Tonight I’m going to lose my virginity to one of the hottest men in the world.

I take another long swig of my second martini at the fancy bar in the St. Regis New York, then close my eyes as the potent cocktail slides down my throat. Seconds later, a comforting warmth bathes my nerves, and I open my eyes to look around the dark-wooded room.

My “date” isn’t here to meet me yet.

But is that what I really should be calling the ridiculously handsome billionaire who won me in an auction on the secretive, elite, Highest Bidder website? He’s not quite a date.

All I do know is that Connor Kenyon spent a lot of money to buy the virginity I impulsively put up for sale, and he’s rich enough to afford me many times over. From what I’ve learned about him on TV and online, he’s got old money from his blue-blood family plus a new fortune from his luxury electric car startup. I have no idea why he’s chosen someone like me though—an everyday, average girl next door from Buffalo—when he’s famous for dating gorgeous sexual goddesses.

At the reminder of who he is and what he likes, my adrenaline surges. How can I even begin to compete with all of the models, actresses, and socialites he’s always with in tabloid pictures? What was I thinking?

I take another drink, feeling its soothing magic. It’s not like I’m desperate for the $50,000 I’ll earn for a week. Seven full days of the carnal experiences and pleasures I’m sure to get from a playboy like Connor.

No, I have a much different reason for wanting to lose my virginity this way.

Anger burns through me when I think of the real reason I went on the Highest Bidder site. Fury and bitterness fill me, and I realize these emotions are probably not ideal when getting ready for your first time having sex.

But it is what it is. I’m doing this, one way or the other…

I tilt back my martini once more, finishing it. Already tipsy, I motion to the suave bartender for another. He raises his eyebrows, silently commenting on the anxious drinking habit I seem to have developed ever since I took my seat here a half hour ago.

The bartender fixes my third drink then walks over. Down the bar, two business-suited women chatter above the mellow music. Oddly, they’re his only other customers in what’s supposed to be a normally crowded place.

“You might want to slow down,” the bartender says, sliding the cocktail to me. “Martinis can sneak up on you.”

“I wouldn’t know.” I shrug, and it almost feels as if the gin and vermouth have taken the place of my bones, making me so very liquid and relaxed. Excellent. “I’m not sush an experienced drinker.” I frown, realizing that I accidentally slurred. Whoops. I’ve never had much of a yen for booze, but drinking a bunch of martinis sounded like a good idea to quickly calm myself down.

Just one more drink might really relax me. I take a long, long sip this time, feeling the wonderful burn, and the bartender opens his mouth to say something else. Then he closes it, instead inclining his head in greeting to someone behind me.

I catch my breath. Before I even turn around, I know that Connor Kenyon has walked into the room. I can tell by the respectful expression on the bartender’s face as well as the way those two businesswomen have paused their conversation to lustfully check out the new arrival.

As I smooth out the full skirt of my quirky, flower-printed A-line cocktail dress, I get a hold of myself. Steady, Allyson. Be charming and erudite and as sober as possible.

I turn around in my chair to find Connor Kenyon at the entrance to the room, leaning against the wall with his arms loosely crossed over his broad chest. Heat rolls up the surface of my skin. A tingle buzzes me between the legs, turning me on so powerfully that I can’t breathe.

He’s even taller in person than he looks on a TV screen, his shoulders even wider under the charcoal designer suit he’s wearing.

He carries himself with an authority that goes beyond his twenty-six years, and his hair is thick and dark blond, his eyes so blue that they pierce me. He’s an American prince from a family with political connections, a golden boy who went to prep schools and Harvard, an entrepreneur who created an astoundingly successful business because of his brains and admirable drive—not simply because he was handed everything on a silver platter.

All in all, he’s a celebrity who still manages to surround himself with an air of mystery.

I don’t know how long he’s been watching me, but his gaze is intense with a hunger that reminds me that I still haven’t taken a breath. He seems to be stripping me bare, wondering what he’d find under my dress if he untied my halter straps, letting the fabric fall away from me to reveal everything—my breasts, my skin, my vulnerability.

In that charged first moment, my nipples pucker, a shock ricocheting through my belly like wild lightening. I go moist just at that first look, my most private place beating for him.

After what seems like an eternity, one side of his mouth lifts. I think I’ve passed muster.

