To the Highest Bidder

by Clare Connelly

  He moved again, and she fell apart, grabbing his shoulders and wrapping her legs around his waist to hold him tight. Her muscles contracted around his length, and he lost all hold of his own control. He held her to his chest, his breathing ragged, as his body shook from the power of the feelings she evoked in him.

  “I may never let you go,” he said with a warning note in his voice. “How do you feel about being my permanent sex slave?”

  Her heart turned over in her chest. That is what she was, essentially. It was not romance. It was not love. It was sex. That was why she’d come there in the Mac coat. To show him that she was okay with that. That she wouldn’t have expectations beyond the bedroom. Yet hearing him explain their relationship in such black and white terms left her with an aching gulf in her chest.

  “I think even you couldn’t afford to keep me forever,” she parried, intentionally striking back at him in what she hoped was an equally painful way. Money. She wanted him to think it was a part of why she was there, even though it had nothing to do with it.

  “You’d be surprised,” he drawled sardonically. “Speaking of which, I need you to leave me your bank details.”

  Her quip had backfired spectacularly. Tears sparkled on her eyes and she had to dip her head to hide them. She shifted on the stool, breaking their connection. And as soon as he moved backwards, she took advantage of the space to stand herself, and turn her back on him. The damned tears weren’t contained to her eyes though. One slid down her cheek. She couldn’t let him see her cry. After all, she’d agreed to this. The best sex in her life, and he was basically paying her for it.

  She’d never felt so cheap.

  “I presume a direct transfer is acceptable?”

  “Mm-hmm,” she mumbled, surreptitiously wiping at her eye’s moistness. Jane didn’t often curse the particular set of circumstances that had led to her present situation. But in that moment, she cursed them all. Her dead mother. Her drunken, runaway father. And the younger sister she was responsible for caring for. If she hadn’t had to cover Anita’s expensive school fees, she would have been free to attain a job that was less demeaning years earlier. Instead, she had found an incredibly lucrative temporary role that would probably end up breaking her heart.

  Well, she couldn’t let it. She’d been through an awful lot in her twenty three years, and she’d always managed. This was no different. She would turn this situation to her advantage, and make sure she built enough protection for herself into their dynamic.

  He was an amazing lover, but there was no love there.

  He was using her body, because it was appealing to him.

  He would tire of her.

  And she would leave.

  Without a backwards glance. She cleared her throat and forced a bright smile to her face.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “I hope you feel you’re getting value for your money.” Her eyes flashed with a silent challenge. He reached for his shirt and pulled it on, then his pants. Once dressed, he placed two wine glasses down on the marble kitchen top and slowly, predatorily, walked towards her. “Oh, we haven’t even begun yet,” he promised, pulling her roughly to his chest and hooking his hands behind her back. “Are you hungry?”

  She bit down on her lip and nodded.

  “Good. What would you like?”

  She laughed unsteadily. “What do you have?”

  He frowned. “Nothing. I order in. What would you like?”

  “You order in every meal?” She shook her head. “That’s terribly wasteful, and awful for your health, to boot.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re a health nut,” he groaned, but a smile was playing on his lips.

  “I like whole foods,” she drawled. “And meals that aren’t saturated in hydrogenated vegetable oils.” She sighed exaggeratedly. “What are the options?”

  “I don’t think you understand. You tell me what you want, and my man will get it.”

  She looked at him as though he was speaking Martian. “So if I said I wanted… I don’t know… pineapple and salmon sushi, you could get it?”

  His expression was sceptical. “Is that even a thing?”

  “No.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem.” He frowned. “Is that what you want?”

  “No!” She laughed, pressing a hand into his shoulder. “Yuck.”

  “It was your concoction.”

  “What about a burger?”

  “A burger?” It was his turn to look at her as though she’d lost her mind.

  “Yep. And fries. No. Onion rings. No. Both.”

  He pulled a face. “I thought you were afraid of vegetable oil?”

  “I can’t think of a single take out option that doesn’t have vegetable oil. Next time I see you, I’ll bring groceries. Tonight, a burger will be fine.”

  He shook his head. “Cooking would be a waste of your energy. Let my security guy know what foods you find acceptable and he’ll arrange the suitable menus.” He called his security agent and placed an order, then disconnected the call. “Wine?”

  It was all so easy for him. Any food she wanted, he would arrange. How unusual it must be to live in such a way, without worrying about what things cost and where they would come from. He was looking at her expectantly, so she nodded. “Sure.” She watched as he poured two measures of a robust looking red wine.

  “With the exception of my cousin Karina, you’re the first woman I’ve known who hasn’t run and hidden in fear from food like burgers.”

  She made a sound of disgust. “That’s a pathetic stereotype.”

  He handed her a glass, his eyes quietly watchful of her face. “I speak from experience.”

  “Then you have experienced a very shallow pool of women.”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  Curiosity sparked in her gut. “What are they like? The women you usually see?”

