by Paige North
From there, the conversation grows even more stilted as the attendant moves on to another course: a chilled gazpacho soup with shrimp. Then she brings out seared scallops with caviar and fancy green bean and potato side dishes, then dessert.
By the time the caramel pear terrine is served, I’m practically wilting in my chair. I feel like this meal is more of an interview, because Travis has already asked me about the architecture degree I wanted so badly to get at college, my casual interests, my mom and fifteen-year-old brother. Then we get to Gary. I don’t mean to shut Travis down at that point, but I can’t help but clam up while the classical music playing on the digital TV channel takes over.
I’ve been picking at my food—my stomach is too upset for me to eat much more—but surely dinner is only a warm up. The best is yet to come, so to speak. I’ve read enough books and articles and watched enough TV on low volume in my room to know what happens between two people on a date for which I’ve sold my virginity.
Sure, Travis is discriminating and as cool as a chilled martini, but I’m ready and willing for him. I’m sick of waiting on pins and needles.
I want to know that he’s bringing me back to Manhattan and away from my shitty old life. It’s my only chance.
I stretch my arms over my head and once again try to sell my sensual side. “That was delicious.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed what you ate of it.”
So he noticed that I was eating hardly anything. I didn’t even drink much, which is strange, based on how much I needed something to relax.
“I…” Do I dare throw out another innuendo? “I’m ready to enjoy a lot of things. New things.”
His gaze drills into me, and I nearly shrink into my seat. I go liquid everywhere: in my bones, in my belly, between my thighs.
I throb for him. I’m ready for my buttons to be pushed.
Travis rises from his seat and allows his napkin to fall from his fingers to the table. I assume this can only mean one thing.
We’re about to move to the next phase of things. My heartbeat quickens.
But his expression is not so welcoming, nor are his words. “This isn’t going to work out, Nova.”
Chapter 2
Shock bolts through me as his words saturate my thick head.
Did he just say this isn’t going to work out?
I sit there and gape like a fool. “It’s not?”
He casually checks the fancy watch on his wrist then pulls his starched cuff back over it. He’s detached, the cool of his eyes already a million miles away. “No, I’m afraid it won’t.”
My mouth runs before I can stop it. “But you already bid on me. The agreement was made. I left home and came out here to get on this jet so I could spend the next two weeks with you.”
Travis must see the rejected confusion in my eyes, because his own gaze changes—it isn’t as hard anymore. But the next instant that changes, too, and he’s back to business. I’m not even sure he had a second thought about how I feel.
“There’s fine print in the contract we both agreed to, Nova. It states that either one of us can cancel within the first hour of meeting. All I have to do is pay a fee to get out of this arrangement.”
My surprise is starting to wear off. The site already takes a cut of the fee I was supposed to get—now it sounds like I’ll be paid even less. There goes the money I’d been counting on.
I wonder if Travis Star gets off on firing the rejects. I can’t believe I didn’t make it past the interview.
He looks me over again—my legs, the red dress that hugs my curves so that nothing is left to the imagination. Then his attention falls on the exit. He goes to the doorway and opens it, letting dusk spill in. He reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a clip that contains a bunch of what looks to be one hundred dollar bills. After leafing off a few of them, he extends the money toward me.
“For your inconvenience,” he says.
At first I don’t move. Truthfully, a part of me is relieved that I won’t have to lose my virginity to a man who clearly doesn’t give a crap about me.
Yes, he’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, and even after he rejected me my skin feels fevered around him, but maybe I can just go back to my old life now. What if no one even realized that I’d left? I’ll be a few hundred dollars richer and…
My hopes drop. Leaving here means I’ll have to go back home, to Gary, and that makes it the last place I want to be.
Gathering what I have left of my pride, I stand, tugging down my skirt. By now it’s a habit. Pushing down my sense of failure, I walk to Travis to accept his money, and as I do, my fingers accidentally brush his. A violent tingle rushes up my arm, zinging straight to my clit, and I bite my lip to chase the bittersweet ache away.
Then I get myself together and say through my teeth, “Thank you for dinner, Mr. Star.”
As I leave, I don’t look back, but as I look forward to the tarmac, to the flat Midwestern landscape ahead of me, my heart sinks to my stomach.
I really don’t want to go back home.
Frustration takes the place of the hollowness in my chest: anger at Gary and even at myself for making a mess of what could’ve been my family’s salvation tonight. There’s also a sense of irritation at Travis. What was it about me that turned him off so badly anyway?
On a wave of emotion, I turn back around and step inside the jet again. One of his eyebrows lifts, and something flickers in his gaze. A corner of his mouth tilts up, but he’s still more unreadable than the Sphinx.
“What did I do to make you dismiss me like this?” I ask. “What happened between the time you bid on me and now?”
“Nova,” he says levelly, “you really should go.”
“I just want to know. Why?” My voice is thick, and I hate that my desperation is so obvious. I hate that my feelings are bruised because some entitled one-percenter tossed me out of his jet without any explanation.
“You really want to know?” he asks.
