Being a virgin pays.

Apparently, it even pays well enough to start a whole new life.

With a quavering breath, I step out of the cab that’s parked at the curb of the closest private airport to my home in little Harrisburg, Missouri. My ride and tip have already been paid for, and the driver doesn’t stick around after he unloads what I have for luggage—a duffel bag. I was told that this is all I would need when I applied with the “exclusive dating service” that I found during my research.

A bag, myself, and this tight, red cocktail dress that keeps creeping higher and higher up my thighs.

These are all I have anyway. This is all I have escaped with from my old home, my old life.

As I walk to the small terminal, my high heels click on the pavement, the sound echoing through the early summer afternoon air. I blow out the breath I’ve been holding as I enter the building. A man in a business suit, beige tie, and earpiece is clearly waiting for me near the door to the tarmac.

He nods at me. “Nova Summers?”

He’s probably seen my picture on the Highest Bidder site. Part of me still can’t believe I was desperate enough to put myself up for auction on a site that some call the eBay of prostitution.

But I did it and I got chosen, so here I am.

“Yes,” I say, thankful that my voice isn’t shaking as much as the lining of my belly is. The trembles force me to clutch my duffel bag, just so I can hold onto something familiar, but then the man takes it from me.

When he gives a cursory glance to my dress, he frowns slightly, gestures for me to walk ahead of him.

My pulse rattles as I move along. Is there something wrong with my dress? It feels like a second skin, feels like something Travis Star, the ridiculously hot billionaire who bid on me and won me, might like.

Travis Star, who became richer than Midas long before he was thirty. The man who owns one of the world’s most popular and prestigious chains of high-end jewelry stores. The incredibly sexy, desired bachelor worth well over a billion dollars who could be dating the models and actresses and pop stars that he has access to.

But instead, he picked me off of the Highest Bidder website out of all the other virgins he could’ve gone to auction over, and I’ll be his for the next two weeks. I still don’t get why he chose me of all people, but he’s in that jet that I’m moving toward, and if all goes well during this first hour with him, he’s going to take me to Manhattan for a...

A date.

That’s what they call it in the biz. Or so people were saying on the forums I frequented during my research phase of this process.

At any rate, my dress is still riding up my thighs as I walk onto the tarmac, and I resist the urge to pull the clingy fabric down. Someone like Travis Star with his fast-lane reputation is going to expect me to be wearing a sexy number like this, and I spent my last dollar on it, thinking that it’s not my style but it’s surely his.

I’ve got to live up to his expectations, because I don’t want to go back home—not with my brute of a father still there. God, I hope he won’t be able to track me down. And maybe if I earn enough money from this date or whatever you call it, I’ll be able to get Mom and my younger brother Tate away from him, too.

At the thought of my mother and brother, guilt rises in me. I haven’t told them where I’ve gone—I’ve only left a vague note with my mom asking her to keep this to herself, that I’m somewhere safe, and that I’ll be contacting her soon with good news. Nobody has any idea that I’ve sold my virginity so I can start over someplace that isn’t around the man who calls himself my dad.

I just couldn’t take the cruelty any more. I’d do anything to get away from it.

So here I am. But I’m not going to acknowledge how my pulse is racing every time I think about having sex for the first time. I’ve got to focus on simply climbing the stairs to the jet, on making a good first impression with Travis Star.

I step inside the interior of the plane, nearly gasping. Everything is sleek and white, the seats all buttery leather with gleaming silver trim, like this is a traveling palace. There’s a wide LED screen that’s playing soothing, world beat music, and even a dinner table that’s been set up in the middle of the jet; the aroma of gourmet food permeates the air, and the places are set with shining utensils and fine china. Farther back there’s a doorway that looks like it leads to a private room, and I wonder if that’s where Travis Star’s bed is.

I exhale again. Don’t worry about the bed just yet, Nova. First you’ve got to make him like you enough to want to take you to it.

A draft of cool air runs over my back where my dress swoops down, and I freeze. My belly flips as the coolness turns warm, like hot breath over my exposed skin. My nipples tighten, and I fight the instinct to cross my arms over my chest as I close my eyes.

My date is in back of me, isn’t he?

After a heavy swallow, I slowly open my eyes and turn around.

Holy fuck is he hot.

My god, I’ve only seen pictures of him on gossip sites and in business magazine articles, but in the flesh he’s taller than I imagined, filling the entrance of the plane with his broad shoulders and chest. He’s wearing a black designer suit, and my mind goes wild imagining the hard muscles under the impeccable jacket, shirt, tie, and trousers. Then my gaze travels up to his face.