  He put an arm around her waist and gently ushered her to the terrace. It had sweeping views of Manhattan in one direction, and the inky vista of Central Park in the other. “Why do you want to know?”

  Morbid curiosity. How far out of her depth was she? “Why don’t you want to tell me?”

  “On the contrary, I’m very happy to tell you. It’s pretty much a matter of public record anyway,” he said coldly, holding a chair out for her to sit opposite him. She winced a little as she sat, her body still getting used to the sensation of his invasion.

  It did not escape his attention. “Are you okay?” He queried solicitously, something like guilt spearing him.

  “Fine.” She sipped her wine and leaned back in the chair. He propped his bottom on the table, reclining with his ankles crossed, beside her.

  “What sort of thing are you looking for?”

  She regarded him contemplatively. “What do you mean?”

  He sighed. “Physical parameters. Educational background. Career. What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. Nothing.” She furrowed her brow, forming a little crease between her eyes. She took a deep gulp. “I guess I want to know how different I am.”

  His smile was slow to spread across his face. “You’re worlds apart.”

  She nodded, her features tight. She knew that she was, but his confirmation still hurt.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say, Jane. You’re different. This is new to me. For a start, I usually go for blondes.”

  “Blondes?” Her eyebrows flew skyward. “I wasn’t expecting something so superficial.”

  He shrugged. “Tall blondes. Long legs. Skinny. You’re pretty much the exact opposite of my ‘type’.”

  “Right.” She sipped her drink and focussed on the view. Her insides felt mushy. Pained in a way she couldn’t comprehend.

  “What about you?”

  “Boyfriends?”

  “Yeah.”

  “My work didn’t leave a lot of time for boyfriends.” Her smile was contemplative.

  “Ah, yes. Your work.” He shifted in his seat. When he spoke, it was w
ith a low mutter. “I can only imagine how many men tried what I did.”

  She arched a brow as she regarded him quietly. “You were amongst the first.”

  He looked out at the skyline. “I’m not that naïve.”

  “No. You are that offensive though. In all the years I worked for the agency, you and your father were the first to call me a prostitute.”

  He sipped his wine. “I just don’t see how that’s possible.”

  Her temper was flaring but she contained it with effort. “I’m not making it up. The agency is well regarded. I was their highest paid, most requested escort.” In his pockets, his knuckles were white, as he balled his hands into fists. “They still didn’t hesitate to fire me when they heard about you and me. Their standards are beyond reproach.”

  “How long did you work for them?”

  She had told herself she wouldn’t tell him too much. She tried to frame her answer in a way that was vague enough. “A while.”

  He shook his head. “Why so evasive?”

  “Because it doesn’t matter.” She fixed him with a solid stare. “I was paid to date hundreds of men in that time. Probably thousands.”

  He made a noise of impatience. “I can’t believe you liked that.”

  She quirked her lips. “It paid the bills. It would be impossible for you to comprehend what it’s like to have that kind of responsibility, but I couldn’t afford not to work.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty three.”

  He let out a small sigh. “So you started for the agency at what? Twenty two? Twenty one?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “How old?” He pressed, so that his face was only inches from hers

  “Nineteen.”

  He swallowed the curse that had formed on his tongue. “Why?”

  “I told you. I needed money.”

  “Who needs money that badly at nineteen?”

  She arranged her face into a small smile. “We aren’t all born with a trust fund, Carter.”

  He stood up and thrust his hands into his pockets. “You must have earned a hell of a lot more than you needed to cover rent, though. How do you not have money now? What am I missing?”

  He was shrewd. He was persistent. And he was damned right. There was far more to the puzzle than she was allowing him to see. But with good reason. She had kept Anita a secret for a long time, and she wasn’t prepared to break that habit now. Her personal life was entirely distinct from her work life. And technically, her relationship with Carter was ‘work’.

  He sat back down, reaching over and latching his fingers with hers. “I’m trying to get to know you. I just don’t understand how someone like you could end up selling yourself to men who are at a loose end.”

  “How can you be so… childish?” She sipped her wine. “You said it yourself on my birthday. We all prostitute ourselves in some way. We all sell ourselves all the time. People buy your media or whatever because they believe you. You’re a product and I’m a product. The difference between us, though, is that I don’t have a lot to offer, Carter. I know that looks are probably all I’ve got going for me. So don’t you dare judge me for exploiting that.”

  He continued to stare at her, but her words were doing strange things to his body. “What the fuck happened to you, Jane?”

  She froze, her glass midway to the table. “What? What do you mean?”

  “I’ve never met anyone like you. And yet you seem to believe looks are your only asset. Why?”

  Her eyes dropped to the tabletop. “I’m not smart. I’m not interesting. I’m not well-read. I graduated high school with an average grade.” She forced herself to look him in the eyes. “If I was three dress sizes bigger and had a bad skin rash, you’d never have noticed me.”

  “That is completely untrue.”

