by Paige North
“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 r
oom.
“Is everything to your satisfaction?” he asks.
His voice 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.
My gaze latches onto the Japanese-patterned dressing screen that blocks us from the rest of the jet, the kind of furnishing that Victorian ladies might’ve used once upon a time in a boudoir. Did he saunter behind it while I was turning over? Why, when he’s going to get quite a view soon anyway?
Suddenly, Travis Star is a bigger mystery to me than ever.
When he speaks again, it’s with that hoarseness in his voice. “You’re probably wondering where you’ll be staying in the city.”
“Honestly, I didn’t think much about that little detail.” It sounds disingenuous, but it’s the truth. “There were too many other things to dwell on.”
“I can only imagine,” he murmurs, as if there’s so much more meaning to what he’s saying than anyone would realize.
He can only imagine. Is he imagining me here on this massage bed as he stays behind the screen? Imagining what he’s going to do to me once we get to his home?
My sex is swelling with heat, craving to be touched, and I bite my lip at the sensual pain that he brings to me with only his voice.
Meanwhile, my therapist’s hands knead one of my arms, and I close my eyes.
Travis’s voice is firmer now. “You’ll be given a wardrobe to fill the closets. The website supplied me with your measurements, so I already took the liberty.”
“I see. You’re going to dress me up…” until it’s time to… Undress me.
I don’t say it because I remember what happened the last time I got too forward with him. I open my eyes and glance at the therapist, who seems as if she’s still tuning out all conversation.
When I see Travis ease out from behind the dressing screen, I gasp. The mere sight of him is that powerful as he leans against a wall, his hands in his pockets. He’s still fully dressed in his suit, unwrinkled, his gaze drilling into me.
“I’m looking forward to dressing you, Nova,” he says. “In cocktail dresses and evening gowns. In fashions that haven’t even hit Vogue or Marie Claire yet.”
His sexy gaze tells me that there’ll be a certain type of clothing I’ll be wearing during the day, but at night…?
I don’t ask what he’ll be dressing me in then, if anything.
The therapist switches her attentions to my other arm, but I barely notice.
“So it sounds like you won’t be keeping me inside all the time, away from prying eyes and the paparazzi,” I say. “If you’re dressing me to impress, I guess I’ll be out and about.”
“No matter where you are with me I’ll be discreet, as I always am.”
Just like him to remain cryptic. “I looked all over the internet and I didn’t find many pictures of you with women. I assumed that’s because the ones you’re with don’t go out with you.”
“As I said, I’m all about discretion.”
I want to ask him if he ever “dates” outside of the Highest Bidder site, and if not, why?
What’s going on behind those dark green eyes and that discriminating attitude?
He seems to sense that I’d love to venture behind those walls he’s put up between us, and his shoulders tense under his jacket. Then he relaxes, and it’s as if he’s found a subject that’ll keep me on the other side where I belong.
“No matter where you are or aren’t,” he says, “you’ll be getting your share of pampering.”
Ah, yes, more perks of this arrangement. All business.
“There’ll be spa days, much like this.” He smiles a little, and it’s a hungry smile that sends a tingle through my belly. “I like to see that you’re taken care of.”
“And that’s why you’re here, watching me.” I’m genuinely curious, not brazen. And I think he knows that because he doesn’t go cold like he did before, when he nearly kicked me off the jet.
“Yes, Nova,” he says. “That’s why I’m here. I like that this is a new experience for you. I get great pleasure out of knowing that.”
Okay, so I’ve figured out something about Travis. He enjoys seeing his women broken in more than sexually, enjoys breaking them in completely.
Now my therapist is massaging my scalp, and I nearly moan at the purring contentment that runs through my veins. It’s like warm honey flowing through me, but nothing sexual. I wallow under the slight pressure, my mind lost in a flow of relaxation.
Yet just before I close my eyes, I see Travis watching me intently, and I know for certain that, yes, this is only part one of his foreplay.
I shudder softly as I anticipate what is yet to come.
Chapter 4
By the time we land in New York, I’m in my cheap, red dress again. My skin is humming with relaxation from the massage, and I’m hyper-aware of my now-hairless mound, but there’s hardly any discomfort there. In fact, the bareness makes me feel everything, including the brush of my panties against my sensitive skin. It’s erotic.
Naughtier than anything I’ve ever felt before.
I keep wondering how long it’ll be before Travis touches me there, and as a limousine takes us from the airport and through the traffic-laden streets of Manhattan, there’s an electricity between us that vibrates. Maybe some of that is due to my singing nerves though, because I’m fidgeting in my seat, plucking at the hem of my dress.
He’s been on the phone during most of the drive, attending to some last-minute business that came up, and that gives me the perfect opportunity to watch him as he’s been watching me all night. The lights from the city wash over his chiseled jaw, his high cheekbones. I watch the way his mouth forms around his words.
But he’s smirking with a dark edge as he ends the call.
“You sure look like the cat who ate a canary,” I say.
“Just closing a late-night business deal.” His smirk fades as he glances at me, seeming to silently chastise for commenting on his expression.
I look down and remind myself not to overstep. I’m here for a specific job and nothing more. Don’
t forget it.
He tucks his phone into his jacket as the limo pulls to the curb of a sidewalk where an awning stretches over the concrete. A doorman meets us, then pulls open the passenger door and extends his gloved hand to help me out.
As I emerge, I see a fancy façade with fleur-de-lis patterns arching over a big wooden doorway with square windows. Inside there’s a marble lobby with a massive chandelier dripping crystal.
I feel Travis behind me as I take it all in, the beeping of car horns behind us echoing off the high-rise buildings.
“So this is where you live,” I say.
“No.”
I furrow my brow as he moves toward the entrance. The doorman is already there, holding the door open for us, and Travis waits for me to walk in first. As I pass him, I smell the clean scent that seems to emanate from his skin. Is it the soap he uses? A little bit of cologne? Whatever it is, I’ve been reveling in it all night, and it fills my head with dizzy fantasies.
A bed…his weight pressing over me…his skin on mine…
My stomach somersaults, my flesh a bundle of nerve endings sparking and sizzling, because somewhere in this building there’s got to be a bed, and that’s why he’s brought me here.
But I can do this. I have to.
I’m stunned to realize that, despite the fear, I truly want to.
He walks me to a bank of brass elevators then guides me into one. His fingertips exert the barest pressure on the base of my spine where the fabric dips low, exposing my naked back. At the feel of his flesh on mine, I hold my breath, my pulse hammering at every inch of my body.
We’re all alone as the car begins to go up.
I find my voice. “If this isn’t where you live, then where are we?”
He gazes down at me, and I drown in his eyes.
“This is your private apartment for the next two weeks,” he says.
Surprise spins through me, and so does a thread of relief. We aren’t going to be living in the same place? I’m going to have my very own apartment? But there’s a tangle of disappointment somewhere in there, too. It really does seem as if I’m his newest doll, and he’s storing me in my own pretty box until he wants to bring me out to play. But that’s what I signed up for, isn’t it?