After take off, I discover that Travis has in-flight spa service in the rear of the jet near his bedroom.

But I don’t come anywhere near that yet.

Instead, I’m led by an esthetician/massage professional to a dimly lit, partitioned-off area with a massage bed and serene electric lanterns. First, she has me take an Advil, then asks about the sensitivity of my skin and whether I’ve ever been waxed before.

I’m not a total dummy—I’ve read about waxing, and although I’ve been curious about it, I knew Gary would harass me to no end if I ever dared to try it and he somehow found out. Besides, only one boy who quickly passed through my life has ever been near my panties, so why bother?

But after I take off my pumps, red dress, and bra and undies, I receive my first Brazilian wax.

My esthetician tells me that I’m lucky: either I’m (a) a trouper as far as pain goes or (b) I just don’t feel it as much discomfort as most women do.

At any rate, after that interesting event, she leaves the area. I slip under the sheet on the massage table, my face down in the donut-like cushion at the head of it. Because of the waxing, the mound between my legs is throbbing, and it’s not nearly as pleasurable as the type of throb I get whenever I look at Travis.

After she returns, she slathers oil over my back. The calming, chime-infused music that’s been playing over the speakers combines with the whine of the jet engine to lull me. Travis is clearly having her prepare my body for what’s to come, and I can feel the build up to the sex we’re going to have with every pulse in my veins. I’m both excited and frightened at the adventure I’m embarking on, but neither emotion can overcome the attraction I already feel for him.

Yet that’s a good thing, right? Anticipating his touch, already fantasizing about him as I drift off… It’s what any girl would do in this strange situation.

Travis Star is rich, gorgeous, and sexy as hell.

The only thing keeping me awake is the niggle in the back of my mind about why a man like Travis—a billionaire who could have any woman in the world—would choose me. I guess I’m cute and curvy, but I’m nothing special.

I suppose my virginity is my ticket into the show, but there are other virgins out there.

So why me?

And why only virgins? Why doesn’t he want to be with a woman of experience?

While my massage therapist gently rubs out the knots in my shoulders, I tell myself to relax, to embrace everything no matter how bizarre, to make the best out of it. If I can somehow not screw up these next two weeks, I’ll have enough money to start a new life somewhere away from my crazy dad and bring Mom and Tate along with me…

There are a lot worse men than Travis Star to lose your virginity to. In fact, if I could have picked any man from the list of every guy on the planet, I still probably would have picked him. But that doesn’t make this whole thing any easier for me.

If anything, it makes me feel more and more terrified at the prospect of somehow screwing this up and ruining it all.

The therapist speaks softly as she eases her hands over me. “I wish I had more than an hour to work on you.”

“Why?”

“You must be really stressed with all this tightness.”

“You don’t even know the half it,” I murmur.

“Well, the good thing is that I travel with Mr. Star. I’ll be at your residence to work on you whenever you need it. And you do.”

Travel with Mr. Star. A shot of jealousy flies through me. I know this woman is a professional, but just the thought of her hands on his muscular, perfect body tightens me up even more.

But that’s silly. He’s not mine, and I’m only his temporarily.

She continues working, and I sigh under her care. But then there’s a shift in the atmosphere of the room that has nothing to do with her. There’s something in the air, and goose bumps race over my skin. I open my eyes, looking down through the view of the donut cushion to see a shadow slanting over the carpeted floor, then disappearing.

Even before Travis says a word, I know he’s here.

Now I’m pounding even more between my legs, but it’s my clit coming alive, aching. I try not to shift restlessly on the table, especially at the thought of him seeing so much skin. My nipples feel aroused against the sheet that’s under me, and I don’t have a stitch on except for the other sheet that’s covering me from my lower back downward.

Yet here he is, standing in the same room.

“Is everything to your satisfaction?” he asks.

His voice is like another pair of hands on my skin, stroking their way down my back until they come to a place they shouldn’t be, at least not yet. Need makes me slick as I imagine his fingers against my sex, caressing, exploring…

I clear my throat. “Yes, everything’s great.” Pause. “Thank you.”

Awkward.

The therapist smooths her hands down my back again, following the path his voice took but ending just above the rise of my bottom, where the sheet bunches. I almost want to ask her to cover me up to my shoulders, but it’s just my back Travis is seeing.

I swallow. What does he think of what he sees so far? I hope he’s not disappointed.

“Have you ever been to the city, Nova?” Now his voice sounds hoarse.

A surge of delight charges me. I think perhaps he likes what he sees.

Fear and excitement rush me, and I can’t tell one from the other.

“I’ve never been to Manhattan,” I say.

