His strong back tenses, warily arching underneath my hands. It’s as if I’ve done something that’s already pushed him away, and I don’t know what it is.

As he backs off of me, he lowers his head so I can’t see his expression, then turns away from me.

I touch my fingertips to his arm but he only gets to his feet. I pull my hand back as if stung.

He digs his fingers through his disheveled hair, clearly agitated, but then I realize he’s actually trying to put some order to the chaos that my hands made of his thick strands. His breathing is labored.

“Shit,” he says. “I can’t believe we didn’t use a goddamn condom.”

Is that all?

My voice is light. “It’s okay. I’m on the pill, remember? And I gave you my paperwork from my doctor…”

But his tone is firm, almost a reprimand. “I always use one. Always.”

He’s still not looking at me. He picks up his clothing from the floor then surveys the room around him—my clothing and towel cluttering the carpet, the silk robe I tossed into a chair. Then he wipes his hand down his belly where I spread my cream all over him.

All I see is beautiful disarray, but he’s got a dark look on his face that tells me his point of view clashes with mine.

Suddenly, I feel like the mess. I’m someone who has come into his pristine home and left unwelcome debris. I’m someone he used, someone he’ll be throwing out in just a matter of time, and from the way he’s acting, that time is about to expire.

Still clearly disturbed, he puts on his trousers. It’s as if a different man walked into this room earlier to give me such a tumultuous, raw experience, and another guy altogether is leaving me cold.

“Don’t worry,” I say softly, not knowing how else to handle this. “I’ll clean everything up.”

If I think that this is going to get him to stay and give me more of what he gave me, I’m wrong.

“Please see that you do,” he says in a frigid tone.

Then, without even another word or look, he leaves me on the bed, naked and vulnerable and in absolute disbelief under the pale glow of the TV screen.

After he closes the door behind him, I still can’t believe he’s gone. Numb, I sit up, slightly wincing at the tenderness between my thighs. I start to grab my discarded chemise to put it on and at least cover myself from all the embarrassment I’m feeling, but I really do feel dirty—sticky, sweaty, and burning with the friction of my skin against his. It should be a good kind of dirty, but after I thought that such intimacy passed between us during sex, I’m humiliated to admit I was wrong.

There was no connection. There was nothing but the transaction he wanted.

But there was the way he just cut me off and left, and that’s what seems to matter the most right now.

I slide off the bed while clutching the chemise. I slowly pick my clothing and towel up off the floor and fetch the robe from the chair. I think I need a shower, a comforting balm.

After I take one and then dress into a nightie that’s not nearly as sexy as the chemise, I can’t bring myself to sleep in that big, white bed. It seems too glacial…and messy. Instead, I huddle on a chaise lounge by the window with the bedspread and a pillow, but I never do get to sleep.

I’m too busy tossing and turning and wondering what the heck went wrong.

* * *

The first noise I hear after the sun begins to peek through the curtains is a soft chiming sound that comes from the intercom on the nightstand. It looks like a tiny modern piece of silver art that blends in with everything else, and when Nat’s voice speaks through it, it’s almost as if she’s hiding somewhere in the bedroom.

“Miss Hope?” she says in that gentle tone of hers.

I pull the bedspread around me and sit up on the chaise lounge. “Yes? I’m already awake.”

And I’m still aching from last night, and it’s not just my body.

“Good morning,” Nat says. “Dr. Gregory would like you to know that you may take your time with breakfast. All I need to know is what you’d prefer to eat and when, but there’s no rush in the slightest.”

I pause, then ask, “He went to work already?”

“Long ago. He puts in more hours than most.”

“Oh. All right.” I realize that I’m fine with him being gone. No awkward goodbyes, no reminders of how things ended on such a chilly note.

So then why is my heart sinking in my chest?

Because he was your first, I think. You’re never going to forget him, no matter how things turned out.

Nat goes on. “Dr. Gregory’s left a check for you for the full amount of the payment, and as agreed, your travel will be taken care of.”

So I did do my job, and I didn’t disappoint. At least I can take that as a consolation—as well as the fifty thousand dollars. That cheers me up ever so slightly, because now I’ll be that much closer to getting my brothers and sisters back.

“Thank you.” I rise from the lounge. “What time is my flight?”

Nat laughs. “Whenever you want it to be. Dr. Gregory’s private company jet is at your disposal to take you back to Florida.”

I widen my eyes. Say what?

He’s treating me as if I really pleased him last night, and maybe I did. Wait—I know I did, at least sexually, but I have the strange feeling Dr. Owen Gregory just has no idea how to express that to me or maybe to anyone.

“Thanks again, Nat. I’ll be down as soon as I get myself together.” I try to smile. “And I’d like it if we could eat breakfast together, if that’s possible. Is it?”

“I think that could be arranged, Miss Hope.” She sounds happy that I asked.

That cheers me a little more—every bit counts—and by the time I pack up my meager belongings, clean up, and get dressed, she’s set a table in the sunny breakfast room on the first floor. The private chef has whipped up an Italian Eggs Benedict with a kiwi, blueberry, and raspberry side dish, along with yogurt, strawberry muffins, and a selection of teas. As we devour the delicious meal, Nat steers clear of anything that has to do with last night or Highest Bidder. She’d rather ask me about my time in college and what sort of art I love as well as my favorite music and literature.

I tell her that there’s a romantic side of me that’s partial to pre-Raphaelite paintings and Degas, that I’m into Lord Huron and old-school Sting, and that I’ll read anything although my heart belongs to poetry. She’s partial to Jackson Pollock, loves jazz, and wishes she had more time to read.

It seems that the only thing we don’t talk about is my night with Owen, but when we’ve both had our fill of food, I glance at her a little longer than before. She seems so warm and so open that I decide to ask something I’ve been wondering since the master of this house won me in the auction.

“Do you end up having breakfasts with a lot of Highest Bidder girls?” I ask.

She hesitates, then merely smiles that pleasant smile. I know that’s all I’m going to get from her, although there’s something about her expression that lets me know that I might have been the only one who’s ever asked her to breakfast.

When it’s time for me to leave, she walks me to the door, and before I go, I impetuously hug her. She embraces me back.

“I hope all your dreams come true,” she whispers to me. And as we pull apart, she hands me an envelope with the check in it.

There’s nothing more to say as I depart, walking toward the waiting limo that’s going to take me to the private jet.

During the drive, I sink down into the plush leather seat, watching the city streets go by. I don’t feel like the Juliet Hope who arrived in Manhattan just yesterday. I’m sadder yet more experienced. I’m in a bittersweet mood because I got what I needed—thousands of dollars to kick-start a new life for me and my brothers and sisters.

The experience really could have gone a lot worse than it did but, somehow, I wanted more…

At the executive airport, the jet is ready and waiting for me, and my gaze widens as I take in how big it is—probably the size of a hotel suite.

I’m escorted to the aircraft by a man in a black suit and a Bluetooth earpiece who looks like he might be some sort of security person. I don’t give that too much thought as I climb the stairs to the plane. All I have with me is what I came with—my light duffel bag, my coat, and my firm optimism about what I can do for my family. But I feel like I’m leaving something major behind.

My first time, and it was with a man I’m never going to forget…

After taking my phone and earbuds out of my bag so I can listen to one of my playlists during the trip, I step into the jet, expecting to be greeted by a flight attendant. But when I see who’s actually waiting for me in one of the lavish seats, my pulse tangles.

Owen Gregory stands up to greet me, dressed in one of his finely creased tailor-made suits, just as impeccable and breathtaking as ever.