by Paige North
My mind becomes a black sky streaked with a light show—one swipe of red, until it fades. Another thrust of blue. Then purple crossed with green. With every one of his drives, the colors stay longer until all I see is a canvas of slashed colors building on one another. Yellow…blue…green…purple…
As the pressure inside me rises, it’s just red, red, red, pulsing and growing and flashing—
I come with a blast, giving a full-throated cry, falling apart, red covering my gaze until it runs down in streaks to leave me with the fresh black canvas of my mind.
But Connor hasn’t finished off yet, and as I regain consciousness, I cling to him, urging him on and on until he comes in a series of wet spasms that fill me up.
When he’s done he falls against me, pulling me close, kissing my forehead as I lose myself in him so completely that I just might disappear.
Chapter 8
Time passes with my sweaty skin against his. I slide my hand over his thick arm, exploring his muscles, wondering when I’ll break the silence to say something…or when he will. There’s a dull pain between my legs, a stretched stinging.
But I feel new. Utterly satiated.
When he reaches over me for my torn dress that’s piled near my head, I roll over with him. He keeps me against his hard chest—sweat, musk, the hint of soap on his skin—and when he rolls back, I come with him, resting on my side.
I look up at him, and our faces are so close that I can see the slight stubble coming out on his chin and jawline. My cheeks burn with the memory of something scratchy, making me feel raw and sensual.
“That was…” I start to say.
He rests on his back, and I lay my head on his chest.
“Yeah,” he says. “It was.”
“How do you know what I meant?”
Instead of getting after me for asking a question, he answers. “If you were going to say it was pretty fucking good, I’d agree.” He winds a strand of my hair around his finger. “Way fucking good.”
“It was?” And here I thought it was just me.
“Like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.”
Stunned, I don’t respond. Is he only buttering me up so that I won’t give him such grief during our remaining time together? Is he humoring the ex-virgin so I won’t have a performance complex?
His arm has tensed up, and he’s stopped toying with my hair. After his comment, the temperature in the room has changed, and I know that if I look in his eyes, I’ll see the return of that coolness I’ve gotten so used to.
Was he telling the truth about how good it was and he regrets it?
Once again, I push my luck. “What made you go on the Highest Bidder site, Connor?”
He chuckles, jogging my head on his chest. “I like to find fireballs like you to entertain me.”
Yup, he’s definitely armored up again. “You make all the virgins who auction themselves off sound feisty.”
“Not like you.”
“Do you ever go on the site to bid on more experienced women?”
“Not your business, Goldilocks. Now why don’t you tell me why you went on the site?”
And he’s officially done being questioned. “It’s a long story.”
“We’ve got some time.”
I have no issues with telling him, so I go for it. “You already know that I come from a straight-arrow family, so I’ve lived a pretty sheltered life, and I’ve always wondered…”
He picks up where I leave off. “What’s out there? Because your boyfriend wasn’t giving it to you?’
“Basically.” I draw circles on his chest with my fingertip. “But there’s more to it than my desire to explore the world before I settle down. Highest Bidder was an extreme way of doing that, and girls like me don’t get extreme unless they’re pushed for some reason.”
“That sounds about right, because I also saw you jump into the deep end of the extreme pond at the bar last night.”
“I told you that I drank too much because I was nervous.” I stop tracing patterns on him. “What I want to know is how you still found me attractive after I got sick and all that.”
He taps his fingers on my back as if he’s deliberating how much he should tell me. Then he roughly sighs. “I was attracted to you before we even met. Let’s leave it at that.”
Okay then.
We both breathe. I slip my arm to the other side of him. My breasts press against him, and the sensation warms me up. The buzz of his low voice travels through me as he speaks.
“So what pushed you to become so extreme, Goldilocks?”
“The boyfriend. The ex. He betrayed my trust and sent me into a bit of a tailspin.”
“Just a bit, huh?”
“Enough to send me into your bed.”
Another quiet laugh, and he rubs my back before resting his fingers at the base of my spine. He strokes me there, and I get turned on again, just like that.
“Anyway,” I say, “when you date a guy since high school and then get worked over by him, it’s enough to rattle anyone.”
“What exactly did he do?”
“He cheated on me. I was ready to give Robbie myself for the rest of his life and he stomped all over me.”
Connor’s fingers go still, as if he’s somewhat disturbed. Why?
He stays silent as I go on.
“I did my part to be a good girlfriend. I never even looked at another guy, and he told me there’d never be another woman. I believed him, and he said we should save ourselves until after marriage. That’s a real commitment. So instead of going all the way, we would watch movies in our parents’ living rooms and kiss and—”
“How did he cheat on you?”
It’s as if he doesn’t want to hear about how I’ve kissed someone else. Is it possible he’s jealous after we’ve just been so intimate?
Doubtful.
“Ella, my ex best friend, came to me crying. She was blubbering about what a huge mistake she’d made, that she and Robbie had been hanging out together one night and gotten into the liquor cabinet while her parents were away on summer vacation. One thing led to another and she and Robbie ended up having sex. She regretted it and came to me right away, but still… It happened. And when I confronted Robbie, he just lied and tried to weasel out of it. After that, we broke up and…” I smile against Connor’s skin. “I wanted an experience like you.”