“It’s an experience you’ll never forget.” He adds, “You’ll be seeing New York my way.” He pauses as the therapist massages my lower back. His tone thickens. “You’ll see a side of the city that you can’t experience as a tourist.”

The therapist pulls the sheet up. “Nova, it’s time for you to turn onto your back.”

I’m sure she’s heard all of Travis’s conversations with his other women. She’s probably had to sign the same non-disclosure agreement I’ve already signed with the service, so I shouldn’t worry about what she’ll think about this arrangement.

At my hesitation to turn over—I mean, Travis is right there—she urges me on.

“I’ve got you covered,” she says, and there’s a smile in her voice.

With my heartbeat pummeling me in my chest and my sex, I turn over for her, discovering that she’s kept her promise by shielding me with the sheet. But as she tucks the fabric over my breasts, I scan the low-lit room to see if Travis got a peek of anything.

He’s not even in here.

My gaze latches onto the Japanese-patterned dressing screen that blocks us from the rest of the jet, the kind of furnishing that Victorian ladies might’ve used once upon a time in a boudoir. Did he saunter behind it while I was turning over? Why, when he’s going to get quite a view soon anyway?

Suddenly, Travis Star is a bigger mystery to me than ever.

When he speaks again, it’s with that hoarseness in his voice. “You’re probably wondering where you’ll be staying in the city.”

“Honestly, I didn’t think much about that little detail.” It sounds disingenuous, but it’s the truth. “There were too many other things to dwell on.”

“I can only imagine,” he murmurs, as if there’s so much more meaning to what he’s saying than anyone would realize.

He can only imagine. Is he imagining me here on this massage bed as he stays behind the screen? Imagining what he’s going to do to me once we get to his home?

My sex is swelling with heat, craving to be touched, and I bite my lip at the sensual pain that he brings to me with only his voice.

Meanwhile, my therapist’s hands knead one of my arms, and I close my eyes.

Travis’s voice is firmer now. “You’ll be given a wardrobe to fill the closets. The website supplied me with your measurements, so I already took the liberty.”

“I see. You’re going to dress me up…” until it’s time to… Undress me.

I don’t say it because I remember what happened the last time I got too forward with him. I open my eyes and glance at the therapist, who seems as if she’s still tuning out all conversation.

When I see Travis ease out from behind the dressing screen, I gasp. The mere sight of him is that powerful as he leans against a wall, his hands in his pockets. He’s still fully dressed in his suit, unwrinkled, his gaze drilling into me.

“I’m looking forward to dressing you, Nova,” he says. “In cocktail dresses and evening gowns. In fashions that haven’t even hit Vogue or Marie Claire yet.”

His sexy gaze tells me that there’ll be a certain type of clothing I’ll be wearing during the day, but at night…?

I don’t ask what he’ll be dressing me in then, if anything.

The therapist switches her attentions to my other arm, but I barely notice.

“So it sounds like you won’t be keeping me inside all the time, away from prying eyes and the paparazzi,” I say. “If you’re dressing me to impress, I guess I’ll be out and about.”

“No matter where you are with me I’ll be discreet, as I always am.”

Just like him to remain cryptic. “I looked all over the internet and I didn’t find many pictures of you with women. I assumed that’s because the ones you’re with don’t go out with you.”

“As I said, I’m all about discretion.”

I want to ask him if he ever “dates” outside of the Highest Bidder site, and if not, why?

What’s going on behind those dark green eyes and that discriminating attitude?

He seems to sense that I’d love to venture behind those walls he’s put up between us, and his shoulders tense under his jacket. Then he relaxes, and it’s as if he’s found a subject that’ll keep me on the other side where I belong.

“No matter where you are or aren’t,” he says, “you’ll be getting your share of pampering.”

Ah, yes, more perks of this arrangement. All business.

“There’ll be spa days, much like this.” He smiles a little, and it’s a hungry smile that sends a tingle through my belly. “I like to see that you’re taken care of.”

“And that’s why you’re here, watching me.” I’m genuinely curious, not brazen. And I think he knows that because he doesn’t go cold like he did before, when he nearly kicked me off the jet.

“Yes, Nova,” he says. “That’s why I’m here. I like that this is a new experience for you. I get great pleasure out of knowing that.”

Okay, so I’ve figured out something about Travis. He enjoys seeing his women broken in more than sexually, enjoys breaking them in completely.

Now my therapist is massaging my scalp, and I nearly moan at the purring contentment that runs through my veins. It’s like warm honey flowing through me, but nothing sexual. I wallow under the slight pressure, my mind lost in a flow of relaxation.

Yet just before I close my eyes, I see Travis watching me intently, and I know for certain that, yes, this is only part one of his foreplay.

I shudder softly as I anticipate what is yet to come.