Page 3 of Taking The Virgin

Then again, my home is literally halfway underwater after the hurricane that forced me into this deal, so who am I to judge?

A woman’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “May I take your bag and coat, MissHope?”

I turn to find an older brunette in a dark dress. She wears her hair in a stark bun, but her smile is kind, lighting up her brown eyes. I hand my duffel bag to her and smile back in appreciation.

“I’m Nat,” she says, “Mr. Gregory’s personal assistant. I also look after the house.”

She must know why I’m here, and my blush deepens. But she doesn’t seem judgmental, and I wonder how many times Owen has used Highest Bidder in thepast.

“Pleased to meet you,” I say, then shrug out of my coat and give that up as well. I try not to be embarrassed about my dress, which feels cheap against all this luxury.

Nat subtly tests the lightness of my bag but doesn’t comment. She merely gives me a soft look that tells me she’s read my Highest Bidder application and knows about the tragedies I’m overcoming—the ones that made me resort to selling my virginity.

“Miss Hope,” she says, “I’m genuinely sorry for your losses, and I do hope your stay here is everything you want it tobe.”

My throat clogs, and all I can do is nod a thankyou.

She’s talking about many things: the death of my parents six months ago when the hurricane hit us in Florida and swept their pickup truck off the road in a flash flood, drowning them. The potential loss of our damaged house. The dire situation I find myself in with my sisters and brothers who were put in foster care. Four siblings who need me to stay strong forthem.

At least Nat is sympathetic.

From what I’ve seen of Dr. Owen Gregory so far, I highly doubt that he bid on me because he wants to give me enough money to get my family back together again. He doesn’t know I’ve been working two and even three jobs to satisfy the state social workers and clinicians, proving that I can make a stable home for my siblings.

Nat apparently takes pity on me, and her smile grows cheerier. “I’ll put your belongings in your room, Miss Hope. Then wecan…”

Her voice fades, and I fold my arms over my chest. Obviously the master of the mansion has reentered the room and is standing behind me. My body is already attuned to him, a heat wave scorching my skin. My back feels as if he’s whisking his fingers down my spine, making goose bumps ruffle down my arms. My nipples are aroused, heat tingling between my thighs.

How can such a cold, removed stranger do this tome?

I look over my shoulder to find Owen watching me with a fire in his gaze that makes my pulse skip. Then his jaw tightens, making me doubt what Isaw.

He jerks his square chin toward the nearest room. “You’ll have most of my place at your disposal today, so a tour is in order.”

He’s about as warm as the rest of his mansion, seemingly soulless and utterly commanding. But I still go to him as if pulled by an invisible wire that buzzes between us, filling the air with vibrations.

He doesn’t look at me this time. He merely waits until I start to walk past him into what seems to be a music room with a state-of-the-art sound system and a white baby grand piano. I glance behind me to say another thank you to Nat, but she’s bending to the white marble floor, rubbing at it with a cloth she must’ve had in a pocket.

It’s as if I’ve left dirt behind, and that won’t do for such a spotless place.

She scurries off without even a glance at us, and I look up at Owen, catching him watching me again. Once more his dark gaze cools, and he lifts his arm, gesturing for me to continue all the way into theroom.

As I accommodate him, I realize that, eventually, we’re going to come to a room where we’ll have sex for my very first time. I start to go wet for him, my belly spinning, heating.

Wanting this mysterious stranger so badly I can’t standit.

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