Keeping The Virgin (The Virgin Auctions, Book Four)

by Paige North

  “Smith,” she coos, leaning over the bar to give him a flash of her perfect cleavage. “I thought you were gonna call me.”

  He murmurs something in response that I can’t hear, and she licks her lower lip, sexing him up with her eyes. Clearly she isn’t really that upset that he never called her back.

  I fight back the urge to roll my eyes at them and sip my drink. Whatever. I don’t care about him, anyway. Let them flirt. I’m content to just sit here and enjoy my drink. I have to give him credit—he picked something good for me. It’s rich but not too heavy, with slightly sweet undertones. I’ll have to ask him what it is. That is, if I can tear his attention away from the chick.

  I close my eyes and let the taste roll around in my mouth. This is my new life, having new experiences, trying new beer. Baby steps. No more having someone tell me what is best for me. I can tell myself.

  A small smile slides over my lips. I take another big gulp, then barely keep from spitting it out all over the bar when something hard slams into my back. I spin around to see what’s happening—two men are shoving at each other with a group of people half circled around, yelling at them.

  “Fuck you!” the dark-haired man yells to the shaved-headed guy. “You fucking cheated!”

  “I didn’t cheat, asswipe,” the other man says in a warning tone, his eyes slit narrow. “You’re just too fucking drunk to be any good. You suck at pool.”

  “And you suck my dick,” the first guy says, then gasps when the shaved-headed guy slugs him right in the jaw.

  I blink and jerk back in shock. What the hell? When I turn to see what Smith, the bartender, will do to handle the brawl, I see him staring at the two men, looking bored. He gives a weary sigh then strolls around the bar and waves at the men.

  “Knock it off, assholes,” he grunts. “Take that shit outside.”

  The guys ignore him at first, shoving at each other.

  I see Smith’s jaw tick, and then he steps up and grabs them at the scruff of their necks. “I said, take it the fuck outside.” His words are low, barely heard over the thudding music, but effective. I even find myself responding to the bold command in his voice, the confident and firm grip of his hands, my spine straightening. What the hell?

  The two men stop and while they’re both panting and glaring at him, they do as he asks and pull away from his grasp, shooting nasty glares in each other’s directions. The crowd groans and gripes about the fight breaking up, but they disperse, going back to their regular activities of drinking and playing pool and hitting on each other.

  Wow. I’ve never actually seen a bar fight before. I realize I’m clenching my beer mug and loosen my fingers’ death grip on the glass. My heart is fluttering wildly, in fear and…if I’m honest, a little bit of excitement. Just a tiny bit.

  Because here I am on a Friday night, in a crazy-ass townie bar, having some random beer and being brave, all by myself. Two weeks ago, I was cooped up hiding in the apartment, popping anxiety pills like candy, desperate to stop feeling the tension and fear that came with almost every encounter I had with Roger. Wishing I could make him happy, knowing that something had to change because I was reaching my breaking point.

  Two weeks ago, the big incident happened that pushed my life in this new direction.

  “Hey, sweetness,” a voice says right in my ear from out of nowhere. I slide around on my stool and see a short, stocky man with a neck like a football linebacker. His brows are a dark slash on his forehead and he’s eyeing me greedily. I can smell beer on his breath. “You here alone?”

  I give him a polite smile and try to find a way to give him a nice brush-off. “Just enjoying a beer before I head back home, thanks.” I start to turn back toward the bar when his hand slides along my lower back and grips my side. The intimacy of the gesture makes my skin crawl.

  “My name’s Dan. I haven’t seen you in here before. You’re gorgeous.” Dan moves closer until there’s barely an inch between us.

  I lean back. Dan may be short, but he’s built and strong. And after seeing that earlier fight, I’m trying to figure out the best way to blow him off without ending up in a bad situation. I wiggle away from his hand and put my beer mug on the bar. “That’s nice of you. I’m new here and just trying to enjoy some quiet time.”

  “What’s your name?” he presses.

  My pulse picks up. I’m so not in the mood to deal with a pushy guy. “I really want to be left alone right now.”

