Owning The Virgin (The Virgin Auctions, Book Two)

by Paige North

  “I’ll contact Highest Bidder to tell them our contract is back on,” he says. “Meanwhile, you’ll go to my penthouse apartment.”

  I keep my mouth closed, determined to listen to everything he says, to do what he wants when he wants it with no questions asked. Meanwhile, my pulse is still bopping around, remembering, needing.

  He closes the drawer. “Once you’re there, you’ll wait for me.”

  “You don’t want me to go back to the hotel? We’re not going to be meeting there?”

  Too late, I realize that I’ve just questioned him, and I hold up a hand to acknowledge my error.

  He doesn’t chide me. He just presents me with the key he’s been holding.

  I stare at it for a second as the situation fully sinks in. He’s bringing me back to his home. What does this mean? It’s almost as if our simple sexual arrangement has become something more than all business, but I can’t fool myself into thinking that he’s feeling something more for me than a sensual craving.

  Hesitantly, I take the key from him. My fingertips brush against his warm skin, sending a flurry of tingles through me. I clear my throat, shyly looking up at him. He’s watching me with those frosty eyes again.

  He continues with his instructions. “The building’s concierge will be told to expect your arrival. I’ll also be requesting one of my assistants to gather your things at the hotel, and for a car and driver to pick you up here.”

  “A car?” I grasp the key in my hand and smile. “Is it going to be one from Kenyon Motors?”

  “Yes. It’s a sedan, the first of its kind.” He wears a different kind of expression now, and I think there’s some pride there, as well as the arrogance of a determined, brilliant captain of industry. “You can tell me what you think about it after I finish my responsibilities for the day and return home.”

  Connor Kenyon actually wants to know what I think. How about that?

  His hands are back in his pockets. It’s almost as if this is his battle stance—casually deceptive, catching anyone and everyone off guard until it’s too late to fight back.

  As he keeps watching me, his eyes take on a faraway glaze, as if he’s remembering the taste of me. My body reacts, recalling just as keenly how he stroked my skin and told me how soft it is, how he brought my breast to a sensitized peak, how he lustfully kissed me in the most private place imaginable…

  I sigh before I realize I’m doing it, then get embarrassed all over again.

  Something else flashes through Connor’s gaze—that deep well of color that has me so confused. Then it’s gone. “Until I get home, you’ll have the run of my penthouse. Eat and drink whatever’s available. Use the master bath. Watch movies. Whatever you wish.”

  Whatever I wish? I’m not sure what that means exactly, but I’m sure I’ll find out when I get to Connor’s home.

  He sits in his chair and turns to his computer. I guess that means I’ve been dismissed, so I don’t ask questions. I only slip off the desk, bending down to fetch my panties off the floor.

  “Leave them,” he says.

  As I glance back at him, he doesn’t look at me, and the glow of his computer screen lights his face, giving his eyes a devilish gleam.

  I’m pretty sure he means for me to bask in the naughty sensation of wearing no panties as I ride home in his car. I’m also pretty sure it’s some kind of foreplay for what he has in mind for me when he gets home.

  Whatever he wants, I think while my blood purrs through me. And no questions asked.

  Cinderella has nothing on me.

  My coach is an extravagant Kenyon Sedan, an electric car that silently stalks the Manhattan streets. I watch the world go by through the tinted windows with the sound system playing “Rhapsody in Blue.”

  My palace is the penthouse in a premier Park Avenue tower on Billionaire Row that was designed by a famous architect to have a panoramic view of the city. A private elevator whisks me to the top, and after the concierge sees that I have everything I need, I run around by myself, checking out the six bedrooms, seven bathrooms, and every other kind of room you can name, including a wine cellar, a home office, a roof deck with a greenhouse, and a gallery with modern artwork. Everything in this place, which has to be worth millions and millions, is as sleek as Connor’s business office. Everywhere I look, I try to find more hints about who this man is. Still, I can’t seem to solve the mystery of him.