“Please. Enlighten me.”
He looks at me in that discriminating way again, and my belly aches with lust. Damn him. Damn me and my repressed sexuality. He’s pushing those buttons I’ve never had pushed, and it’s so easy for him.
“Honestly,” he says, “I like my women to be more…innocent.”
In the silence that follows, I start to pull down the hem of my dress again, then stop myself. What’s he talking about? I am innocent. I had to sign an affidavit for the dating service stating that I’m a virgin and everything…
He continues. “That’s why I use the dating service, so they can match me to someone who’s not sexually experienced. Which you obviously are.”
Huh?
Then I think about how I was acting during dinner. And how I wore this stupid dress just to catch his eye.
He dismisses me again. “The bottom line is that you come on too strongly for my tastes. I was expecting someone a lot different than what I got. It’s not the end of the world. It happens.”
He’s talking about me, the apparent vixen who’s clearly cutting a swath through the land with my seductive powers. I laugh, and maybe it’s because my nerves have finally caught up with me. But when I laugh yet again, it’s because this situation is so ironic that there’s nothing to do but find it hilarious.
Expressionless, Travis watches me, loosely crossing his arms over his broad chest as I keep laughing.
“I…” I say, then wave a hand to fend off the laughter. “I thought that’s what you wanted—someone who knew what they were doing. That’s why I put on this ridiculous dress and…” I huff out a breath. “That’s why I was so forward. But the truth is, I’ve never even had a boyfriend.”
He merely surveys me, once again as if he’s stripping layer by layer off of me. I quiver inside as I look into his deep green gaze.
His low voice rolls over me. “So this isn’t the real you.”
“I just tried to be what I thought you wanted. I guess I’m stupid on top of
being patently un-sexy.”
He shakes his head, and I think he’s not buying what I have to say.
“I’m telling the truth,” I say, finally, lifting my chin defiantly.
A beat passes, and still he hasn’t responded. Then he says, “Actually, I don’t think you’re lying.”
He uncrosses his arms from his chest, then with another long, inscrutable, yet incredibly hot look at me, saunters away. There’s still champagne in an ice bucket on the table, and he draws out the bottle, the clink of the cubes rattling me as he keeps watching with those eyes that seem to see everything.
“You’ve never had a boyfriend?” he asks.
“Never.”
“Why is that?”
My first instinct is to hide the truth about Gary from him, but after Travis called me out for misrepresenting myself, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Besides, he’s pouring champagne into the flute that I’d been using, and my heart jumps. Maybe I’m getting a do-over.
He doesn’t pour much into the glass, and when he holds it up to me, as if inviting me back, I warily go to him and accept the offering.
“Remember that discussion we had about my staying home from college?” I ask.
“I do.”
“Well, I did that because my father Gary is rather… ‘Domineering’ is a good word. He’s the one who wanted me to stay home to help with the family’s finances. It wasn’t my choice.”
It’s the truth. Not the entire truth about how awful Gary really is, but it’s close enough.
Travis fills his own glass with the golden bubbly. “And as a domineering father, he kept a sharp eye on the boys who wanted to be with you?”
“I live in a small town. Most of the guys there know that if they looked at me much less tried to be with me, Gary would come after them. He’s kept me away from close girlfriends, too.”
Travis’s jaw has gone hard. A muscle ticks in his cheek. After a moment, he says, “It sounds as if you’re running away from him. That’s why you came to the website. That’s why you put your virginity up for the highest bidder.”
“Pretty much.” I don’t add that the money is going to come in handy for Mom and Tate, too. “All of this is more than you probably wanted to know, but I’m only being transparent.”
“And you’ll want to keep it that way from now on, Nova.”
I don’t drink the champagne. I can barely even breathe.
“I require the utmost honesty,” he says in that low voice, “as well as the absolute truth during the short duration we’ll be together.”
Yes, I’m back in it! part of me thinks. But the other half? It’s scared and nervous all over again.
As the attendant emerges from the front of the jet, Travis gives her a nod, and she disappears. He returns his full attention to me. It’s as if he’s doing more than peeling away my layers—I’m pretty sure he’s taking off my red dress in his imagination, beginning to get his money’s worth now that we’ve come to terms.
Desire drips through me, making me more wet than I’ve ever been in my entire life.
And the crazy part is, he hasn’t even touched me yet.
He smoothly jerks his chin toward a seat by the window. “You’ll want to buckle in for this, Nova.”
I leave my champagne untouched. I’m pretty sure he’s talking about more than just take off as he drags his hot gaze away from me and walks toward the back of the jet.
Chapter 3
After take off, I discover that Travis has in-flight spa service in the rear of the jet near his bedroom.
But I don’t come anywhere near that yet.
Instead, I’m led by an esthetician/massage professional to a dimly lit, partitioned-off area with a massage bed and serene electric lanterns. First, she has me take an Advil, then asks about the sensitivity of my skin and whether I’ve ever been waxed before.
