Twenty-three rooms later on the tour, I’m gaping at what I’m seeing. I never knew that someone could be this rich or that a house could be this top-of-the-line extravagant. I also never knew someone could be as inaccessible as Dr. Owen Gregory, so I’m learning a heck of lot about life today.

I’ve already made several attempts at some “getting to know you” chitchat to loosen both of us up. After all, I’m going to sleep with this man tonight, so it’d be great if we could take a breather from all this tension. But he’s blocked every one of my attempts by either ignoring my questions or brushing off my comments.

When he showed me the first floor with its eat-in chef’s kitchen, a breakfast room, and a den with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook a garden and patio, I commented on the modern paintings decorating the walls, hoping my chit-chat might bond us for a hot second over art.

Nope.

When he showed me the servant’s quarters and guest powder room, I randomly asked if there were accommodations for pets, too, because I’ve got a soft spot in my heart for animals.

Uh-uh.

After we took the elevator to the second floor with its reception room, living room, dining room, and another powder room, I joked about the glass sculptures that decorate this level and said that I hoped his guests didn’t often bring kids to his dinner parties because of all the fragile art. That was my way of wanting to know if he likes children as much as I do.

Zilch.

The same silent treatment and question dodging continues for the third floor and the fourth floor.

All he gives me by way of information is that there’s also a fifth floor that contains his master bedroom and then the tour is over.

God help me, but I’m going to take one last shot at him here outside the library with all its precisely shelved books and artful models of robots.

“This is all amazing,” I say. “How long have you lived here?”

He coolly folds his hands behind his back and looks down at me with an even, unblinking gaze. “You might have noticed that I have no interest in talking about my past or divulging anything of a personal nature, Miss Hope. And, likewise, I’m not at all interested in finding out any personal details about you.”

I feel my jaw dropping, but not as it did when I first saw him or this mansion. This time I’m taken aback by his bluntness.

He continues. “This is a business transaction. That’s why I paid such a high price for you.”

Well. It looks as if I’m only here to keep my mouth shut and screw him.

After all I’ve been through and after everything I’ve done to preserve my humanity after that hurricane tore everything in my life apart, I’m just a transaction to him. A…pussy.

Damn me, but my jaw starts to tremble. My gaze goes a little blurry and hot with tears. Don’t cry, I tell myself. Don’t you dare.

But these past months have tested me, frayed my nerves, and I can’t keep the hurt out of my voice. “Fine. I understand.”

“Good.”

A serrated silence gnaws its way between us, and through the haze of my tears, I see him tense up. Then he seems to lose some of his stiffness, but not by much.

“It’s how I prefer things,” he says tightly.

I feel a tear start to wiggle its way free, and through the sheer force of my will, I command it not to go anywhere. I don’t want this hard-hearted man to see that he’s stung me.

Then the tear falls before I can wipe it away, and anger surges through me.

“Well then,” I say, my voice thick. “How about it, Dr. Gregory? Do you want me to just strip right here so we can get the whole thing over with and you can be done with me? Is that how you’d prefer things?”

Right away I regret it, and as I swipe another tear away, I can see the anger in him, too. I’ve been testing him during the tour with all my innocent comments and questions, and it’s obvious that he only tolerated that until he got fed up enough to shut me up. Now I can see how far I actually pushed him.

But when I look a little closer, I see something else—something in the darkness of his eyes. It’s as if no one ever pushes him, and he’s not used to it.

Before I can figure him out, he moves toward the elevator. He presses the call button and talks over his broad shoulder to me.

“In spite of this rough start, I expect you to go to your room and wait for me.”

I’m being sent to my room? What am I, a seven-year-old?

He continues. “I’ll be there later, after going in to work. There’s much I need to attend to.”

As the elevator door slides open, I realize what this actually means—he’s not sending me home. He’s keeping me, even with my sass.

He reaches inside to press a button, then stands back while holding the door open.

Miffed, I wipe the dampness from my cheeks and stride into the car. He’s still blocking the door from closing, looming over me, his gaze fierce yet chilly. But the closer I look, the more I see that there’s something in his eyes that seems just as ragingly confused as I am.

