I am still broken up with Robbie. I am not being unfaithful.

  I’m doing something for me.

  I drop onto the massive bed. Connor remains in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest again as he surveys me with a detached expression that I can’t decipher. There’s something complicated and fathomless in his gaze that I can’t look away from.

  Flushed, I pat the mattress beside me. “Come here. You’re too far away.”

  “I don’t think so, Allyson,” he says.

  “I don’t think so, either, Connor. I know so.” I start to work at my strappy high-heeled sandals, but I’m not doing a very good job of getting them off.

  A ragged sigh escapes from Connor, and he uncrosses his arms—oh my god I want to see the muscles in his arms after he takes off his jacket and shirt!—then approaches. I start to get even creamier for him, pounding for him once again down there. It feels so good, so new and wonderful.

  He gets to a knee and lifts one of my legs, resting my calf on his thigh. With deft assurance, he begins to undo a thin strap around my ankle. My skin burns every time his fingers whisk against me.

  “You’re such a gentleman,” I hazily say. “Everything I read about you online said you would be. My family might even like you if…” I hiccup. “If they could get over their whole attitude about elites in Manhattan being so disconnected from reality and all that.”

  “That’s what your family would think of me, huh?”

  “Pretty sure. If they knew about Highest Bidder, which no one does. No how, no way did I tell anyone.” I hiccup again as something occurs to me. “Hey, am I the first girl you’ve won on the website?”

  “Hardly.”

  When he looks up at me, there’s that something again—a haunted shadow—and the mystery of that look makes my heart bend.

  He gently lowers my bare foot to the ground and places my shoe to the side. Then he lifts my other leg. As he undoes the strap, tingles spin through my nerve endings, exciting me until my breath is tight.

  “Anyway,” I manage to say, “my family thinks celebrity culture is ruining the country. As for me, they want nothing more than for their sweet little daughter to settle down with a nice guy and…”

  Hiccup. I hold my breath. I was about to say that I was expected to marry well, but that would’ve meant having Robbie as a husband. His family and mine are so close that we might as well have started off related. It’d been everyone’s big dream for us to wed. They’d expected it, and I’d always been certain it was what I wanted, too.

  Then the Ella Bomb dropped.

  After Connor finishes with my other foot, my courage swells again, right along with my unleashed inner horn dog, and I bite my bottom lip, tentatively skimming my toes over his hard thigh.

  He wraps his fingers around my ankle and firmly guides my foot to the ground.

  But far be it from my alcohol-thickened head to take a hint. I reach behind my neck, under my hair to the clasp of my halter straps. Connor stops me by standing and gently gripping my arm.

  “Don’t,” he says. “I told you that it’s not going to happen, Allyson.”

  It’s Ally, I think as I let my hands drift down to my sides. My stomach churns at his rejection, even though I should’ve known that he wasn’t kidding about taking advantage of a hammered girl. I’d just hoped I would be so stunningly attractive to him that lust would conquer all.

  Oh my god, I’m drunk. I’m so unattractive right now. Fuck.

  He turns away from me, his shoulders stiff. His hands clench then unclench right before he makes his way out of the room. Is he just leaving me here like garbage he dropped off?

  Then I hear him on the phone, asking for butler service. He demands cold water, aspirin, and ice, among other items. When he returns, his gaze is cool and collected again, his hands in his pockets. His tie and top button at his collar are loose, as if they’d been choking him.

  Is it too much to hope that I had something to do with his restlessness?

  “So this family of yours,” he says. “It sounds like you’re close.”

  I’d written that on my Highest Bidder application, so of course he knows. “You’re making small talk?” I pat the mattress again.

  “I told you—I’m only here to see you’re in the right bed, Goldilocks.”

  Okay, okay. But I don’t dare ask what’ll happen tomorrow since we’re scheduled to have an entire week together. He was supposed to keep me here in this high-class hotel so he would have direct and unfettered access to me. Now I’m the only direct one in the room, the only one trying to get any access.

  He moves toward the walk-in closet where I’d found peignoirs and beautiful clothes in my size when I’d arrived. After he enters it, the light goes on. “You also said that your family is old school, so I guess they’d highly disapprove of not only me but of what you’re doing here.”

  “They would absolutely flip if they knew. They would freak out if they found out I was on E-Harmony for heaven’s sake.” I giggle a little. “I told them I got a scholarship for a one-week summer marketing program at NYU. Most of my family never went to college. They went to two-year schools or picked up a trade. They believe in doing your job, having a family, and never questioning the rules.” I sigh. “If I had my choice, I would’ve majored in something like fashion, but that was too self-indulgent and impractical.”

  His quiet voice gives me goose bumps. “That caught my eye about your profile, Allyson: both your sharp mind and your creativity. And when I saw you in the bar wearing that pretty dress…”

  His words fade, and the sound of hangers moving around takes the place of whatever he was about to tell me. What about my dress? What did he think of me in it—and what would he think of me out of it?

  Then suddenly, it feels as if the room is a ship and the floor is a deck that’s starting to rock, and I brace my hands on the bed.

  I feel ill, and my belly heaves disconcertingly.