  But there’s another puzzle that’s niggling at me, and it has a lot to do with myself. I’m attracted to Connor, but there’s something more about him that holds me in his thrall. Like his home, there’s something beneath the polished surface, something complex that’s drawing me in deeper.

  But I have a whole week to get to the bottom of him, even if I’m not allowed to ask questions.

  The first thing I do is resist the temptation to try and unlock drawers to spy on him. Instead, I go through all the gorgeous clothes he’s clearly bought for me and stored in a walk-in closet in a shiny bedroom. Then I take advantage of the gold-edged standalone bathtub with the whirlpool jets. One jasmine-scented bath later, I lavish myself in the creamy lotions he’s provided, then put on something I think Connor might like—a sheer, misty pink designer baby-doll dress that hints at what’s beneath it rather than revealing the lacy bra and panties I’ve found in my dresser. All the clothing he’s chosen for me has a girl-next-door quality that makes me wonder if he has a certain fetish.

  I look at my phone to see if Connor has texted or called yet, but he hasn’t. There’re only messages from my family, checking in to see how my “one-week marketing class” is going and telling me how Robbie has been over for dinner and how much they’re hoping we’re still on track to get married someday.

  I crumble a little at that last part—family pressure and my own self-doubts are big reasons I’m taking some time to evaluate whether I could ever want Robbie back, somehow forgive and go back to a simpler time—but I merely tell them that my class is very…educational.

  There’re also texts from my former best friend Ella, who came to me in tears right after she’d slept with Robbie to admit that she’d made a big mistake that one drunken night. She’s still hoping I’ll forgive her.

  Since she’d confessed to me immediately, I’ve been gradually letting her back in, but not all the way. It’ll take time for that. But as far as Robbie goes…

  He was the one who tried to hide his betrayal. He’d begged Ella to stay quiet, and it was only after I wore him down that he finally stopped denying everything and admitted the truth. Ever since then, he’s been pleading with me to forgive him while lobbying my friends and family to help him win me back.

  He knows I’m currently repulsed both by him and the fact that he cheated on me so easily. However, he doesn’t seem to understand how big a betrayal this was, even though it was Robbie that always demanded we stay virgins, Robbie who seemed so dead-set on wholesomeness and perfection and higher morals for both of us. I waited for him, and that was how he paid me back.

  By cheating with my closest friend and then trying to keep it hidden.

  He also doesn’t get that I’ve started to realize that I’ve probably never been in love with him at all. The hard truth is, that if my family and his weren’t so close and everyone wasn’t counting on this union, I would’ve probably dumped Robbie and never looked back.

  But I don’t want to think about my stupid ex and all of the family pressures. I want Connor to come home.

  So I wait. And I wait.

  I check the time, hoping that he usually knocks off work at about 5:00.

  He doesn’t.

  I don’t have his phone number, and I wouldn’t bug him even if I did, so I decide to have a light snack of shrimp cocktail since I don’t know what kind of plans Connor has for dinner, then settle in to watch a movie.

  I’m halfway through when my phone dings. I lunge at it and check the text, only to find the last thing I want to see.

  Robbie wants to talk.


  I ignore the message, returning to the movie. Then another text comes through.

  Ally, I know you’re pissed. I miss you. Let me come to the city so we can hash this out. You can go to your class during the day and I’ll take you to the best dinners every night to make it up to you.

  I put aside my phone and enjoy the movie some more until I hear another ding. When I check to see if it’s Connor telling me that he’s running late but is finally on his way here, I’m disappointed once again.

  Robbie’s on a roll.

  Don’t be this way, Ally. I screwed up and I know it. I’ll never do it again. But you can’t just keep ignoring me like this. We have history. And we have a future. Please, Ally.

  I groan in frustration. Robbie has always been relentless, if nothing else.

  The combination of Robbie’s campaign to break me down and my eagerness for Connor to just get here already makes it impossible for me to concentrate on the movie, so I navigate off of my phone’s text screen and access a search engine, typing in the words Connor Kenyon.

