Owning The Virgin (The Virgin Auctions, Book Two)

by Paige North

  I fidget with my juice glass until he finally speaks.

  “I don’t usually linger with the Highest Bidder women in the mornings at home, or anywhere else for that matter. I put them up in a hotel.” His gaze is fixed on his plate as he cuts into the toast. “And the suites I book don’t normally have kitchens.”

  He’s confirming what I suspected—that I somehow graduated from being a hotel bunny to a pet who languishes in his penthouse. I’m still not sure why I’ve been given such an opportunity, and I open my mouth to ask, but he’s already speaking again.

  “I use Highest Bidder because it allows me to be with women on my own terms.”

  “Imagine that.”

  His mouth tightens a little. “It’s the closest thing I have to a pressure valve. No one sticks their noses in my business, and normally I can come and go with them as I please.”

  “Normally?” I send him an innocent look, acknowledging that he’s talking about this one little itty bitty time I’m holding his feet to the fire with the public date thing.

  “Yes, normally.” He eats the toast while watching me.

  I tilt my head. “I can’t imagine a life where shareholders and my family check in with my dating habits, the way you told me yours do.”

  He finishes off what he’s eating. “I explained to you why that is.”

  “Because you have an image to project for your family, etcetera. And using the Highest Bidder service allows you to have a good time without expectations or obligations. Don’t you ever think that’s kind of cold, Connor?”

  He sets down his silverware. “Is it any colder than staying with a guy you dated since high school just because your family wants you to?”

  I widen my eyes. He’s right. I even used the same service Connor did to find someone who’d be low-pressure and expect no strings to be attached while I recover from Robbie.

  Connor nudges his plate away, even though there’s still a lot of food on it. I haven’t touched mine yet.

  “Never mind,” he says. “You’re different. You’re young and idealistic, and you’ll eventually find someone better than that asshole you used to date.”

  “You’re also young, and—”

  “Shit, don’t give me the ‘you’ll find true love, too’ line. It’s not out there. I only said you’d find someone better than Reggie or Robbie or whatever the hell his name is.”

  He doesn’t believe in love?

  Wow. I might’ve gotten slammed by Robbie, but I still believe in the possibilities. But Connor?

  I think he means it about there being no true love.

  I must be looking at him with something like sorrow in my gaze, because he shakes his head.

  “Don’t,” he says, but he’s not angry. Not exactly. He’s just on guard, and I’d better learn when to stop pushing him.

  I like this new easy way between us too much to ruin it. At least for the time being.

  I lighten my voice. “I was only going to say that, in any case, I’m happy you invited me here to your home. And I like that you made me breakfast.”

  “If you’re so happy about it, then start eating it, Allyson.”

  With a smile, I dig into the food. The French toast melts in my mouth with the Nutella, and I close my eyes then open them to find Connor leaning back in his seat, his gaze on my mouth. I tentatively suck the Nutella from my bottom lip, and he abruptly stands from the table, taking his coffee with him. I’m pretty sure he’s rethinking the conversation we’ve just had; now I’ve seen a part of him that doesn’t come out often, if at all. And even if his demons have just jumped out of their hiding places to take him over again, a sense of victory dances through me.

  It’s as if I have a little bit of a hold on him, the same way he does on me.

  As I watch Connor toss his coffee into the sink, I picture what could be if we could just both let go of our pasts, our preconceived ideas, and actually give in to our feelings.

  He moves toward the kitchen’s exit. “You can eat later.”

  Does he want another round of sex before he leaves? I’m game.

  But after he walks ahead of me through the hall and into a room near his bedroom that I know is a huge walk-in closet, I get the feeling that he’s put me at a distance again, his walls back up as he regains control of the situation.

  I follow him, and when I enter the closet it’s as if I’ve wandered into a forest of elegant, monotone designer suits. He’s in front of a tie rack, and every single muted color is solid. No patterns, no silly joke ties, only the starkness I noticed yesterday in his modern office.