  Thankfully, the nausea passes, leaving a slight topsy-turvy sensation in my stomach.

  I hear Connor come into the room, and I see him holding a thick hotel robe.

  At another slam of nausea, I look at the floor again. Queasiness has me in its grip, but I vow that I’m not going to get sick in front of Connor Kenyon. I’m not going to—

  I get up and stumble away from the bed, rushing toward the bathroom. I go right for the toilet, hugging it close as I lose my cocktails.

  As I retch, my eyes tear up, burning, and it isn’t until I slump back to my heels, still clinging to the toilet, that I realize my hair is being held away from my face.

  Connor is kneeling next to me, using both hands to gather my hair. I peek over at him while hunched over, and he is less amused than ever. In fact, the phrase aggressively aloof comes to mind.

  But for some reason, he’s still here.

  “You can go,” I croak, wishing to high heaven that he would.

  “I don’t know what you read about me online, but I’m not that much of a goddamned jerk.”

  “Not a jerk,” I mumble. “They just say you’re a…”

  Before the words male slut can escape me, I puke again, and when I’m done with that round, I just want to sink into the flo
or and die. Even though most of the booze is out of me, I’m still drunk. I’m humiliated and a total mess. Lord knows what kind of horrific, streaky damage my mascara has done to my face by now.

  But still he stays.

  The only time Connor leaves my side is to deal with the butler, and by then, I’ve pretty much spent myself. I manage to crawl to the bathtub, turn it on, and clean myself up the best I can. I also rinse out my mouth before resting on the floor.

  Well that was impressive. I’ll bet Connor is really lusting after me now. But with the alcohol purged for the most part, I feel a little better—at least decent enough to notice that he’s left the hotel robe on the counter.

  I yank it down to me, shrugging into the robe. After I catch my breath—and make sure that I don’t have to throw up again—I breathe deeply and stumble to the bedroom.

  Connor is there, setting a bottle of water, an ice pack, aspirin, and crackers on a nightstand. When he sees me, his gaze lingers on my face. Once again, his expression reveals nothing.

  I touch my cheek. Did I get all the mascara off? Or is he thinking that, without makeup, I’m far plainer than any of the women he’s ever dated or won on the website?

  He stuffs his hands into his pockets, his shoulders tensing. “Feel better?”

  “A little.” I pause. “I’m really sorry about this.”

  He doesn’t say anything, and I want to apologize some more for making such a fool out of myself, but the bed is calling to me. He’s turned back the covers, and the gesture strikes me as being thoughtful, almost sweet.

  He gets the water and aspirin from the nightstand, then has me take a pill. Lastly, he reaches down and holds back the sheets, not looking at me as I climb in. Then he covers me as I shiver.

  “I’ll turn down the A/C,” he says.

  “It’s not the air,” I say. I’m not even sure it’s because I got sick. I’m shivering because he’s right here, so close yet so far.

  As I turn on my side away from him, I expect to hear him leave. But he doesn’t. I can feel him still there, a magnetic presence.

  I don’t ask him why he chose me out of the other girls who were available on the website. Why a virgin? Why this virgin?

  I only stare out the window at the night skyline as I hear him leave the room. And when the sound of the TV murmurs from outside, I finally close my eyes, wondering most of all why Connor hasn’t already left me like the disappointment I surely am to him.

  Chapter 3

  I wake up to the sound of my generic ringtone, and as I grope the table next to my bed for my phone, I squint at the light of the sun shining through the window.

  For a second, I wonder where the heck I am and why my skull feels as if it’s being pried apart by a crowbar. Then I remember.

  Fancy hotel.

  Martinis.

  Barfing.

  Humiliation hits me full force as I recall the fool I made of myself.

  Connor Kenyon’s gorgeous blue eyes flash across those vague memories and I groan, fumble with my phone, and get a grip on it. My head is fuzzy, and I can’t recall everything perfectly—it’s more of a haze. I just know that I drank way too much at the bar and ended up here, alone in the hotel room that was supposed to be my sexual Shangri-La.

  Great.

  The number on the phone screen isn’t familiar, but I answer anyway, sitting up in bed, my mouth drier than ever, the beautiful room tilting.

  “Hello?”

  “Ms. Allyson Barnes?” asks a woman’s voice. She has a British accent, posh and smooth.

  “This is she.” I stand from the bed, my head aching even worse. I pull the hotel’s plush robe around myself. Wasn’t Connor watching TV in the other room as I fell asleep? But as I wander out of the bedroom, I see that the suite is now empty.

  “Ms. Barnes,” the woman says. “I’m calling on behalf of Highest Bidder in regards to your contract with Mr. Connor Kenyon.”

  Nausea drags me down, forcing me to put my back against the wall and slide to the floor. The woman continues.

  “As of last night, your agreement with him has been terminated at the bidder’s request.”

  Now it feels as if I’m going to puke again. “But he bought me for a week.”

  “You’ve been freed from any obligation. Mr. Kenyon is a top-tier client with our service, and his cancellation of the contract is due to your non-performance and disruptive behavior. Furthermore, Ms. Barnes, Highest Bidder isn’t willing to work with you again.”