  If he can’t be here in person, then I’ll get some of him this way. That should tide me over until he finally arrives.

  As I surf around online, finding pictures of him at movie premieres and charity functions dressed in tuxedos and those designer suits he favors, I sigh at his dark gold hair, his bluest of blue eyes, his enigmatic yet cocky grin as he escorts all those beautiful socialites around town. I ease a hand over one of my breasts, running my thumb over my nipple, picturing him here with me. I’m getting turned on, so I lay down on the sofa, my breath quickening until…

  I land on a livestream of a red-carpet charity event in the city.

  I blink as I realize that Connor is actually at this event right now. Live. Without me.

  Flashbulbs are going off, lighting up all the stunning men and women in designer tuxes and gowns parading past the paparazzi. Then I see Connor with a standoffish look on his face as he’s being interviewed, and my heart flutters. I recognize that look so well.

  Then I realize he’s not alone.

  A ravishing supermodel is by his side, clutching his arm as if she owns him and smiling at the cameras for all the world to see.

  Chapter 6

  Even a few hours later, the truth is still settling into me. My heart is cracking in half.

  Connor isn’t late because he’s putting in long hours at work. He’s on a date with one of them—a statuesque, fancy top model goddess who earns oodles of money based on her looks alone.

  Even though I wasn’t hired to go out in public with him, I can’t help thinking that I wasn’t good enough to be his date tonight. I’m not anything near Connor’s league, and she is.

  My jealousy forces me to look up everything about her: all her shoots in exotic places I haven’t traveled, all the hot and famous men she’s been with—which obviously includes the guy who’s supposed to be in this penthouse showering his attentions on me. It looks like this is the first time they’ve gone out, but as I dwell on the throngs of women he’s rumored to have screwed, all of them start to blend together into an exclusive club that I’ll never belong to.

  And they’re all prettier, richer, and cooler than I’ll ever be.

  As my phone finally dies, I sit in the penthouse’s darkness, the blue glow of the screensaver on the huge TV the only light in the living room. Then I realize something: Am I Connor’s dirty little secret? Is that why I’m here at his home, hidden from the public, while that model is on his arm?

  It feels as if I have a big L for Loser branded into my forehead. What else could I possibly be after getting so drunk in front of Connor last night? And look at me now, slumped on the couch and staring at a TV that’s not playing anything.

  Such a loser.

  At least at my home I was with people who didn’t make me feel this way. My friends were always loving, and so was my family. I’m suddenly homesick for everyone in Buffalo except for Robbie, even though maybe he’s the kind of safe choice I should return to, just like my family keeps telling me.

  I’m still slumped on the sofa when I hear a chime that tells me someone has accessed the private penthouse elevator.

  I don’t move, even when I feel him enter the living room. I might as well be one of the expensive works of art on the walls as I hear him toss something that sounds like clothing on a chair. I open my eyes, and in my peripheral vision, I see his tall, wide shadow blocking the entry as he undoes his tie. His tux jacket is hanging over a modern chrome and leather chair. He must think I’m sleeping as I sit here in front of the TV, because he slowly walks toward me like he owns much more than this penthouse.

  He comes to the sofa and looks down at me, and my cells scramble, magnetized and drawn by his very presence. My nearly see-through baby doll skirt rides up my thighs, and I angrily tug it back down.

  With a quiet, amused laugh, he pulls off his tie and unbuttons the top of his collar. “When I suggested you watch movies, I figured you could find something more interesting than a blue screen.”

  I try not to look at the golden boy with his ruffled dark blond hair, his demigod physique, his casually undone tuxedo. I merely shrug at his comment and watch the screen.

  He tosses his tie on the sofa where I’ve pulled my bare feet close to my hip. When I don’t react, he keeps looking at me with that distant gaze. Then he speaks.

  “I had an event I needed to attend, so I’ve already eaten. Did you have dinner?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He pauses, then loosely puts his hands in his pockets. “Clearly.”

