Auctioned to the Greek Billionaire (The Highest Bidder Book 1) Read online

  Pleasuring him wasn’t just fantasy…it was financial security.

  Theo Rhodes needs to gain control of his late grandfather’s company—even if it means marrying a woman he doesn’t love. But there’s one problem—she’s a virgin, and the last one he bedded wasn’t happy with his size. If he hurts her and scares her away, the deal’s done, which is why he attends Madame Alexa’s Virgin Auction event.

  Waitress Amaya Lopez desperately needs money to fund her brother’s care. After losing their parents, she’s all he has and she’ll do anything to give him a better life—including selling her virginity. When she sees the mysterious man in the first row holding a bidding paddle, her heart stops. She’s never seen a man so…enticing. He wins the bid and insists she travel to Greece with him. To keep this deal legit, she needs to forget about her emotions for one hot month…

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Don’t miss these One Handed Reads!

  Bet Me to Stay

  Bought for Marriage

  Going Down

  The DILF

  Chapter One

  “Are you ready?” Madame Alexa asked.

  Amaya Lopez tilted her head in a nod, even though every part of her warned her against that decision. Was she ready to put a price tag on her body and soul?

  “Yes,” she lied. Her stomach sank to the floor, the black-and-white checkered hardwood from the controversial House of Alexa, the most coveted mansion in Nevada if a woman wanted to sell her virginity.

  Amaya smoothed the snug V-neck white dress they’d handed her two hours prior to the event. Once a week, Madame Alexa held a posh auction where the world’s wealthiest men attended—by invitation or recommendation only—to bid on a virgin woman to have as he pleased for a maximum of thirty days.

  Turned out, men wanted to break in inexperienced women, and the month clause added value to the hefty price tag. To keep her girls safe, Madame Alexa had strict rules. All sex had to be consensual. No violence. No hassling of any kind after the month ended.

  “You’ll do great,” Jackie, Madame Alexa’s assistant, said behind her, flashing her a smile, which reflected in the mirror. With a pixie blonde haircut and huge green eyes, Jackie could have had any man at her feet—perhaps she did. During the lengthy month-long selection process, Amaya hadn’t exchanged much personal information. She’d done drug tests, medical exams, and an intimidating interview with Madame to make sure she was legit.

  Within a few moments, she’d be called to walk up to the stage they’d customized for her in the ballroom. Madame had explained they decorated the stage to suit the girl’s personality. The week before, the auctioned virgin had been an honor student. So her setting was a classroom, and she’d worn a private schoolgirl outfit to the auction.

  What if no one bids on me? Fear punched her stomach, contracting it for a moment. She needed the money to pay for her older brother, Diego’s, care. She’d promised her parents on their grave she’d take care of him when they had died a year ago. With severe autistic needs, Diego had in her his only ally. What kind of care could she provide with a waitress’s salary?

  “Amaya,” Madame Alexa called her, with her raspy, sultry trademark voice that would give Scarlett Johansson a run for her Hollywood money. Her rich, deep blue eyes darkened, and she angled her head. “Are you sure about this?”

  Amaya swallowed. Crap. Could she read minds, too?

  “Y-yes, of course,” she rushed to say, squaring her shoulders to at least feign confidence.

  “I started this business to give women a choice over how they lose their virginity.” Madame Alexa ran her finger down her graceful neck, and Amaya slid her gaze down her skin. A small, almost unnoticeable scar marred her collarbone. “Many don’t have that luxury.” A distant look entered Madame’s eyes, and an emotion Amaya couldn’t pinpoint flickered in her azure gaze. Then, she blinked, shook her head, and stretched to her full height. “If you have any doubts, the time to let me know is now. Once you go on stage, it’ll be harder.”

  “I want to do this. Sorry, I’m just nervous.”

  The ghost of a smile formed on Madame’s red lips. “Don’t be. You’ll do fine.”

