By the time we land in New York, I’m in my cheap, red dress again. My skin is humming with relaxation from the massage, and I’m hyper-aware of my now-hairless mound, but there’s hardly any discomfort there. In fact, the bareness makes me feel everything, including the brush of my panties against my sensitive skin. It’s erotic.

Naughtier than anything I’ve ever felt before.

I keep wondering how long it’ll be before Travis touches me there, and as a limousine takes us from the airport and through the traffic-laden streets of Manhattan, there’s an electricity between us that vibrates. Maybe some of that is due to my singing nerves though, because I’m fidgeting in my seat, plucking at the hem of my dress.

He’s been on the phone during most of the drive, attending to some last-minute business that came up, and that gives me the perfect opportunity to watch him as he’s been watching me all night. The lights from the city wash over his chiseled jaw, his high cheekbones. I watch the way his mouth forms around his words.

But he’s smirking with a dark edge as he ends the call.

“You sure look like the cat who ate a canary,” I say.

“Just closing a late-night business deal.” His smirk fades as he glances at me, seeming to silently chastise for commenting on his expression.

I look down and remind myself not to overstep. I’m here for a specific job and nothing more. Don’t forget it.

He tucks his phone into his jacket as the limo pulls to the curb of a sidewalk where an awning stretches over the concrete. A doorman meets us, then pulls open the passenger door and extends his gloved hand to help me out.

As I emerge, I see a fancy façade with fleur-de-lis patterns arching over a big wooden doorway with square windows. Inside there’s a marble lobby with a massive chandelier dripping crystal.

I feel Travis behind me as I take it all in, the beeping of car horns behind us echoing off the high-rise buildings.

“So this is where you live,” I say.

“No.”

I furrow my brow as he moves toward the entrance. The doorman is already there, holding the door open for us, and Travis waits for me to walk in first. As I pass him, I smell the clean scent that seems to emanate from his skin. Is it the soap he uses? A little bit of cologne? Whatever it is, I’ve been reveling in it all night, and it fills my head with dizzy fantasies.

A bed…his weight pressing over me…his skin on mine…

My stomach somersaults, my flesh a bundle of nerve endings sparking and sizzling, because somewhere in this building there’s got to be a bed, and that’s why he’s brought me here.

But I can do this. I have to.

I’m stunned to realize that, despite the fear, I truly want to.

He walks me to a bank of brass elevators then guides me into one. His fingertips exert the barest pressure on the base of my spine where the fabric dips low, exposing my naked back. At the feel of his flesh on mine, I hold my breath, my pulse hammering at every inch of my body.

We’re all alone as the car begins to go up.

I find my voice. “If this isn’t where you live, then where are we?”

He gazes down at me, and I drown in his eyes.

“This is your private apartment for the next two weeks,” he says.

Surprise spins through me, and so does a thread of relief. We aren’t going to be living in the same place? I’m going to have my very own apartment? But there’s a tangle of disappointment somewhere in there, too. It really does seem as if I’m his newest doll, and he’s storing me in my own pretty box until he wants to bring me out to play. But that’s what I signed up for, isn’t it?

I fumble with a comment. “I didn’t realize that I’d get my own—”

My voice cuts off as his gaze intensifies and he slowly moves toward me. I retreat to the corner of the elevator, looking up at him as he gets close—so close that pops of fire seem to cover my skin.

“You’re one building over from my mansion,” he says quietly. “You’ll have your own space but I’ll still be able to keep a close eye on you.”

He’s so near that it feels as if his voice is vibrating into my chest.

So is this where he kisses me? Is he going to pull up my dress and look at the new, bare me?

I’m about to explode from anxiety, and when the elevator door opens I keep looking up at him, needing, wanting. Then, just as it seems he might pull me against him to press his mouth to mine, he closes his eyes, then backs up, away from me and out of the elevator.

My stomach continues its roller coaster ride, dipping down as I exhale.

He waits for me in the hallway, and I take advantage of the reprieve. I tuck my hair behind my ear and press my hand against my jittering heart, then compose myself enough to step outside.

He already has the door to the apartment open. He’s also back to a zero-degree attitude, removed and dispassionate. Did I say something wrong, or did I somehow annoy him by not saying something I should have said?

It’s so confusing, and I don’t know what he expects, desires or needs.

Now I’m back to not being sure about anything when it comes to this man.

As I calmly walk past him and into the entry vestibule, I stifle a gasp at what lies before me. I’m not sure what to call it, but it’s a grand room with a vaulted ceiling that reminds me of the cathedrals I’ve seen in history textbooks.

“This is what a Realtor would call a gallery,” Travis says, gesturing to the chandeliers and antique furnishings that line the passageway. “Walk into it, Nova.”