  Standing nearby, he puts his hands in his pockets, armed and ready. “What’s your choice for me today, Goldilocks?”

  Yup, once again I’m the clueless girl who wandered into the woods and had to choose between something that was too-this or too-that and finally settled on just right.

  I look over his selection, and after I find the most colorful tie—maroon silk—I fetch it from the rack and hold it out to him.

  “Do you know how to do a four-in-hand knot?” he asks.

  “Robbie used to come to either me or his mom for that.”

  Is it bad that I mentioned Robbie? Because Connor is tenser than ever.

  Not daring to ask him why he suddenly got that way, I move close to him, then stand on my tiptoes to slip the tie around his neck. He watches me as I fold and wind the length of silk. It almost feels as if I’m putting the finishing touch on this man’s armor before he goes out there to face the public.

  “Tonight, after work,” he says, “we’ll go out, just like you want to. A gown will be delivered, along with accessories.”

  I feel a surge of adrenaline coupled with terror wash over me.

  “Do you want me to help you shop?” I figure since I demanded my way into being his date for the week, it’s the least I can do.

  As I ease the tie into a perfect knot, Connor looks at my mouth again, as if he’s obsessing about the pleasures it brought him this morning. Heat washes over me in a naughty flood.

  “I’ve got shopping covered,” he says.

  Then he leaves.

  I stand in the closet until the penthouse hums with silence, because now that I’ve gotten what I wished for by persuading Connor to take me out in public tonight, reality is setting in.

  And so is panic as I wonder if a sweet little Goldilocks can match up to all his supermodels and goddesses.

  Chapter 12

  It’s as if I’m a butterfly that’s been set loose from its cocoon as evening approaches. Or maybe I should just say that a bunch of winged creatures have been let loose in the very center of me, spreading fear and excitement, because I’m feeling flutters there.

  I press one of my hands against my belly as I rifle through the cosmetics organizer on my lit-up vanity table. How much makeup is too much for a night on the town with Connor? Will there be cameras to take pictures of us?

  A quiver of delight consumes me—it’s part of the fear that never quite leaves me, part of the constant excitement I’ve discovered here. Then I shake it off and try on some bold red lipstick.

  I survey myself in the vanity mirror from different angles and…ugh. I look like a girl playing dress up. No, wait. I think I’ve actually become what Connor calls me—Goldilocks, the naïf who wandered into someone’s house to poke in drawers and closets, trying on things from a life that isn’t really hers. And the more I look at myself, the more I wonder if I should even go out with Connor in public tonight.

  Maybe I should stay in with him after all.

  As I wipe off the lipstick with a tissue, my phone rings from next to me on the surface of the table. I jump, my heart soaring.

  Is it Connor? Just the thought of talking to him calms me down about our date a little bit. But then I realize the ringtone belongs to my mom. I haven’t even assigned a tone to Connor yet from this morning when he gave me his number.

  As I let the call go to voicemail, guilt plagues me, because Mom, Dad, and
even my aunt Dee have been texting me for the past couple of hours. How is school? they’re asking. Robbie says you haven’t answered his texts or calls. Are you avoiding him?

  I have a sneaking suspicion that Robbie just made one of his pop-in trips to bring fresh donuts to my parents and my retired teacher aunt who had Robbie in some of her middle school classes and now lives with my parents. I can imagine him buttering them up and telling them how much he’s missed me.

  Part of me is bitterly disappointed that my family doesn’t fully understand what I’m going through, but they’ve known Robbie and his parents for over two decades, and they’ve always accepted him as they would a beloved son.

  My mom and his mom were pregnant together, and as an extended clan, we went through years of birthday parties, first days of school, Thanksgivings, and Christmases. When Robbie asked me to our first dance freshman year of high school, they were ecstatic because all of their parental dreams had come true.

  When I broke it off with Robbie, everyone actually blamed Ella more than him, and they think he has earned a second chance after all the time we spent together. They think that, yes, he screwed up, but he truly loves me.