Flustered by how turned on I am, I face the bar again, winding my fingers around the stem of my glass. My heartbeat pumps through every part of me, thudding in my ears and blocking out the music in the bar.

No turning back now, I think, my mouth dry. I lift my martini for just one more shot of liquid courage, and I’m so shaky that I spill a little of the cocktail over my hand. Great.

The liquor pulses through me with dizzy force. I fumble for the cocktail napkin to clean my hand. I think the booze is really hitting with epically bad timing.

I feel him right behind me now like a heated shadow, and my pulse picks up.

“Bourbon. Neat,” I hear him say, and it takes me a second to realize he’s talking to the bartender and not me.

It’s like his voice is a physical thing, trailing down my shoulder in a long, sizzling caress, and I shiver with delicious awareness. As subtly as I can, I blow out the breath I’ve been holding, and then I glance over at him.

He hasn’t taken a seat, and he looms over me with his sheer presence and size. Air vibrates between us, and I catch his scent. He smells good, like soap over the musk of his skin. The pounding between my legs becomes an ache, and as I shift in my chair, I feel how damp I’ve already gotten for him.

Don’t just sit here like a dummy, I think.

I start to offer my hand to him so we can greet each other, but instead I knock against my cocktail glass. As my hands dart out to keep it upright, more booze splashes onto the bar.

“I’m a teensy bit nervous,” I say, laughing a little.

Yes, Allyson, how erudite. How classy.

I try to compensate by sitting up straight. My head is getting thick, cloudy.

Connor’s gaze takes in the puddle of alcohol on the bar, and he’s as cool as a chilled glass when he fixes that sexy gaze back on me. A flood of desire swamps me once again, and I feel my face go hot.

Recovering, I sit up even straighter and offer my hand again—successfully this time. “Connor Kenyon?”

“Yes. And you’re Allyson Barnes.”

His expression is clearly interested but still reserved.

Another wave of alcohol hits me. The bartender was right about martinis sneaking up on a girl, but there’s one advantage—the cocktails have mugged my inhibitions, leaving them behind in some corner of the dim room. I want to brush my fingers over the lapels of my date’s fine jacket, then trail lower, exploring, letting him know that I’m all in with this agreement we made through the website.

Connor finally takes my hand in his own, and a surge of electricity jolts me. It leaves a sensual hum that keeps stroking me between my legs, and I nearly moan before I catch myself.

God, his eyes. He’s got the bluest, deepest eyes…

He lets go of me as the bartender slides a glass of bourbon onto the bar. Connor doesn’t move to touch it because he’s watching me again, as if peeling me apart layer by layer.

My mouth is still dry, and as I swallow, I swear I can hear the sound echo.

“Did you have anything to eat yet, Allyson?” Connor asks.

Eat. Yeah, I knew there was something I’d forgotten to do. But my stomach had been in such knots that I wasn’t hungry. “Not since breakfast.”

“And how many martinis have you had since then?”

That faint tilt is on his mouth again, but I’m not sure he’s amused. There’s a tightness to it, and I think he might actually be angry that the girl he paid so dearly to have his way with is sauced.

Way to go, Ally.

But I can save this. Really, I can. With a smile that my ex, Robbie, would have found much to forward, I say, “This is only my third drink.”

“It looks as if you’ve had three martinis too much.”

“I’m not actually a drinker. Just turned twenty-one. But tonight I…” Should I tell him just why I really came here? My true reasons for wanting to lose my virginity in such a bizarre circumstance?

No.

The classy, beautiful, successful women he dates wouldn’t give away their secrets like that. “Tonight I’m celebrating,” I say instead.

“Celebrating what?”

With a perky boost of courage, I pick up my glass and toast him. “Freedom. And our…arrangement.”

A muscle flickers in his jaw, and I know I’ve said too much in a public place. But no one seems to have heard with the music playing and the bartender chatting with his only other customers down the bar.

“What I meant,” I whisper louder than I intend to, “is that I’m super happy to be here. With you. To do what I’m here to do.”

Shut up.

After an edgy pause, my date clinks glasses with the one I’m still using to toast him. Then he smoothly relieves me of my martini and deposits the drink onto the bar.

“Allyson—”

“Call me Ally.”

He runs his gaze over me again, leaving a path of quivers. I restlessly shift in my seat once more, feeling the slickness on my panties, and I look up at him. I wish I knew what he was seeing and how he likes it.