As I strive for breath, I realize that his chest is slightly rising and falling just as mine is. But where I’m feeling a little out of control around him, he’s got an iron grip on himself, even with something as simple as breathing.

His mastery of the situation arouses me, and a sharp sensation pierces me between the legs, a craving that’s already getting me primed for him. Can I be more of a pushover for him?

And why him?

“My kitchen is fully staffed and has a personal chef,” he says, still holding the door, “so order anything you’d like. You can take a bath, watch movies on your own TV, sleep, or try on any of the clothing that is in your closets and dresser. Be ready for me when I return.”

I get the feeling that he’s trying to make our little spat up to me somehow. All those beautiful outfits he showed me during our brief stop in my room during the tour…everything in this mansion… It’s all mine until he gets home to have his way with me.

He’s really keeping me.

I can’t tear my gaze from his, even as he lets go of the door and it starts to slide closed. The last thing I see as my heart frantically beats is the hunger in his eyes, the need.

The erotic possibilities that await me tonight.

* * *

Nat meets me as the elevator doors open, then escorts me to my room for the night.

But just one night, I remind myself.

I don’t know what kind of a night it’ll be either, but a combination of fear and excitement gives me pleasant shudders as we walk into my own private space.

The bedroom’s décor is sleek yet comfortable, with a low silver padded headboard, piles of pillows on the bed, shiny chrome furniture, and metallic modern paintings. Nat efficiently rubs a cloth over the surface of a dressing table, seeing to this one last detail before smiling at me with a sweetness that reminds me of my mom.

An emotional bruise makes my heart hurt for a moment until Nat speaks.

“You know, Dr. Gregory can appear rather like a mean ogre at times, but he’s actually much nicer when you get to know him.”

“I don’t think I’m going to be getting to know him very well,” I say. “And it sounds as if I’m not the only girl he’s hired who came off that elevator with a long face.”

Nat laughs softly, and even if she’s making no comment, I cling to her warmth. She’s the only friendly face I’m likely to see during this odd adventure. But when she gives me another fond glance, I think she likes me as much as I like her.

I sigh. “Would I be wrong if I said that my life is far messier than Owen’s, and that probably makes us as compatible as oil and vinegar?”

“You might not be too far off base.”

It’s a relief to talk to someone about this, because no one knows that I went to Highest Bidder to get the money I sorely need. No one knows the lengths I’m going to. They think I’m raising money on crowdfunding sites.

Little do they know I’m concentrating on only one man.

“Actually, I have no complaints about being here,” I say. “This job is a godsend. When I found out about the web site, it was a no brainer to auction myself off. It’s quick money, and it’s going to jumpstart getting my brothers and sisters back in my family home. Your boss might not acknowledge it, but he’s about to help me pick up the pieces of my life.”

“May I ask how old your siblings are?”

I’m touched that she wants to know. “Jasmine is eleven, Jake is twelve, Jason is fourteen, and Jemma is sixteen.”

“I hope you don’t mind, but as Dr. Gregory’s personal assistant, I reviewed your application on Highest Bidder. I’m privy to many things, but not all of them, such as your family’s personal details.”

I want to ask if she was the one who thought I would be a good fit for Owen after she went through all the girls on the website, but I can’t. It would almost make her sound like a pimp, and she’s far from it.

But I really want to ask why Owen goes to Highest Bidder. And why did he want a virgin like me?

Nat nods, as if to herself. “Based on the information you did provide, I had the feeling that you really needed the money. So I was happy when you were…”

“Chosen?” I risk asking.

Nat’s look doesn’t tell me anything, but at the possibility that Owen did choose me himself, my pulse flutters.

Yet I don’t push my luck with Nat. Instead I say, “My parents were never wealthy people, and after the storm, there was no life insurance payout for us to fall back on after their deaths. Even worse, our home was also damaged by the hurricane.” I shake my head. “I didn’t want to put this in my application, but I found out afterward that Mom and Dad had been in arrears on their mortgage payments, so the house is due to be foreclosed on soon. It wasn’t covered by insurance at the time of the storm, so we were out of luck.”