He doesn’t say anything. His fingers have tensed against my spine. If he is jealous—and that’s a big if—I’m sure a playboy like him has no room for that emotion in his life. There’s a reason he goes on Highest Bidder, and I’m sure it’s a lot like mine. Neither of us was looking for some kind of romantic connection.
I look up at him to find that he’s staring at the ceiling, his gaze blank. He’s already pulled away from me mentally, and even though I have my theories, I truly doubt I’m right about him being jealous of Robbie. I have no idea just what has set off this coldness in him again.
He finally speaks. “What will you do after this week is up, Goldilocks?”
“I don’t know. I’m taking some time to think about whether getting back with Robbie is the right thing to do. You can’t just throw away all those years we put into each other. At least, that’s what my family says.”
“Your family.”
“I’m close with them and they’re very traditional. They say I should forgive Robbie, we have so much history, so much in common. It was always just accepted that we would end up together. I suppose when this is all over, I probably will do just that.”
I’m not sure why I told him I would get back together with Robbie. The truth is, when I think of Robbie I feel nauseous. Maybe I wanted to see what Connor would say—if he’d try and talk me out of going back with my ex. If he’d show any kind of feeling or emotion.
Connor finally glances at me with those cool eyes, then sits up, his back to me. I have to force myself from reaching out to smooth my fingers down his broad back that tapers into a lean waist. I want to
feel and explore every inch of his amazing body because all I got was a taste tonight.
But then he gets out of bed, stopping only to pick his discarded clothing off the floor. I sit there, a victim of my longing as I run my gaze over his long legs, the streamlined muscles under his skin, the sexy dent where his hip meets his gorgeous ass, the ridges of his abs.
Then I blow out a breath and ask, “Where’re you going?”
“My bedroom. And don’t ask why, Allyson.”
He stands there for a moment, then locks gazes with me, and I can’t help thinking that he’s already gone.
“Thank you for the great fuck,” he says. “You were worth every dollar.”
With that, he leaves the room, and I let him go, knowing that if I tried to say another word, I might burst into tears instead.
Chapter 9
I barely sleep because the night is weighing heavily on me. It’s true that I knew there would be no commitment in this arrangement, no feelings involved, but I hadn’t expected to be this jerked around by any man who won me in the Highest Bidder auction.
And Connor has jerked me but good, going from hot to cold and then even colder.
Can I really endure another week of being treated like his custom-ordered blow up doll? Because he might as well buy something just as emotionless to entertain him. Being told I was worth every dollar wasn’t only demeaning.
It hurt.
The more I think about his comment during the night while I toss and turn, the more I decide that Connor can go to hell for all I care. Back home, Robbie pushed me too far as well, and I didn’t stick around for more of that.
I roll out of bed early, pausing only when I feel the soreness between my legs. It’s an aching reminder of last night, and not just a physical one. Regret tightens my throat as I brush my teeth then take a quick shower in the marble bathroom, the water pulsing over me as if trying to massage away my bad feelings. But even a hundred showers won’t wash off the decision I’ve made.
After I put on one of the sweet, homemade little dresses I brought with me, I leave the wardrobe Connor bought for my use in the closet where it belongs. I gather what few things I have and lift my wheeled suitcase in my arms so it won’t make noise over the hallway’s white mosaic tile. But as I struggle toward the front door, I drop the luggage like a klutz, and the sound echoes.
Connor’s voice eases out from another room. “I was just about to get you up for breakfast.”
The low timbre of his words sends a trill of lust through me, but I pretend I don’t hear him and bring my suitcase to its wheels, pulling it in a hurry. The door is only a few yards in front of me.
As I reach out for the chrome knob, I feel Connor’s magnetic presence, and my hand pulls back, as if obeying some kind of inner command to stay and give him another chance. Heat scratches down my back, and I brace myself to see him one last time.
I force myself to turn around, and there he is—his dark blond hair damp from a shower, his eyes glowing with what I think might be happiness to see me, even though that can’t be it. He’s shirtless, wearing a pair of charcoal, low-slung sweatpants, and the sight of his hard chest and wide shoulders almost does me in.
As his gaze travels to my baggage, he goes as cold as marble.
“Going somewhere?” he asks.
“Yes. That means I won’t be staying for breakfast or any other meal.”
Instead of getting angry, he leans against the wall. He couldn’t be more annoyed, and the fact that this is the extent of his emotions makes me think that I’m making the right choice in leaving. If there was any part of me that wanted to stay, it’s already been swept away now.
“To be clear,” he says, “you’re walking out on our contract.”
“I don’t desperately need the money. And I sure don’t need to be treated as if I’m one of your cars that you just took out for a test drive and parked in the garage.”
“All right.” He doesn’t move except to gesture toward the door. “I’ll call Highest Bidder to terminate the agreement again. If you need transportation back to Buffalo, I’ll arrange that, too.”