  It’s as if I’ve been smacked across the face. This isn’t even a punch so much as a sting, because all my life, I’ve never let anyone down. I’ve never even gotten into trouble at school, and this woman sounds as disappointed in me as Connor must’ve been—or as I am in myself.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say. “Truly. It’s all a misunderstanding…”

  Even as I say it, I cringe.

  “Ms. Barnes.” Her voice is crisp. “Your contract is now complete.”

  Click.

  Mortification makes my throat clog up and my eyes go blurry. That girl who obviously drank way too much last night wasn’t me. It couldn’t have been. But I’m the one with a hangover, the one who’s on the edge of tears because, more than anything, I let myself down with this big adventure that was supposed to redefine me and bring clarity to my situation with Robbie.

  I had no interest in anything but a purely physical encounter to see if I could figure out what I wanted in life. I wasn’t going to find true love. It was supposed to be so simple, and I blew it. And I made a total ass out of myself in the process.

  I sit there with my head against the wall, swallowing back tears. I think about Connor—at least what I remember of him before my drunken nightmare really started—and my pulse thuds in my chest. Desire trickles from my chest down into my belly, heating me up, but it’s my heart that cries out more than anything as I think about Connor’s deep, soulful, mysterious, and somewhat haunted eyes.

  Even in my hazy recollection, I know without a doubt that there were so many things I saw in his gaze that did something to me that I’ve never felt before, and I screwed up the chance to experience all of it.

  I even messed up the opportunity with the website to have an experience with another bidder, and now I’ll have to go back home with my tail between my legs to a guy who betrayed my trust.

  Disgusted with myself, I keep sitting there, wallowing in all the what-ifs and the I-wishes. I picture an alternate reality where I chose ginger ale instead of martinis and Connor took me up to this room, peeled off my dress, and seduced me with his hands and mouth. In that scenario, he’d still be here, teaching me all about sex and excitement for a full week, and I wouldn’t be a rejected, remorseful heap of rags on the floor.

  I sit there some more, and it gets to the point where my mouth is so dry that I need to get up. I go to the bedroom to drink the water I remember Connor leaving for me. He left aspirin, too, and I down some of that. I eat the tasteless crackers on the nightstand as well while memories ease their way back to me—Connor watching me in the bar with a sexy grin on his mouth. The first time I looked into Connor’s breathtakingly blue eyes…

  I take my shower, running my fingers over my breasts, wishing it were him. I touch myself between the legs, but I end up stopping because, with every passing minute, I get more frustrated with myself. The entire reason for this trip has now been ruined, but what bugs me even more is that Connor Kenyon thinks I’m a boozy idiot, and that’s not me.

  I can’t stand that this is how he’ll remember me.

  I put on a dark pink butterfly print sundress that I made with ruffled tank sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, a dress I made with my own two hands.

  If only I hadn’t been drunk, and I had instead been sophisticated, spoken about my ambitions with design and fashion.

  I feel horrible. I screwed up and now I just wish he was here so I could tell him that.

  But what’s stopping me from apologizing to him? If I showed him h
ow sorry I really am, would he maybe consider putting in a forgiving word for me with Highest Bidder so I can get a second shot at finding myself before I go back home?

  Before I can change my mind, I put on my makeup, dry my hair until it bounces to my shoulders, then get ready to face Connor Kenyon.

  Connor’s corporate headquarters for Kenyon Motors is a thing of modern beauty. The downtown design is as sleek, powerful, and magically futuristic as the high-end, technologically innovative cars he makes.

  The outside of the building dominates the skyline with its sheer size and scope, and the inside is like a contemporary art museum, with a combination of stone gardens, fountains, and abstract sculptures.

  I’m floored by all of it as I wait outside Connor’s office, thinking that his headquarters reflects the man himself. But I also can’t help thinking that there’s also a cryptic side to this building with its tinted windows that look over the city. I’ve seen the same enigmatic coolness from Connor.

  The perfectly groomed receptionist sends me another look from behind her counter, and I smile at her, letting her know that, even though I’ve been waiting for Connor to see me for a half hour now, I’m not going anywhere. She turns away from me in her chair and murmurs something into her wireless headset, then resumes her work.

  I get the feeling Connor doesn’t have time for me, but I’ve got to make this right. Only a coward wouldn’t apologize for the mess they made, and I am not that.

  After another ten minutes, the receptionist stands and makes her way over to the buttery leather sofa I’ve been waiting on.

  “Mr. Kenyon will see you for no more than five minutes.”

  I spring out of my seat and smooth down my dress. “Five minutes would be fantastic. Thank you.”

  She sends me a look that brings back memories of Connor’s irritation with me last night.

  Am I sure I want to do this?

  With a deep, fortifying breath to calm my stomach, I follow Ms. Roboto to a door. She doesn’t even deign to glance at me as she opens it, letting me through.

  I barely hear her close it behind me as I’m swallowed by Connor’s office, which is decorated in all white: white desk, white circular ottoman in the middle, white light fixtures and tile. It’s amazingly plush while being as slick as the rest of the building, but even with the rich fabrics, there’s a starkness to it.