I do, step by flabbergasted step. I survey the old art on the walls, the doors to different rooms that branch off from the long hallway. I follow Travis into the first space, a living room, he tells me, and my head swims at the luxury of it.

My gosh, this is my apartment for the time being, and I’m absolutely stunned by it. And as Travis brings me to room after room, the fantasy continues: bay windows overlooking the sparkling city, a dining room with a long, stately table and more art, a library with stained glass windows, a guest bedroom with oversized closets, and—my gosh—there’s even a drawing room with burgundy-painted walls and more art and antiques.

I catch him watching me again, and I close my gaping mouth. I’m such a hick, I think, but there’s a gleam in his gaze, as if he appreciates my naïve excitement.

“This is...exquisite.” Then I flush. “I don’t think I’ve ever used that word before. I don’t run in circles where I encounter ‘exquisite’ things.”

“You’ll be in that circle for the next fourteen days,” he says.

As if I haven’t been stunned enough yet, he takes me by the hand and pulls me out of the drawing room. His fingers are loosely entwined with mine as if he doesn’t want to fully touch me yet, as if he’s offering me a tease, a taste of what I have to look forward to when he finally gets me where he wants me.

A jolt of electricity shoots up my wrist, into my arm and tingles my entire body. His strong hand envelopes mine, and I feel warm all over.

As we walk inside the master bedroom, he drops my hand, allowing me to scan the creamy corner room that overlooks Park Avenue. The huge bed looks like it came straight from Versailles, with a button-tufted headboard and footboard glittering with crystals. There’s also an ivory vanity stool, a matching bench, and a nightstand, among the rest.

“I think I took a wrong turn and walked into heaven,” I say.

“Perhaps, or maybe this is someplace less pure,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

I find my brow breaking into sweat at the images his comment conjures. Me spread-eagled, with him fucking me as sweat pours from our bodies, and I scream again and again…

I shake my head and try to recover. “Is it strange that I’m dying to know what the kitchen looks like?” At his glance, I shrug. “I like to cook. Maybe I can cook you a four-course meal one night…”

He immediately cools off, and the sudden drop in temperature shuts me right up.

“I don’t expect you to cook for me,” he says. “There’re chefs for that.”

The way he says it puts a little crack in my heart. Have any of his women ever cooked him a meal because they actually wanted to? As dysfunctional as my family is, food has always been my mom’s way of showing Tate and me how much she loves us. Gary would rather order pizza though, which pretty much says it all.

As I wander around the room, running my hand over the fluffy bedspread, looking at the crown molding on the ceiling, Travis keeps his distance. But when I glance at him again, there’s a heat in his gaze that burns in me, melting me to liquid until desire pools in the very center of me. Yet other than that, his face doesn’t show any emotion.

Still, beneath those walls he puts up… Is it possible that there’s something? A wellspring of feeling that he’s hiding for some reason? As he continues to watch me, it seems like a connection forms between us, fusing across the room in an odd understanding that grows and grows.

He says so much without saying a word, I decide.

But then his jaw hardens, and I look away. Pulling myself together, I continue my exploration of the bedspread until my fingers arrive over a piece of clothing that I didn’t notice at first glance because the creamy material of it blends with the spread.

I pull my hand back from the dreamy, filmy, sheer fabric.

“A peignoir,” he says. “For your first night.”

It’s elegant and not trashy like this red dress I still have on. I almost feel as if it’s too good to touch my skin.

“There’ll be something new for you every night.” He’s still across the room, leaning against the wall now, observing me. “Everything else will be delivered later.”

With infinite care, I turn to the bed and stare at the exquisite negligee. I hold it up in front of me as the air conditioning blows the delicate material. It’s almost as if it’s been made from an angel’s wing with a little devil thrown in. Probably just enough for Travis Star to get turned on.

“If I didn’t know better,” I whisper, “I’d think I was a princess.” Or a doll.

I expect to hear his voice from across the room, but that isn’t the case.

“Every woman I’m with is a princess while she’s here,” he says from right behind me.

Oxygen snags in my lungs, and I can’t seem to get a hold of any so I can breathe. And when I feel his finger trace down my spine, every nerve ending cries out in sharp anticipation. His hand ends up at the bare small of my back, and he strokes me with his knuckles, as if mapping the curve there.

The tips of my breasts bud, and the next breath I take comes out with a shudder. My sex clenches, and I’m afraid to turn around, because I think this is it. This is where Travis is going to get his money’s worth.

“Nova,” he murmurs.

He wants me to turn around, but I’m frozen. I’m afraid I’ll disappoint him with my inexperience, even though he says he wants a virgin. I’m afraid—

My thoughts go dark as Travis turns me, crushing his mouth to mine.