He stares at me, his eyes slightly narrowed. “I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing auctioning off your virginity?”
The last part comes out as more of a hiss, and suddenly I’m thrown on the defensive. “Who are you to ask me that? You’re here buying it.” Gone is the shy girl who could barely form a sentence when I sat with him on the train. Now I’m just indignant. Who is he to judge me? He doesn’t know the first thing about me.
As if he can see what I’m thinking, his gaze softens and he reaches for my hand again.
I can’t deny the spark of awareness that hits me at his touch, the searing zing that shoots up and down my spine. I’d be crazy not to notice how sexy this man is. Hell, I noticed it plenty on the train. But now, it’s different. I’m hyper-aware of the fact that this crazy hot man has every intention of having sex with me tonight.
And though the idea was terrifying just moments ago, the tingles he’s sending through my body as he caresses the back of my hand with his thumb makes me think it might not be that bad.
Who am I kidding? I’m pretty sure that sex with Wes would be mind-blowing. That thing I said earlier? About the first time being bad and just needing to get it over with? Scratch that. Because I don’t think it would be anything like that with him.
He shocks the hell out of me when he says, “Celine, you don’t have to have sex with me. That’s not why I bid on you.”
I’m not sure if I should be insulted or relieved. “What you do mean?”
“Just that you are obv
iously doing this for a reason. But I can also see that it’s the last thing you want to do. So I’m giving you an out.”
I press my lips together, my eyes burning. “I need the money, Wes.” That’s a bitch to admit, but it’s true.
“You’ll get your money.”
“You bid half a million dollars,” I say, stunned. “And you’re willing to pay that even if you don’t get what you paid for.”
He smiles. “I’ll make you a deal. Come home with me tonight. We can just hang out. Watch a movie or something. Then we’ll go get that coffee tomorrow, and you can tell me all about that screenwriting program.” He shrugs. “After that, we’ll see. We’ll take it day by day.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. He wants to pay half a million dollars to basically date me? Without the guarantee of sex?
And what’s even crazier is that I feel disappointed.
Wes
Celine’s laughter is contagious. I’ve learned this in the last few days. She’s also crazy funny.
“You really should consider comedy,” I tell her, as she tells a story with such perfect timing that I can just see her writing scripts for sitcoms.
“Now who’s being funny,” she teases, bumping her shoulder against mine as we eat takeaway Chinese on my couch in my penthouse.
Things are just that easy between us. True to my word, I didn’t make her hold up her end of the contract. We haven’t had sex. But it’s been right at the front of my mind every single day I’ve spent with her this week. Which is every day.
I want her. Badly. But I’m also enjoying getting to know her. Something I don’t take the time to do. And I’m finding that it’s fun, this whole dating thing. At least it is with her. She’s just as amazing as I suspected.
We finish up dinner, and I carry everything into the kitchen to throw it out and grab a bottle of wine.
Celine follows me into the kitchen, but when I top off her glass, she just sets it down on the marble countertop and turns to me.
“Wes,” she begins, nerves evident in the shake of her voice.
“What is it?” I ask, setting my own glass down and pulling her toward me, resting my hands on the curve of her hips.
She relaxes into me as if we’ve been doing this forever, as if she’s totally comfortable with me. “I think we need to talk about this.”
“This?” I pretend I don’t know what she means.
“Us.”
And fuck, I love the sound of that. Never thought that was something I’d want to hear. But from Celine, it sounds like something I’ve been missing out on.