  Dan’s brow furrows and he frowns. “What are you, some kind of snobby bitch? I’m just being nice.” He moves closer again, and I can see red rimming his bloodshot eyes. He’s really drunk. His gaze is barely focused on me. “I can be real nice, baby. Make you feel right at home.” Those hands reach out again to grab my waist and he yanks me off the stool, tugs me flush against him. I feel his hardness pressing against me, and a rush of panic floods my system.

  My heart thrums. I try to pry myself out of his grip, but he’s too strong. “Let me go,” I tell him in the firmest tone I can manage.

  “Just relax,” Dan breathes against me, and the warm beer breath puffing on my face makes my stomach turn. “You don’t have to be so uptight. Have some fun with me, huh.”

  I’m in full-blown panic mode, about to let out a scream.

  Then suddenly, he’s jerked back, his hands releasing me. I stagger in response to the sudden freedom, and see Smith gripping Dan’s shirt at the throat, and then Smith’s fist slams into Dan’s face with a sickening crunch.

  Dan’s head whips back, blood gushing out of his nose. His hands fly up to cup the injured part. “What the fuck?” he cries out.

  The whole room has gone quiet, so Smith doesn’t have to yell. “Get the fuck out of here and don’t come back to my bar. Ever.”

  His bar. He’s not the bartender—Smith owns Outlaws.

  With his face obscured by his hands, blood pouring out between his fingers, Dan staggers his way outside and disappears into the night.

  My heart is beating so hard I’m sure Smith can see it when his laser focus turns to me. I open my mouth to thank him for intervening, even if his method was a little…barbaric… but he speaks first, cutting me off.

  “You okay?” He looks me over, his hot eyes raking my entire body. I feel myself flush in response.

  The excitement of yet another fight peaks and subsides, and the bar goes back to its regular action. All in a day’s work, I suppose.

  I nod. “Um. Yes. Thank you.”

  “You should leave, too.”

  “Wait, what?” I blink in surprise. He’s kicking me out, for real? “What did I do? He’s the one who—”

  “Sweetheart, this place isn’t for you.” Smith takes a step toward me, and I can smell his rich, spicy scent. My pulse kicks up again, this time in a sheer sexual response. He stares down at me hard. “Outlaws is too rough for someone like you.” I see the moment his eyes fill with dismissal. Just like that, he’s deemed me too soft, too delicate. “Try Foley’s Sports Bar at the other end of town. They’re better suited for you.”

  Smith walks away and goes back to his place behind the bar. The girl who was flirting with him eyes me, shakes her head with a little smirk of pity, then turns her attention to Smith, reaching over to stroke the back of his neck.

  My entire face burns with anger, with embarrassment. How dare he treat me like that? He doesn’t know what I’ve gone through. He thinks I’m just some scared little girl, but I’m not. I set my jaw, slide back into my stool, and face my beer again.

  Fuck that. I’m not leaving here, at least not until I finish my drink. Smith just threw a big, fat challenge my way, and I’ll be damned if I cave. I’m not slinking away with my tail between my legs.

  Rock Bridge is my new town. I’m not going to be scared anymore.

  No one else around the bar talks to me while I drink—either my body language tells them to leave me alone or, more likely, seeing Smith punch the shit out of Dan warned them off. The beer is room temperature at
this point, but I don’t care. Over the next twenty minutes, I stubbornly finish the entire thing. And the whole time, Smith ignores me. Either he’s completely forgotten I even exist or he’s trying to prove something to me.

  That I don’t belong.

  When my mug is empty, I just sit there with a slight buzz, debating what to do. Pride keeps me seated on the stool for longer than I probably need to be.

  “Can I get you another?” a purring male voice says. I glance up to see a dirty-blond guy who looks like Smith, but a couple of years younger and with a smooth-shaven face, eyeing me from behind the bar. He cocks a crooked grin my way, a practiced smile that I bet probably dissolves a lot of girls’ panties.

  Before I can talk myself out of it, I nod. Fuck it. I’m not letting anyone control me, not ex-boyfriends or rude bar owners. “Yes, thank you.” I shove the mug in his direction.

  He rinses it and refills it, handing it to me. With a wink, he says, “Hi, I’m Jax. Welcome to Rock Bridge. Quite the welcoming committee we’ve gathered for you tonight, huh?”