  As he eases down to the sofa, he languidly moves my feet onto his lap. Anger crackles in my veins along with the need I’ve been suppressing all night. There’s a lot of remaining jealousy mixed in with all of it.

  Even so, when he traces his fingertips over my calf, electricity streaks up my leg, and my sex tightens. I flinch away from him.

  He merely leans back, resting his arm on top of the sofa. I hate him for being so unemotional when my temper is flaring, so I lash out.

  “The least you could’ve done was warn me about how long I’d be waiting around for you. Maybe you could’ve taken five seconds to send a text?”

  “Is that why you’re sulking?” He raises an eyebrow. “I think I like you like this.”

  “And how is that?”

  “Responsive.” He reaches down to draw my feet back onto his lap. “Fierce.”

  I start to pull away again, but he encircles one of my ankles with his fingers, and I suck in a breath.

  “I think you like being that way,” he says.

  Now his voice is the low, seductive growl that I heard in his office before he worked me crazy with his mouth and tongue. My lungs press together, cutting off more air, especially as he drags his other hand up my leg. He stops at the hem of my skirt, rubbing the gauze between his fingers.

  “You know exactly what I wanted you to be wearing when I got home,” he murmurs. “Seeing you in this dress already gets me hard.”

  His blunt admission rocks me like a wave of heat. “Oh. Ummm…thanks,” I say lamely.

  “Looks like you found the right closet, Goldilocks,” he says.

  “Good for me.” I pull my feet all the way from him and plant them on the floor, sitting up and crossing my arms over my chest as if that’ll keep him from seeing through the light pink material of the dress to get a glimpse of my underwear.

  “Is there an issue?” he says drily.

  “I don’t know. I’m starting to wonder how many women have worn this outfit besides me. Who knows how many women come through this house on a constant basis.”

  “Allyson,” he says, a warning in his tone.

  In spite of my fit, I find myself looking over at him. It seems as if he doesn’t have a care in the world as he sits there like the coolest customer imaginable. But why should he worry when he rules everything?

  I’m too hurt to give into his charms, and I strike again. “Don’t ‘Allyson’ me. I k
now where you were, and it was with a supermodel, someone you weren’t ashamed to be seen with.”

  If he’s surprised, the only thing that gives it away is a flicker in his gaze. “You’re angry.”

  “What gives you that idea?”

  “Don’t play games.” He begins to undo his fancy cufflinks, never breaking gazes with me. “Were you online, biding your time until I got home, researching my whereabouts?”

  “I happened to stumble over the information.”

  “Jesus, I was at a charity event with a date.” He discards the silver links on a nearby table and starts to roll his sleeves up his muscled forearms. “It sounds to me as if you don’t remember our deal. You wait for me until I’m ready, then I take what I want, when I want it. That’s what you agreed to back at the office, even before I got your pussy so wet that you were crying for more.”

  My pulse is spinning, sending sparks to my clit. He’s got me out of sorts, out of control, and I’ve never been that way before. His power over me scares me, and I stand from the sofa.

  “Allyson.” Now there’s a command in his deep tone.

  As if chained, I don’t go anywhere. I only close my eyes before opening them again. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

  “You did it in the office.”

  “That was…” Damn him. “Different. I’m talking about…” I gesture around the lavish room. “I’ve never been in this kind of setting. I feel like I’m not good enough, especially when I look at the kind of woman you’re usually with. The kind you were with tonight instead of me.” I calm myself down, then add, “I don’t like feeling this uncertain and confused. It’s not me.”

  “And I don’t do relationships that require me to give a damn. That’s why we have a contract.”

  I freeze him out with silence. The TV’s screensaver stares back at the two of us as our impasse chills the room.

  Then his words finally sink in. He doesn’t get close to anyone? I understand why he wouldn’t do that with his website girls, but what about those higher-profile women he dates in public? Doesn’t he ever get close to them, either?