It’s as if he’s patting me on the head, condescending to me, and a humiliated blush makes my skin burn. The worst thing, though? He’s not fighting for me to stay, and god help me, but I’m forced to admit that I was on my way out because somewhere deep inside, I wanted him to stop me from going.
By now my throat is burning, too. And here I thought I’d seen something in Connor’s eyes last night. Like a fool I’d responded to whatever it was as if I was starting to fall for him, which is ludicrous. Now that he’s standing there waiting for me to walk out his door, I realize that this really is a bad situation for me, because I just can’t keep thinking that something might happen between us—or ever could.
It’s time to go.
I get a better grip on my suitcase handle. “I’ll take care of my own ride.”
Then I open the door, walk out, and head toward the private elevator. I can’t believe he’s letting me go this easily, but why wouldn’t he? Jeez, what an idiot I am! My rebound from Robbie must’ve hit me harder than I thought if I got attached to Connor this quickly…
I’m biting the inside of my lip to keep my emotions in check, but my gaze is blurring as the elevator doors roll open. In spite of myself, I take one more cloudy look back at Connor’s door before I leave him behind.
He’s standing outside in the marble lobby, his arms barred over his powerful chest, and in spite of his towering strength, his gaze is full of a confusion I understand all too well.
I suck in a breath at the contrast on him—and at my confusion.
As our eyes meet, his jaw tightens. Then he shakes his head and lets out a slow breath before he grits out, “What would it take for you to stay.”
He doesn’t ask it; it’s more like a demand disguised as a question. But it’s enough to make me melt a bit. Even so, my guard is still up. Robbie worked me over once, and from now on I’m going to deal with men on my own terms.
The elevator doors close as my throat constricts.
“I’m pretty sure you don’t care if I stay,” I croak. “Admit it, Connor—I’m nothing but an afterthought to you.”
He glowers, his arms tightening over his chest, flexing his arm muscles. My traitorous stomach flips.
“I don’t think you understand me,” he says. “You’re misreading the situation and you’re taking off before things can be resolved.”
“What am I misunderstanding?”
“My life.” His words are stony. “It’s complex and stressful, and that’s why I behave the way I do.”
I take in what he’s just told me, hardly believing I’ve heard him right. He’s let down his guard an inch, but that’s not enough. I need more than excuses.
“Listen,” I say. “We had an arrangement, a contract. I’m not stupid, so I’m fully aware of what that entails. But I need to be treated with respect and class.” I laugh at that last part. “I know I didn’t exactly come off as classy the other night at the hotel, but in spite of making a drunken dork of myself, I do have some self-esteem, and I’m not going to just be your doormat. I’m not anyone’s doormat.”
He clenches his jaw, making that muscle tick in his cheek. This time the breath he lets out is long and gruff.
Then he looks toward his apartment, and I wonder if he’s remembering last night and how he told me that he’s never experienced anything like it with anyone else. When he looks back at me, I can see in his gaze how much he wants me, and my heartbeat pistons through me.
“Tell me, bottom line,” he says. “What exactly are you asking of me?”
“You can’t ever say anything cruel like you did last night, just to hurt me.”
He licks his lips. “It wasn’t to hurt you. It was to keep you at a distance.”
“I don’t care,” I say firmly. “It was mean and it can’t happen again.”
Connor nods and sighs. “Fine. What else do you dema
nd?”
Now my blood is speeding through me, high on hope and adrenaline. Boldness pushes me to say, “I want, for the rest of the week, to be your date to any public events.”
He looks as surprised as I am at my brass and maybe even what can be considered delusion, but I continue.
“I want to come first for you during just this short time, Connor. I told you how it made me feel to be so uncertain when I saw you at that red-carpet event with…her. The supermodel.” Now I sound jealous instead of merely insecure about how I measure up to the women he’s deemed good enough to be seen in public with. Okay, maybe I am jealous, but I’m not going to backtrack. “If I were to stay, there’d be no more ‘other women’ in the picture while we’re together. I don’t want to be sitting here on your sofa while you’re flaunting your dates around town.”
“Goddammit, Allyson, those women are just for show.”
“Are they? Because you date enough of them.”
His barred arms tighten. “Take my word on this—I wouldn’t be enough of an asshole to sleep with any woman I might take out in public during the week you and I have together.”
What does that even mean?
He adds, “I’m only with them for the media’s sake, to keep up appearances.”
“I see. And just how are you trying to appear?”
Now he’s back to being brusque. “You’re not getting it.”
“I really do want to.”
A harsh pause, then, “Keeping up appearances is a part of my job. Kenyon Motors in particular attracts a certain client. I don’t only sell cars—I sell dreams. Every man who buys one of my creations wants to be with the women I’m with, do you understand? My social life is one big duty to my corporation, to the shareholders, to my family…”
He trails off there, but I don’t care. All I hear are more excuses. “You know what my job is? To make sure that I never feel the way I felt when I saw you at the red-carpet event with that supermodel.”