But there’s a heat in his eyes that tells me he’s attracted to the “cute” but not “gorgeous” girl in the somewhat old-school, out-of-the-ordinary flowered dress with blond hair that curls to her shoulders. Maybe he even likes my lush lips and the dark brown eyes that my ex-boyfriend used to call “mysterious.” Although I don’t think Robbie meant the term as a compliment.

To Robbie, the best compliment you could give a girl was that she had “morals,” “convictions,” and lived a simple, unpretentious life.

Then again, my ex didn’t turn out to be quite the moral authority he liked to present himself as when we first met…

As if needing to chase away a stray thought, Connor takes a drink of his bourbon, then sucks in air between his teeth. Finally, he looks down at me.

“It’s clear you’re in no shape to begin our arrangement,” he says quietly, with that edge I noticed before.

Shit. He’s unhappy with me.

I try to smile with confidence. “I’m okay. Truly.”

Connor puts down his cocktail. His voice is low and taut. “I don’t like to ply women with liquor. And you’re plied, believe me.”

I shrug in what I think might be a charming manner. He is so darn handsome. Usually, I’m not a big flirt, but right now, I want to nuzzle up to him like a kitten. My engine’s been revving ever since he stepped into the room.

And the more the martinis have kicked in, the more and more my inhibitions have faded.

I realize he’s giving me a strict, not-so-charmed look. “Listen, Allyson—”

“Ally.” I smile at him, even though I think I’m seeing two of him now.

“Ally.” His tone lowers even more, getting gritty. He leans close. “I didn’t sign up for someone who isn’t ready and fully aware of what she’s getting herself into.”

I’ve already checked in to a beautiful suite upstairs with a king-sized bed, living room and powder room, Italian marble bathroom with a huge tub, and a big, big TV. It’s a fantasy room just waiting for a fantasy like Connor Kenyon, and I’m eager to get to it.

“But I am ready,” I say.

He waits for me to focus again, and his impatience grows. “Goddammit, I wish this had started off differently. Your website profile intrigued me, and that’s why I decided to bid on you, and the second I saw you today…” His jaw tightens before he continues. “But you got drunk before we even met.”

I reach out to grasp his suit jacket then put on my best I’m-so-very-sober voice. “I’m not as buzzed as you think.”

“You no doubt passed buzzed two martinis ago.”

Yup, underneath that cool surface, he’s angry, and it’s actually kind of hot.

He glances down at my hand, almost as if I’ve touched the untouchable. But when he looks back at me, there’s temptation in his gaze. His eyes rest on my lips, and I wonder if he’s thinking dirty thoughts about them.

“I’m totally fine,” I say.

Slowly, I realize that I didn’t say totally. It came out as toe-lee.

He watches me, and with every passing heartbeat, my pulse bubbles. I can feel the sensual pop of lust in my clit.

And tonight, I’m going to let him touch it. I’m dying for him to…

I find myself leaning toward him, a silly smile on my lips, and Connor lets out a rough sigh. He slides his thick arm around me to keep me steady and eases me out of the chair.

“Come on, Goldilocks,” he says. “I think it’s time to tuck you in.”

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” I imagine him slipping beneath the sheets with me. My heart is scampering around my chest like a fearful mouse, but this is what I signed up for.

I revel in the feel of my breasts against Connor’s side as he steadies me. I’m fascinated by the clean smell of him, by everything about him.

So hot.

“Put everything on my tab,” Connor says to the bartender.

Then he directs me toward the exit and, oh, wow, being drunk for the first time is making everything fascinating: the feel of the muscles in his arm under the smooth fabric of his suit, the heat coming off of him in waves and searing into me until I’m one big, wet heartbeat. Why haven’t I ever tried to get drunk before? It’s lovely. Everything is lovely!

“Things sure move fast with you, Connor Kenyon.”

“Not fast enough. It would’ve benefited me to arrive here a little earlier than I did.”

“Nah. Then you would’ve seen what a nervous wreck I was.” Is. Am. Whatever.

In stony silence, he brings me into the elevator, and while the doors close on the lobby, I sway away from him, but not on purpose. I brace my hands on the brass railing lining the wall as I fizzily smile at the man who’s about to be my first lover if I have anything to say about it.