  I can’t help it. I laugh. This guy knows he’s hot, is a ridiculous flirt, and I needed the release of tension right now. “I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting all of this.”

  Jax’s mouth quirks. “Outlaws is a rough place. Can take a while to get used to.” With that, he gives me a nod then swaggers away to serve other customers.

  He’s cute, of course. But he doesn’t have the same effect on me as Smith, who is probably his brother or cousin. Something about Smith makes my whole body feel alive. Damn him, because I don’t want to be attracted to him. He’s a jerk.

  I can see what Jax means about Outlaws. This whole night has been unlike anything I’ve ever experienced—scary, yet also kind of exciting, if I’m honest. Maybe I need a little excitement in my life. Something to shake me up and remind me I’m alive.

  I stubbornly refuse to look at Smith as I work on my new beer. I can sense him behind the bar, moving around, waiting on customers. Knowing this is his bar makes him seem even bigger and more powerful than he was before.

  Powerful and intriguing.

  Damn him.

  When I drain the last of my beer mug, I toss a twenty on the bar—I’m sure it’s more than enough to cover the two beers and a tip—and hop off the barstool. I can feel Smith’s eyes on me, and my skin vibrates. I make myself turn and stare boldly at him. Tension crackles in the air between us.

  He wants to challenge me? I’ll take that challenge.

  I’m going to come back and prove to him, and to me, that I can handle this.

  Smith

  One week later

  “Smith,” Maria says to me in her high, breathy voice. She leans over the bar and parts her lips in a seductive manner, one finger sliding along her lower lip. “I’m soooo thirsty. Can you give me something to fill my mouth?”

  That’s the thing with Maria. I never have to guess what she wants. And what she usually wants is a hard fuck. Still, she’s loaded right now, more so than usual, so I grab a glass of water and push it toward her. “Drink this.”

  She pouts and thrusts her pert breasts in the air. “But I don’t want water. I want something else, thick and creamy.”

  I admit, it’s tempting. The girl can suck a dick like she was born to do the job, and it’s been a while since I’ve indulged. Probably her mini stint in the amateur porn industry gives her an edge. But she’s been clingy lately, not just wanting sex. Hinting that she’d like more. As in a real date—dinner, movies.

  “Not tonight, sweetheart,” I murmur to her then move away from that end of the bar before she can say anything else.

  Maria shrugs and turns her attention to the guy on the stool beside her.

  I focus on cleaning the glassware. The crowd is unusually small for a Friday night, but it’s because there’s a home football game at the local high school. The town goes nuts for the Warriors. Not me, of course. Fuck that place.

  Nothing but bad memories there.

  I’m in the middle of pouring a fresh beer for Sam, one of the locals who practically lives in the same stool he frequents every night, when she walks in.

  Miss Innocent.

  My chest tightens a fraction. The fuck? I thought last Friday would have scared her enough to keep her away. Fresh meat like her shouldn’t frequent a bar like Outlaws. She’ll be torn apart.

  Yet here she is, strolling toward the bar, a stubborn set to her face. Her soft brown shoulder-length hair sways, and even in the dim light I can see it’s glossy. I bet it feels good, clenched in my fist as I jerk her head back and lick— Oh, fuck no. Not going there.

  But it’s hard not to when I see her long expanse of curvy bare legs in a tiny fucking black skirt with a little flare. Her tank top is hot pink and her breasts spill over the top. Definitely different than last week’s outfit.

  Is she trying to pick someone up here?

  She sits down at the same spot she was in last week and just gives me a look. Her eyes don’t have the same skittishness they had before. There’s a stubbornness in her, that’s for sure.

  So she wants to hang with the bad boys, does she? Maybe she’s some pampered, spoiled new girl who’s looking to slum a bit. Wouldn’t the first time we’ve had them walk in here, spending Daddy’s money to buy a bunch of shots, then hooking up with one of the Beckett brothers.

  Normally it doesn’t bother me. Hell, I end up winning both ways—the bar makes money and I get laid. But something about this girl makes me feel uneasy, a little off center. I can’t quite figure out what it is. And I don’t like it.

