A murmur goes through the crowd as my jaw nearly hits the floor. What just happened? I thought it was insane that these men were approaching two hundred thousand dollars in their bids. I never imagined that kind of scenario when I signed up for this. But half a million dollars?

I can’t even wrap my head around that. And half of it will be mine?

Even the emcee seems flustered. “Mr. Brightman?” he asks, as if he’s unsure what’s going on.

“You heard me,” a clear voice states from the shadowy back of the room.

I swallow hard. This has suddenly become all too real. Before, terrifying as it was, it was still kind of abstract. Now, this man that I can’t see has actually bid on me. And won, apparently.

I’ll be going home with him. Having sex with him. Losing my virginity to him.

I feel lightheaded, and my ears are roaring as blood rushes through my body. My knees feel weak, and I swear I’m about to fall out on the floor.

“Very well then,” the emcee says, then turns to me just like he did all the women that went before me. “Celine? You’ll be accompanying Mr. Brightman this evening.”

Accompanying. How quaint. I force a smile and step forward, squinting my eyes, trying to see into the shadows.

A tall man steps forward, slim but strong, and my stomach flips, my breath coming fast.

I lick my lips, not sure how to act.

He steps into the light, and my whole world seems to shift.

“Wes?” I whisper, my hand flying to my mouth. I’m embarrassed. Humiliated. And also strangely relieved in a way I don’t quite understand.

He gives me that smirk, but his eyes are troubled. “Celine.”

Reaching a hand toward me, Wes helps me down the three steps in front of the stage. Good thing, because I feel like I might collapse.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers in my ear as he laces his fingers through mine and leads me back to the table he was sitting at.

His voice is comforting, reassuring. As if he can tell how out far out of my depth I am. He pulls out a plush velvet chair and guides me into it, then gestures for something. A waitress I didn’t notice from the stage appears out of nowhere to pour me a glass of champagne. That’s when I notice all the other girls that were on stage are now being wined and dined by the men who bought them.

Hands down, this is the weirdest shit I’ve ever seen in my life. And that’s saying something. Growing up on a farm in Kansas was full of weird shit.

I shake my head, daring to lift my eyes to Wes. “What is going on here?”

He stares at me, his eyes slightly narrowed. “I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing auctioning off your virginity?”

The last part comes out as more of a hiss, and suddenly I’m thrown on the defensive. “Who are you to ask me that? You’re here buying it.” Gone is the shy girl who could barely form a sentence when I sat with him on the train. Now I’m just indignant. Who is he to judge me? He doesn’t know the first thing about me.

As if he can see what I’m thinking, his gaze softens and he reaches for my hand again.

I can’t deny the spark of awareness that hits me at his touch, the searing zing that shoots up and down my spine. I’d be crazy not to notice how sexy this man is. Hell, I noticed it plenty on the train. But now, it’s different. I’m hyper-aware of the fact that this crazy hot man has every intention of having sex with me tonight.

And though the idea was terrifying just moments ago, the tingles he’s sending through my body as he caresses the back of my hand with his thumb makes me think it might not be that bad.

Who am I kidding? I’m pretty sure that sex with Wes would be mind-blowing. That thing I said earlier? About the first time being bad and just needing to get it over with? Scratch that. Because I don’t think it would be anything like that with him.

He shocks the hell out of me when he says, “Celine, you don’t have to have sex with me. That’s not why I bid on you.”

I’m not sure if I should be insulted or relieved. “What you do mean?”

“Just that you are obviously doing this for a reason. But I can also see that it’s the last thing you want to do. So I’m giving you an out.”

I press my lips together, my eyes burning. “I need the money, Wes.” That’s a bitch to admit, but it’s true.

“You’ll get your money.”

“You bid half a million dollars,” I say, stunned. “And you’re willing to pay that even if you don’t get what you paid for.”

He smiles. “I’ll make you a deal. Come home with me tonight. We can just hang out. Watch a movie or something. Then we’ll go get that coffee tomorrow, and you can tell me all about that screenwriting program.” He shrugs. “After that, we’ll see. We’ll take it day by day.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. He wants to pay half a million dollars to basically date me? Without the guarantee of sex?

And what’s even crazier is that I feel disappointed.