  Again, I doubt myself. Maybe all I do need is time and perspective, and then I’ll see what they still see in Robbie. They’re my family, after all, my own flesh and blood, and they’ve always done what’s best for me.

  And maybe I really went off the deep end after Robbie’s betrayal and I need to be mature enough to at least talk to my family when they call me.

  With a resigned sigh, I pick up my phone and dial up Mom’s number. My stomach is in knots, because if they only knew what I’ve really been doing here in New York…

  I indulge myself with a smile. What I’ve really been doing here is having the most mind- blowing sex imaginable, and I can’t wait for more tonight.

  Mom answers. “Ally?”

  My dad pipes up. “Hello, stranger!”

  Even my aunt is on speakerphone. “Long time no hear!”

  “It’s been just a couple days,” I say. “Sorry I haven’t called earlier. You wouldn’t believe how they’re putting our noses to the grindstone in this class.”

  God, it sucks to lie like this.

  Yes, I’ve been working very hard on polishing my new academic and business skills. Emphasis on the polishing.

  Mom pauses in a way that definitely screams I know there’s something else going on! then says, “I’m glad you’re getting a lot out of this opportunity.”

  “We can’t wait until you’re back,” Dad says. “Everyone misses your smiling face at the dinner table.”

  I sit back in the vanity chair and stare into the mirror. They’re going to mention my wayward ex in 3…2…1…

  “So,” Mom says. “You must be extremely busy if you don’t even have the time to check in with Robbie.”

  Ding ding ding.

  Aunt Dee adds, “Honey, we know you’re angry with him but—”

  Mom interrupts. “He had one weak moment, Ally. He’s only human.”

  I get out of my chair, feeling heat rush to my face. “Please stop making excuses for him.”

  “These are facts, not excuses,” Mom says. “He’s not a big drinker, and Ella is a little more experienced in that area. You know how she’s become wilder since she went off to school. She got Robbie drunk while she was here during summer break, and I think we both know why.”

  Aunt Dee adds, “She’s always had her eye on him, even when they were in eighth grade.”

  I’m stunned into silence. Are they obnoxiously parroting the justifications Robbie has told them? Has he persuaded them that he was a victim or something?

  “Robbie’s no angel,” I say. “Maybe Ella isn’t either, but at least she told me right away. Robbie would’ve hid the truth from me forever if I hadn’t found out.”

  “Ally—”

  “Mom, we’ve been over this before, and it’s no use rehashing things.”

  “I just think you owe him another chance,” she says. “We all think so. I was talking to Rhonda and Joe, and they would do anything to get you back into the family fold. Think about them, too. They love you.”

  Rhonda and Joe—Robbie’s parents. Sometimes I think my heart broke mostly because of how much I love them.

  But it’s obvious that Mom called Robbie’s mother and father so they could all strategize about how to best reel me back in.

  “What your mom says is true,” Aunt Dee says. “I swear, you’ll regret this in the future. Give your hurt feelings a little time to heal, and then you can listen to what Robbie has to say. You can’t let him slip through your fingers like this.”

  “She needs to show Robbie and his family now that there’s a chance,” Mom says. “Don’t you, Ally?”

  I don’t even know what to say anymore.

  As I stew, I notice that my dad is curiously silent. He’s done his share of Robbie cheerleading over the years, but is he the only one who’s on my side now after my ex did such a crummy thing to me? Or am I the only one here who thinks cheating is terrible?

  “Dad?” I ask.

  I can almost feel my mom glaring at him to answer.

  He sighs. “Listening to Robbie would be a good idea.”

  I guess I have my answer.

  I’m crossing my arms over my chest so hard that I realize I’ve been digging my nails into my skin. I rub the patch where I’ve left angry half-moon marks.

  Mom gets in just a little more persuasion. “We don’t want you to destroy something that can be repaired, that’s all. He loves you so much, and you’re being too hard on him.”