  I rarely lose my temper fast, but watching that idiot Dan pawing all over her last week, the tension and edge of fear in her eyes as she tried to get away…I fucking lost it. Broke his fucking nose for good measure. Luckily he slunk out of here and didn’t file charges—it was a stupid, impulsive move on my part.

  Whatever. I’m not going to let her get under my skin.

  I ignore her for a solid ten minutes, serving other customers, cleaning glassware, keeping busy, anything to pretend she isn’t sitting there quietly, waiting for me to acknowledge her and bring her a drink.

  I guess she isn’t going to just slink away, despite me silently willing her to go away. I walk over to her. “So you’re back,” I say, and my voice isn’t any friendlier than last time.

  She lifts her chin. “I guess I’m a glutton for punishment. I haven’t had shitty customer service in a whole week, and I’m way overdue.”

  The smartass answer makes me chuckle unexpectedly. Okay, so she’s funny, I’ll give her that. “What do you want?”

  “A beer. You guys do still serve those here, don’t you?” Her lips curl into a small smirk. “Whatever you gave me last time is fine, if you remember what it is.”

  Oh, I remember, all right. I remember lots of things about her—what she drank, how she smelled, how she bit her lower lip. I thought about her randomly over the past week, wondering what made her come to the bar in the first place. Figuring I wouldn’t see her again. Wouldn’t hear her husky voice.

  Thinking it was definitely for the best that way.

  I let my gaze rake over her breasts, then raise then with deliberate slowness to her face. Her cheeks are a delicate blush of pink, but to her credit, she maintains eye contact with me, unwavering.

  I grab a mug and fill it, then hand it to her. She gives me a nod and sips the brew, and I hear a small, happy sigh escape her lips. Something about the way she takes simple pleasure in a thing as unimportant as a beer makes me wonder how she’d react in other situations, like my face buried between her thighs.

  My cock twitches at the thought.

  I shake it off and make myself move away. Fuck no, I’m not going down that road with her. If she isn’t a virgin, she’s pretty damn close; innocence practically radiates from her. The dirty shit I’m into would probably shatter her already fragile psyche.

  This bar is hell, and seems to me she’s an angel with a broken wing who wand
ered her way into the wrong place. Despite her bravado, there’s still an air around her that speaks of pain and sadness. But I’m not getting caught up in that.

  Still, she’s fucking gorgeous. It’s no wonder I see several guys checking her out. I shoot a few warning glares out at the crowd. I can’t have her, but I’ll be damned if I let any of these other mutts pollute her, either.

  Miss Innocent doesn’t take her time finishing her beer; she drinks it like she’s on a mission. When it’s empty, she sets the mug on the bar surface and doesn’t say anything, just eyes me quietly. Waiting to see what I’ll do. If I’ll continue to ignore her.

  I tell myself I’d be a shitty bar owner if I didn’t try to serve my customers, and I go over to her. “Another?”

  “I think I want a shot,” she declares.

  “I see.” I fight back the smirk that threatens to erupt and say, “And what kind of shot are you looking for?”

  “A blowjob.”

  Hearing the word slide from her mouth makes my cock twitch again, and I imagine my dick pressing between her swollen lips, her on her knees in front of me, panting and licking and wet. I keep my breathing steady and pretend I’m not affected. “You got it.” I start to move away to make her shot.

  “Do one with me,” she blurts out.

  With this, I pause and turn back to her. “I don’t do blowjobs, sweetheart.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you don’t give ‘em, but I bet you receive enough of them.” There’s a definite flirtiness in her tone, and she licks her lower lips. The angel is trying to tease the demon, is she? Get a response out of me?

  I need to resist this, but I’m finding myself pulled to her. The fact is, last Friday was crazy, yet here she is again, pretending like it didn’t bother her. Maybe she’s trying to pick me up.

  I can’t let it go that far—won’t let it. But I can’t resist flirting back. “Fine, but next we do a shot of my choice.”

  She swallows a little, then nods. “Deal.”

  I mix the blowjobs for us and hand her one. We clink the shot glasses on the counter, then raise them in the air. I give her a small nod, and we swig them back.