Dark green eyes assess me, as cool as emeralds in a starlet’s necklace. As my blood pumps, flushing my skin, I take in the rest of him: the tan on his skin that he probably got from the exotic trips to his private island in the Bahamas; his thick, short, dark hair; the dusting of rough whiskers around lips that I can’t look away from. He isn’t smiling. No, his expression doesn’t give anything away.

My mouth is dry, even as I go moist between my legs. I can feel my heartbeat there, throbbing, already anticipating what he has paid so dearly to do to me.

“Nova,” he says in a smooth, deep voice.

I’m not sure what to do—shake his hand? Curtsy? Strip immediately?

“It’s nice to meet you, Mister Star,” I manage.

My pulse pounds in my ears so it almost seems as if I’m in a dream, everything muffled.

He continues to inspect what he’s buying: a girl with black hair that comes to her shoulders, dark eyes, what my mom calls a “button nose,” and lips that I’ve always thought were too big in a heart-shaped face. I’ve been called “cute,” but never “beautiful.” As his gaze skims downward, over my breasts that strain to get out of the top of my dress, then over my curvy hips and legs, a melty sensation rushes my most sensitive parts.

I’m getting turned on and he hasn’t even touched me yet. But along with my excitement comes a strong wave of fear. What if he finds me ugly in person? What if he’s not attracted to me?

What if I turn him off by saying or doing the wrong thing?

Finally, he extends his hand, and I take it. His grip is warm and firm. Then his thumb runs over the top of mine, and I shiver. Before I lose my composure, I take my hand away.

How very smooth you are, Nova, I think. Come on, step up your game. A guy like this isn’t going to want to take a flailing idiot to bed.

Sure, he’s paying for my purity, but I’m sure he’ll expect some expertise to go along with it. That’s what I was thinking after I read a bunch of women’s magazine articles about sex and how to please a male after the Highest Bidder site informed me that I’d been purchased.

If Travis has noticed my agitation, he doesn’t show it. He’s still cool, sexier than sin as he motions toward the table in the center of the jet. Once there, he pulls out my chair, and as I sit down, he pushes it in, the perfect gentleman. But before he goes to his seat, I notice his gaze on my breasts, and my nipples get hard, straining against the fabric.

He doesn’t leer, he doesn’t grin—he only lifts an eyebrow as he sits.

A uniformed attendant appears, and she looks like she came from the pages of a Babes-and-Boobs catalogue. Travis is still aloof, leaning back in his chair.

“Champagne?” he asks me.

“I’d like that.”

As the attendant wiggles her way from the table and to the rear of the jet, I feel like a toad in her presence. Yes, that’s obviously what he wants and what he paid for—a wiggle in your walk and a flirty attitude.

I clear my throat and prop my elbows on the table, revealing some cleavage. His eyes stay on mine, but I think he sees my wares. He just isn’t responding like I’ve always thought a guy would. But this particular guy has been around the world, and not just in a jet. Maybe I suffer by comparison from all the ultra-gorgeous women he’s been with.

I blush from my first failed attempt at seduction. “We’re having cocktails before we take off?” I say, smiling my most come hither smile.

“I thought we’d have the entire meal on the ground so we can talk first,” he says, not seeming to take the bait.

Huh. I didn’t expect a bunch of talk.

The attendant brings out the champagne, and I know I should drink a bunch to kill my nerves. I start with a dainty sip, fully aware that he’s watching me like a hawk. A sexy, intense bird of prey.

It’s almost as if he’s trying to penetrate the act I’m putting on.

When he speaks, his voice is low, rich, with a scratch underneath it all that makes me shiver some more.

“Let me know if you want anything besides the champagne. There’s a fully stocked bar.”

“No, really, this is great.” Although if we could just get the deflowering part over with so I can stop being such a wreck…?

But I force myself to stick my chest out as I keep leaning on that table, hoping he’ll warm up to me. I can’t help tugging at the bottom of my dress under the table, too. It keeps inching up like it has a mind of its own.

Travis only sits back in his chair, his eyes narrowed as he tilts his head a bit. “I went over your application online before the bidding process began.”

Straight to business. “Scintillating reading, I’m sure.”

“It was enough for me to put the money up to win you in the auction.”

My breath hitches. Win me. Should I feel like an object, a precious doll that he can undress at his whim? But his blunt words have the opposite effect on me—instead of offending me, they heat me up, make me go a little wetter.

I don’t even know what might’ve caught his interest about me except for my virginity. There can’t be too many females my age who haven’t gotten some action, so that probably makes me a rarity in the wider scheme of things. Then again, most girls don’t have my overprotective, crappy father to keep the boys away with threats and intimidation.

“You intrigued me,” Travis finally says. “For one, you had straight As in high school, and you earned multiple college scholarship offers, yet you never went to college. There’s got to be a story there.”