  “Bullshit. You just told me your type. Leggy. Blonde. Skinny. You go for looks. You could have said, ‘smart, funny, opinionated’, but you opted to describe a physical type. That is what you’re attracted to. For lots of people, looks are what make the world go around. So I sell my looks. I make pleasant conversation with people I barely know, to help them get through a night that might otherwise be uncomfortable. I’m social training wheels. And the fact that I look good in couture seems to give men confidence in situations that are nerve-inducing.”

  “You are so very, very wrong, Jane.”

  “Am I, Carter?” Her dark brown eyes scanned his face. “I’ve had four years of meeting men like you. Well, maybe not just like you. You’re pretty unique. I’ve spent the last four years talking to men who exist in your orbit. Do you know what those men would remember about me? My cup size. That’s it.”

  He spurted his wine out and looked at her with reproachful eyes. But his smile showed his true amusement. “Well, your cup size is impressive.” He put his glass down and toyed with his fingers. “I think you’re fascinating. Looks aside. You challenge me in a way that I find… refreshing.”

  “Perhaps. However, I firmly believe you would find it less refreshing if I didn’t look the way I do.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “No it isn’t. I have personal experience on this. Just… don’t argue with me.” She thought of her sister Anita, and her sense of righteousness increased. For Anita had been identical to Jane, in her first two years of life. Then, a careless accident had permanently disfigured her face. Though she had the same proportions, men did not beat a path to her door. She was intelligent and fascinating, and yet she was left almost completely alone. Because society saw her as physically flawed, and somewhat repulsive. “The sad truth of our culture is that people have more currency when they’re attractive.”

  “No. You could have gone to college. You could have made your brain your asset. You chose to pursue your looks. To sell your body.”

  She stood up, her body rigid with the force of her anger. “I have never sold my body. At least, not until I met you. And what the hell do you know about my choices?” She shook her head from side to side. “You judge everyone by the same opportunities you had available to you, but most of us never got that.”

  “We live in America. Not Afghanistan. What prevented you from pursuing a tertiary education?”

  Responsibilities. Dedication. Love and loyalty. “You’ll never understand. And I’m not here to educate you on how the masses live.” She rubbed her temples. “Do you mind if I go inside?”

  “Please yourself.”

  She stormed back into the apartment, her whole soul tormented by what she felt and what she wanted. He was from another world. He lived in a different universe. He was practically American royalty. She was nothing. A child that had been abandoned, to raise another child. How could he ever get it?

  The door opened inwards as she was standing in the kitchen, her hands pressed against the marble bench top. She startled and looked up.

  “I beg your pardon, ma’am,” the tall, wiry man said. Dressed in a suit, with a slight dip to his head, she picked him as staff instantly.

  “Please, don’t ‘ma’am’ me,” she requested instantly. “I’m Jane. Just call me that when you see me.”

  The man seemed to look at her for a beat longer than she’d expected, before nodding. “I’m Martins.”

  “Martins?” She glared at him, her anger still a throbbing beast in her breast. “First name?”

  “Surname, but it’s what I’m known as.”

  “Okay.” She nodded. “What do you do for Carter?”

  Both of them looked towards the balcony, where Carter was staring out at the glittering skyline. “I’m his principle security. I drive him. I fly with him. I get him burgers.”

  She winced. “The burgers were my idea. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s a refreshing change from paleo salad,” he whispered conspiratorially, having no idea how his reference to Carter’s previous lovers’ tastes would wound her.

  When she spoke, her voice was a little strained. “What can I say
? I’m a burger girl.” The last thing she needed was another person pointing out how poorly suited she was to Carter’s rarefied world.

  He seemed to sense a shift in mood, and placed the brown bags on the counter with a small nod. “Excuse me, ma’am. I just need a word with Carter.”

  He slipped onto the terrace, leaving Jane with bags of take out she wasn’t sure she had any stomach for.

  Their argument had upset her. She banged through the kitchen until she found some plates for their burgers, and laid them out.

  Martins and Carter walked into the lounge area a short while later. Carter’s eyes immediately landed on Jane, propped up on the same stool she’d perched on when he’d made love to her earlier. He felt a kick in his gut and a race in his pulse. Her dark hair formed a curtain and she’d hooked it over one shoulder to keep it out of her face. She was concentrating on something. A notebook. His curiosity leaped.

  “That will be all. Thank you.” He dismissed Martins without looking at him. Hell, he wasn’t simply curious. He was completely fascinated.

  “Busy?” He asked, stalking towards her with an appearance of casualness. She snapped the pages closed, almost guiltily, and dredged a smile up with effort.

  “Just killing time until you decided to come back in.” She gestured to the plates. “Dinner is here.”

  “Great.” He stood in front of her and lifted her hair from her face. “What’s that?” He nodded towards the notebook.

  Her eyes were loaded with something he didn’t understand, but her expression was blank. “A notepad.”

  A smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I mean, what are you writing in it?”

  She ran a tongue around her suddenly dry lips. “Ways in which you’re wrong about your theories of life.”

  He held a hand to his heart in a gesture of mock pain. “She lies!”