  Dad speaks up. “Everyone makes mistakes and deserves forgiveness.”

  His words sound ominous, almost making me think there’s more to this than it first seems. But I don’t want to know if my dad is speaking from experience, if he’s hurt Mom in some way in the past and he’s repenting and selling the idea of forgiveness now by taking up Robbie’s back.

  I don’t know—maybe my imagination is working overtime. But why else would Dad be doing this?

  My stomach is churning, my temper flickering, and words spill out before I can stop them.

  “Maybe I’ll find someone who’ll treat me much better. If it came down to choosing between a man who would never cheat on me or Robbie, who would you want me to be with?”

  They all pause, and I wonder if I’m talking about Connor. Wishful thinking. I’m only building him up because I have a wicked crush on him that’ll soon be only a memory…

  My mom sighs. “Ally, you’re never going to find anyone who fits with you…with all of us…as well as Robbie.”

  There’re murmurs of agreement from Dad and my aunt, but I’ve already had enough. I give them a non-committal answer, tell them I love them, and hang up. Then I put down my phone and look at the girl in the mirror again—the one with the haunted brown eyes that make her seem so alone in this world.

  And she is…but she won’t be tonight.

  A new resolve builds me up. Dammit, I’m going to go out in public with Connor.

  A shudder of fear dances over my spine, because what if I do get caught? But there’s a delicious sense of excitement there, too.

  I think I’m getting a little reckless, and I like it.

  As I keep looking in the mirror, I run my palms down my shift, the material shiny and smooth and decadent. My nipples bead against the silk. I think it’s time to spread my wings and stop being so afraid of living life at one-hundred percent. And I have to wonder if it’s Connor who’s brought this side of me out to play.

  Or is this just me, finally becoming a full-fledged, wonderfully educated adult?

  I keep asking myself that question throughout the rest of the day and into the evening until I hear the chime of the private elevator that signals Connor is home.

  With those butterflies swarming against the lining of my belly, I take a deep breath as I go to meet him at the door.

  When I open it, he’s not
alone.

  Chapter 13

  When Connor sees me, his gaze sears me. It’s the dress—the silky shift that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. He’s clearly imagining what’s under it.

  I don’t have the luxury of stripping for him right then and there because I see a petite, fortyish woman behind him in a dark pink suit that looks like it came from the Kennedy era. I cross my arms over my chest, hiding my clearly aroused nipples.

  She doesn’t give me more than a first look as Connor steps aside so she can bustle in, pulling a wheeled rack with a garment bag hanging from it. There are boxes piled on the bottom.

  “Frannie Bradford,” she says in passing. “Now let’s get moving!”

  Some greeting. I glance at Connor.

  “Frannie’s been my personal image consultant for years, so she can be a little familiar.”

  She disappears into the doorway of my room, and I ask, “Is she delivering the dress you mentioned?”

  “And doing your makeup and hair.”

  From Goldilocks to Cinderella once again. I smile at Connor in appreciation, then let my hands fall to my sides, revealing my breasts puckering against the silk. His eyes focus on my stimulated nipples, then skim lower until my pussy pounds out its own hello.

  “Are you sure you want to go out?” he murmurs.

  Clearly there’s nothing he’d rather do than stay inside.

  Yet I don’t think it’s only because he wants to have sex with me. He still seems reluctant to put me in the spotlight, but I’m going to make him proud. I can be just as good as any of his women.

  I swallow, still wondering if I really can match up to the kind of dates everyone thinks he belongs with.

  “Yes, Connor,” I say. “I’m positive that I want to go out with you.”

  “You have no idea what’s in store.”

  “But I do because you already told me.” I start to list off what I know. “No matter where you go, there’re cameras, and you don’t go anywhere except high-profile places because it’s good publicity for your business. If you were caught taking one of your women someplace that isn’t swanky, that would tarnish your product.” I shrug and make air quotes with my fingers. “‘People who buy from Kenyon Motors in particular don’t slum.’”