Now probably wouldn’t be a good time to tell him that I stayed home because my father, whom I actually prefer to call by his name, Gary, wouldn’t let me go to college. I spin my story the best that I can.

“My family needed the money, so I found work instead.”

What I don’t say, is that Gary has always forced me to hand over paycheck after paycheck while he sits at home and does whatever he wants, like watching cop shows and war movies, fantasizing that he’s going to be a hero on the local police force or in the military one day. How he collects guns and knives and takes martial arts classes to buff up, building his ego so he can bully his wife and son into giving over their paychecks, too.

Travis is still watching me closely, and I shift in my seat. I forget all about my crummy home life because this man’s intensity has my clit beating wildly, and I’m aching under his scrutiny.

Sex it up, I think. He’ll want a playful kitten, not a block of ice. As I continue leaning on the table, I press down against my arms until my breasts are bulging.

“Anything else you’re curious about?” I ask, licking my lips slowly.

Ah, now he smiles, but it’s not warm at all. His eyes glitter with an edge. “I’m always curious about the women who end up on my private jets.” His gaze flicks to my dress again. “For one, I’d like to know what it would take to make you more comfortable.”

His very observant comment takes me aback.

“Don’t look so surprised, Nova,” he says. “I only want to know more about you. More than I was able to read on that site.”

Time for some flattery, so I lower my voice to a wicked purr. “And I’ve read about you online. How you worked for every dollar, started off in retail and then got to be manager of a jewelry store. How your career took off from there.” In his early twenties, Travis got a bank loan and some investors and opened his first business. Ever since then, he’s been a wild success and his company has grown exponentially. Now he’s one of the richest men in the world. “Everything I read is impressive.”

“You’re impressed. My life is now complete.”

I don’t shrink from his wry words. Instead, I turn up my sex-kitten heat. “I’m sure you haven’t even started to impress me.”

Heavy-handed much? I flush even harder. I’m so not good at this, but maybe if I squish up my breasts a bit higher as I lean on the table he’ll forget the conversation altogether.

But Travis is just as reserved as he’s been since I met him. He wipes his hand over his mouth, covering any expression he might’ve had, and I take a moment to appreciate his long fingers. I imagine them touching me, skimming over my neck, the tips of my breasts, my stomach, until they get to the spot between my legs where I’m pulsating so badly that I want to touch myself to make it go away.

Instead, I take another sip of champagne. The attendant appears with an appetizer, and only after I taste it do I realize that it’s bacon-wrapped dates with an orange sauce. God, it’s good.

He watches my mouth as I eat, and inspired by his apparent interest, I suck the sauce off one of my fingers, then another. I really have no idea what I’m doing.

He holds up a napkin. “You might find this useful.”

Okay. My skin beats with embarrassment as I use my own napkin to wipe my fingers, then dab at my face in case he’s staring at me because I’ve got food on it.

From there, the conversation grows even more stilted as the attendant moves on to another course: a chilled gazpacho soup with shrimp. Then she brings out seared scallops with caviar and fancy green bean and potato side dishes, then dessert.

By the time the caramel pear terrine is served, I’m practically wilting in my chair. I feel like this meal is more of an interview, because Travis has already asked me about the architecture degree I wanted so badly to get at college, my casual interests, my mom and fifteen-year-old brother. Then we get to Gary. I don’t mean to shut Travis down at that point, but I can’t help but clam up while the classical music playing on the digital TV channel takes over.

I’ve been picking at my food—my stomach is too upset for me to eat much more—but surely dinner is only a warm up. The best is yet to come, so to speak. I’ve read enough books and articles and watched enough TV on low volume in my room to know what happens between two people on a date for which I’ve sold my virginity.

Sure, Travis is discriminating and as cool as a chilled martini, but I’m ready and willing for him. I’m sick of waiting on pins and needles.

I want to know that he’s bringing me back to Manhattan and away from my shitty old life. It’s my only chance.

I stretch my arms over my head and once again try to sell my sensual side. “That was delicious.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed what you ate of it.”

So he noticed that I was eating hardly anything. I didn’t even drink much, which is strange, based on how much I needed something to relax.

“I…” Do I dare throw out another innuendo? “I’m ready to enjoy a lot of things. New things.”

His gaze drills into me, and I nearly shrink into my seat. I go liquid everywhere: in my bones, in my belly, between my thighs.

I throb for him. I’m ready for my buttons to be pushed.

Travis rises from his seat and allows his napkin to fall from his fingers to the table. I assume this can only mean one thing.

We’re about to move to the next phase of things. My heartbeat quickens.

But his expression is not so welcoming, nor are his words. “This isn’t going to work out, Nova.”