But the very worst of it is that my brothers and sisters are in foster homes, split up and separated for now. Until I can show the state that I’m financially able to take care of them again.

Nat comes over to pat me on the arm then squeeze it. “Sweetheart, your luck has changed. For one wonderful night, just be a princess in this house. Take a lovely bath and eat some exquisite food. Then…” She smiles reassuringly. “Then do what you came here to do.”

She lets go of me. I don’t see her expression as she leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

As I wander into my marble bathroom and look over the ritzy bath soaps, oils, and lotions that are here for my pampering pleasure, my nerves tickle me. Aside from the modest kissing and caressing I’ve done with other boys, I don’t know what to expect tonight. I mean, I know what to expect, thanks to all the reading I’ve done and gossiping I’ve engaged in with my friends in the past. But I don’t know how it’ll feel or if I’ll do it right.

What if Owen ends up disappointed?

What if I’m too nervous to please him?

I blow out a breath, draw a bath, and use plenty of mandarin orange-scented bubble gel. I stroll back out to the walk-in closet while stripping off my dress, panties, and bra. It doesn’t take me long to select a silky cream chemise accentuated with delicate lace. It comes with a sexy matching robe, so I lay that on the bed, too.

Will he like me in this lingerie? Or, more to the point, will he like me out of it?

I go back to the bath and stop the water, then ease myself into the velvety warmth. As I soak, the water and bubbles flirt with my skin, and I part my legs under the surface. I shift so that the water slides against my pussy, stroking over my clit. When I do it again, a thrill travels from my sex to my belly, making it flip. A decadent, fuzzy feeling takes me over, and I slip my hand between my legs, pressing, trying to make the ache go away.

But as the image of Owen possesses me, the ache only grows. I think of his long fingers caressing me, and I wiggle, feeling the heat rising in my belly. I dip a finger into my opening, then bite my lip as I withdraw it.

He’s going to be so much bigger than my finger when he enters me. Will I cry out? Will it hurt?

As I ease my finger back in, feeling the slick walls of my sex, I close my eyes and imagine Owen inside me, pushing in, pulling out, getting me hotter and hotter with every pump…

Dammit, I think as I stop. It’s no use. My fingers are no substitute for what he’s going to do to me tonight. And in spite of the fact that he frightens me, angers me, and makes me almost queasy with nerves, I want him and him alone.

And if I admit to my deepest, naughtiest desires, I want to be fucked by him so desperately that it almost hurts.

I get out of the bath and wrap myself in a thick towel that smells like fresh air, but my breath is choked in my lungs. The man I’m going to be with is mysterious, maybe even cruel, yet there’s a depth I saw in his eyes that hints at something else going on with him. Something more complex than I can explain or even comprehend…

After I dry off and soothe myself with the mandarin orange-scented oil and lotion, I go back into the bedroom, dropping my towel on the floor and weaving through the dress, bra, and panties I’ve also left scattered. I slip on the chemise and robe then go to the bed and turn on the TV.

I’m too darn nervous to eat anything, and as night falls outside the window, I watch one movie, then another. I take off my robe, toss it to a nearby chair, and crawl underneath the bed sheet.

As the hours tick down and I put on another movie, I start to wonder if Owen has had second thoughts about our arrangement. Dread spikes me as I think of the language in our contracts that allows either one of us to back out and pay a penalty.

Then, somehow I fall asleep, haunted by doubts, restless with fright, and when a sound eventually wakes me up with a start, I look at the digital clock on my nightstand that tells me it’s nearly midnight.

Then I hear another sound. A knock on my door.

I sit up, my pulse hammering at me, my stomach somersaulting as my door slowly opens, revealing Owen in all his powerful, dominating glory.

In the blue light from the TV, I can see that he’s still dressed in his designer suit, as immaculate as always, his wide frame taking up the entire doorway. But it’s the look on his face that shocks me, because it’s obvious that he’s famished, his gaze taken over with blatant lust.

He’s finally come home to claim his virginal prize.