Page 5 of Keeping The Virgin

Chapter 2

As Cage shutsthe door behind me, I gaze at my surroundings: marble tile floors, a grand iron staircase that sweeps up past arched stained-glass windows, a sprawling iron chandelier hanging from a high ceiling with dark brown, beige, and blue paneling. I feel as if I’ve stepped into the house of one of those great banking families from medieval Italy that we studied in one of my college classes—dark, powerful, brooding bosses who ruled entire civilizations.

And they were mostly all cruel, nasty people who treated everyone around them like disposable trash. Of course, they were living in medieval Italy so they at least had an excuse for being ignorant and cruel.

The man in front of me has no such reason. He’s just doing it because he can.

I wait for Cage to make that phone call so I can just get out of here and to the airport, but I think he’s still lingering in back of me by the door, checking me out again. As I imagine his gaze on me, prickles rain down the nape of my neck under my hair, then shimmer down my spine. It all culminates in a disturbing full-body shiver that I can barely contain.

“So you’re with the Highest Bidder,” he finally says.

His sexy voice only adds to my reluctant arousal. “You say that as if you’re familiar with the site.”

“I run in certain circles, so I hear rumors every once in a while. This is the first time I’ve become acquainted with it, so to speak.”

God, he thinks he’s really the shit. So above it all.

“Right,” I say. “You never pay for sex, so you’d never take part in an auction for someone like me. You must be fascinated by this new discovery that landed on your doorstep today.”

“Maybe I am.”

The way he says it… It’s not cutting. It almost sounds like he’s relishing the words, imagining things about me behind my back that involve taking off my sweet little dress and exploring every throbbing inch of me.

But he couldn’t be doing that. Five minutes ago he couldn’t get me out of his sight quickly enough.

I pick at the hem of my dress, fidgety. “Listen, I hate to impose, but after you use your phone to arrange a ride, can I also call my travel site and see what their soonest departing flight back to Colorado Springs is?”

My subtle hint to have him just hurry up already and get on that phone seems to entertain him, because I think I hear him laugh quietly, then say, “You came half a country away for this job?”

I only nod. When he doesn’t say anything else, I risk a slow look behind me.

He’s leaning a strong shoulder against the front door, his chest still unbearably bare and rippling. One hand grips both ends of the towel around his neck, and the other holds my dead phone. But most obviously of all, he’s gazing at a spot where the hem of my dress meets the back of my upper thighs, almost as if he is thinking about easing up the fabric, exposing the curve of my bottom for a naughty peek.

I angrily tug down my hem and face forward, my heart punching at my chest. My clit echoes every beat, wet and wild.

He laughs again. I think he enjoyed getting caught.

I don’t understand what kind of game he’s playing, because surely he hasn’t changed his mind about not paying for sex—or even accepting the gift his client arranged for a night with a virgin.

I think I hear him moving away from the door now, and I keep staring straight ahead.

“Clearly you’ve never worked for the Highest Bidder before.” His voice is closer now. “The message in that envelope says you’re a virgin.”

I don’t say anything. If I try, the words might get caught in my throat.

“Tell me, Karini Lively.” He’s even closer now, his voice combing down my skin. “Why did you auction off your virginity?”

His prying is testing me, and when I finally find my voice, I sound as annoyed as he was earlier.

“My reasons for signing up with the Highest Bidder are none of your business—especially since you told me you’re not going to make use of my services.”

I feel him walking past me before I actually see him. My skin heats up, almost as if every one of my cells is tracking him as he moves in front of me. I look down at the floor while he circles me, obviously re-inspecting this gift he’s already refused.

The ache between my legs is agonizing now, sharp and juiced. Damn him for making me feel like this.

“My client,” he says, “should’ve known that I don’t have a thing for virgins, yet he sent one.”

“His mistake,” I say.

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