  “What if no one wants me?” she blurted out. Or what if she didn’t make enough money to pay for her brother’s care, for well, the rest of his life? Just because former virgins had become millionaires didn’t mean she’d have the same fate. Maybe the bidders wouldn’t appreciate her light-brown skin, her average height or curvier hips. God, that’d be so embarrassing. Almost worse than wearing the same ratty, tattered T-shirts and old shoes for work at Joe’s Cafe. Almost worse than eating ramen noodles for a month to pay for the minimum amount of her brother’s therapies.

  Madame tossed her lustrous black hair to the side. “Nonsense. You’re about to change your life, Amaya. You deserve this.”

  Amaya chewed on her bottom lip, then stopped immediately. They’d applied some gloss to her mouth, and she had to make the most of her makeup. It’s not like she could go home and try this again. No one ever tried again. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll call your name as planned. Good luck.”

  Amaya rubbed her palms together. Apprehension clogged her throat. Please, God, don’t let him be gross. Yeah, like God had time to worry about the sleazeball who bought her most precious gift with all the bad stuff happening in the world. Nice try.

  I’m all alone. Even more alone than those times after school, when her parents had apologetically asked her to fend for herself because they had their hands full with Diego. Even more alone than she’d felt after her high school prom date stood her up.

  Jackie nudged her elbow. “You’re up,” she whispered, clenching her clipboard.

  Amaya walked between the heavy velvet curtains and sucked in a breath. Her heart hammered in her ears, surpassing the cheesy Katy Perry song currently playing. Maybe she should’ve picked opera or something more dignifying to a situation like this, to balance things out.

  A light shone over her, just like they’d rehearsed earlier, following her footsteps. Madame stood on the side, under her own spotlight, wearing a black designer gown and holding a sleek microphone.

  Unicorns had taken over the stage, both stuffed and plastic, colorful ones that people floated on at the pool. A huge oval bed had been brought to the center. Why, Amaya had no clue. No one would have sex in it, or even sit. Maybe Madame wanted to lure potential buyers to the promise of sex. Before the auction, they always enjoyed drinks and fancy appetizers in a different room.

  Gathering courage, Amaya looked at the hundred men sitting on the chairs, all wearing gray masks that hid the upper portion of their faces. The lighting was also dimmed down, to create intimacy and to protect their identities. A blend of tall and short men, old and younger from what she gathered, filled the room.

  Staring at them was as dangerous as staring directly into the sun. She quickly averted her gaze to the stage and regretted telling Madame she enjoyed reading. Th
e poster of Nabokov’s Lolita hung over the bed, and everything clicked. They’d pulled together a luxury version of a teenager’s room, even though she was twenty-three years old. She’d seen glimpses of the stage earlier, but had been too overwhelmed to notice small details. Well, it was too late for moral high ground now.

  Maybe it’d be easier if her buyer believed she was some brainless sex toy. This would make the deal smoother without any attachment from either side.

  “Lolita is this week’s featured virgin. She is twenty-three, loves reading, working out, and going to the mall.”

  When Amaya had filled out the paperwork, she mentioned going to the mall as a hobby because, well, she didn’t have money or time for much else, and the cafe where she worked was located at a mall.

  “When she was little, she dreamed of finding unicorns and ending world hunger. As you can see, at least she fulfilled one of her wishes tonight.” Madame gestured to the stage filled with unicorns, prompting a chuckle from several men.

  Amaya maintained a close-lipped smile, focusing on the back wall and the heavy, enormous set of double doors. Oh, how she would love to take off and not deal with the repercussions of her life.

  “Lolita is a vibrant, gorgeous, eager girl who’s waiting for the right man to make her a woman.”

  Amaya flushed. Eager? The light felt stronger on her, heating her skin. She squinted and looked around the room without making direct eye contact with any of the suitors. Until her gaze collided with another.

  A man on the first row, who watched her intently.

  Little shivers raced down her spine and she swallowed. Even sitting, he exuded power and elegance, his broad shoulders stretching the crisp white shirt and dark gray suit jacket. She salivated, trying to remember the last time she’d seen a man so sexy. Probably never. Lustrous hair framed his face, the black strands whispering over his shoulder.

  She dipped her head a bit, trying to figure out his eye color from the small opening in the mask around his eyes. Even from a distance, she spotted a glint, a flicker—a promise.