I’m not a total dummy—I’ve read about waxing, and although I’ve been curious about it, I knew Gary would harass me to no end if I ever dared to try it and he somehow found out. Besides, only one boy who quickly passed through my life has ever been near my panties, so why bother?
But after I take off my pumps, red dress, and bra and undies, I receive my first Brazilian wax.
My esthetician tells me that I’m lucky: either I’m (a) a trouper as far as pain goes or (b) I just don’t feel it as much discomfort as most women do.
At any rate, after that interesting event, she leaves the area. I slip under the sheet on the massage table, my face down in the donut-like cushion at the head of it. Because of the waxing, the mound between my legs is throbbing, and it’s not nearly as pleasurable as the type of throb I get whenever I look at Travis.
After she returns, she slathers oil over my back. The calming, chime-infused music that’s been playing over the speakers combines with the whine of the jet engine to lull me. Travis is clearly having her prepare my body for what’s to come, and I can feel the build up to the sex we’re going to have with every pulse in my veins. I’m both excited and frightened at the adventure I’m embarking on, but neither emotion can overcome the attraction I already feel for him.
Yet that’s a good thing, right? Anticipating his touch, already fantasizing about him as I drift off… It’s what any girl would do in this strange situation.
Travis Star is rich, gorgeous, and sexy as hell.
The only thing keeping me awake is the niggle in the back of my mind about why a man like Travis—a billionaire who could have any woman in the world—would choose me. I guess I’m cute and curvy, but I’m nothing special.
I suppose my virginity is my ticket into the show, but there are other virgins out there.
So why me?
And why only virgins? Why doesn’t he want to be with a woman of experience?
While my massage therapist gently rubs out the knots in my shoulders, I tell myself to relax, to embrace everything no matter how bizarre, to make the best out of it. If I can somehow not screw up these next two weeks, I’ll have enough money to start a new life somewhere away from my crazy dad and bring Mom and Tate along with me…
There are a lot worse men than Travis Star to lose your virginity to. In fact, if I could have picked any man from the list of every guy on the planet, I still probably would have picked him. But that doesn’t make this whole thing any easier for me.
If anything, it makes me feel more and more terrified at the prospect of somehow screwing this up and ruining it all.
The therapist speaks softly as she eases her hands over me. “I wish I had more than an hour to work on you.”
“Why?”
“You must be really stressed with all this tightness.”
“You don’t even know the half it,” I murmur.
“Well, the good thing is that I travel with Mr. Star. I’ll be at your residence to work on you whenever you need it. And you do.”
Travel with Mr. Star. A shot of jealousy flies through me. I know this woman is a professional, but just the thought of her hands on his muscular, perfect body tightens me up even more.
But that’s silly. He’s not mine, and I’m only his temporarily.
She continues working, and I sigh under her care. But then there’s a shift in the atmosphere of the room that has nothing to do with her. There’s something in the air, and goose bumps race over my skin. I open my eyes, looking down through the view of the donut cushion to see a shadow slanting over the carpeted floor, then disappearing.
Even before Travis says a word, I know he’s here.
Now I’m pounding even more between my legs, but it’s my clit coming alive, aching. I try not to shift restlessly on the table, especially at the thought of him seeing so much skin. My nipples feel aroused against the sheet that’s under me, and I don’t have a stitch on except for the other sheet that’s covering me from my lower back downward.
Yet here he is, standing in the same room.
“Is everything to your satisfaction?” he asks.
His vo
ice is like another pair of hands on my skin, stroking their way down my back until they come to a place they shouldn’t be, at least not yet. Need makes me slick as I imagine his fingers against my sex, caressing, exploring…
I clear my throat. “Yes, everything’s great.” Pause. “Thank you.”
Awkward.
The therapist smooths her hands down my back again, following the path his voice took but ending just above the rise of my bottom, where the sheet bunches. I almost want to ask her to cover me up to my shoulders, but it’s just my back Travis is seeing.
I swallow. What does he think of what he sees so far? I hope he’s not disappointed.
“Have you ever been to the city, Nova?” Now his voice sounds hoarse.
A surge of delight charges me. I think perhaps he likes what he sees.
Fear and excitement rush me, and I can’t tell one from the other.
“I’ve never been to Manhattan,” I say.
“It’s an experience you’ll never forget.” He adds, “You’ll be seeing New York my way.” He pauses as the therapist massages my lower back. His tone thickens. “You’ll see a side of the city that you can’t experience as a tourist.”
The therapist pulls the sheet up. “Nova, it’s time for you to turn onto your back.”
I’m sure she’s heard all of Travis’s conversations with his other women. She’s probably had to sign the same non-disclosure agreement I’ve already signed with the service, so I shouldn’t worry about what she’ll think about this arrangement.
At my hesitation to turn over—I mean, Travis is right there—she urges me on.
“I’ve got you covered,” she says, and there’s a smile in her voice.
With my heartbeat pummeling me in my chest and my sex, I turn over for her, discovering that she’s kept her promise by shielding me with the sheet. But as she tucks the fabric over my breasts, I scan the low-lit room to see if Travis got a peek of anything.
He’s not even in here.