  Desire arrowed down her body, unsettling her core. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, finding it impossible to keep still. She forced herself to yank her attention from him and focus on the wall again, but she still felt him watching her.

  “Now, we’re auctioning a month with her, starting at five hundred thousand dollars. A steal, gentlemen.”

  Silence.

  A man on the last row waved a bidding paddle. “Five hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip. Madame Alexa had told her not to fidget, to show strength and confidence. Easy for her to say—she wasn’t the one standing in a room filled with wealthy men who wanted to screw her, a total stranger, for the chance of breaking her in. Dios mio. A show of paddles in the middle section made her heart skip a few beats, a drop of sweat rolling down her back. She tried to tune out the white noise, the amounts men shouted, and Madame Alexa’s consistent and steady delivery.

  Were they really paying that much for her? If this goes through, I’ll write Randy a thank-you note for standing me up on prom. To think, I could have lost my virginity then.

  She stole a glance in the direction of the man from the first row. He remained quiet, his long, tanned fingers caressing the paddle with his number on it. 69. Her nipples puckered. Such irony. A smile formed on his lips, and she parted her mouth, her head bobbing forward as if leaning for a kiss. She wondered if he shared the joke.

  She gave herself a mental slap. No. Stop. What good could come from fantasizing about a man not willing to make an offer on her? Maybe she wasn’t his type. A thread of disappointment ran through her, deflating her a bit. With her luck, she’d end up with a man three times her age with a goiter and hair toupee—like the guy from the third row who eyed her with interest. And the worst? She’d give Toupee Grandpa her virginity, and pretend for a month to like all his advances. That was the price for her brother’s health.

  “Nine hundred thousand dollars,” a man on the left shouted.

  Whoa. She’d have access to half of it, once Madame Alexa got her 30 percent cut, within minutes after the transaction. The other half would come after the last calendar day—a way to guarantee the auctioned would be available for all thirty days. Unless, of course, the buyer preferred to pay beforehand and cut ties early.

  “I think we can do even better,” Madame Alexa said. “Lolita, why don’t you give them a taste?”

  Amaya reached for the sides of her dress, and with a swoosh, removed it. She’d rehearsed the act before, in front of a mirror, in a way less intimidating setting. Now, she stood in front of strange men, wearing nothing but white bikini briefs and a push-up bra. She’d told Madame Alexa she most likely didn’t need a push-up to maximize her DD breasts, but Madame Alexa had been adamant about maximizing her assets.

  “One million dollars.” Someone lifted his paddle.

  Holy fuck. Her breath caught in her throat. What kind of dirty things did that short, stocky man expect to do with her for such a crazy amount?

  “One million and fifty thousand.” A man with facial hair, who had bid earlier, stood.

  Madame Alexa held the hammer, narrowing her eyes at the crowd, studying their reactions. Someone must have mentioned the amount people usually made from these things, but Amaya’s mind drew a blank. This was it. The man with the long beard would buy her, and she’d be set for life. She didn’t have to enjoy sex—but she’d have to do it.

  She’d abstained from having sex because what had happened to her belated sister Malena scared her straight. A teenage pregnancy, followed by complications during delivery, then death and loss of the baby. And now she’d give—or rather sell—her virginity away like nothing. But not for nothing.

  Cold sweat slicked her forehead, and she discreetly lifted her hand and wiped it off. With each passing second, her heart drummed in her ears. She touched her hair, and was about to run her fingers nervously into it, but stopped. Show confidence, Madame Alexa’s voice echoed in her ears.

  “I give you one,” Alexa started, making eye contact with the highest bidder, then skimming the crowd. “I give you two.”

  “Two million dollars.” The hot man from the first row, the one she’d made eye contact with, stood, clenching his paddle.

  She took a step back, even though she was feet away on the stage and he was in the audience. Sitting, he had been commanding and in control. Standing, with his feet apart, his spine locked into place, the man was a monstrosity of flesh and sin.

  Gorgeous. Sexy. Lethal.

  A mix of fear and excitement bolted through her bloodstream. Maybe she’d have been safer with Grandpa Toupee, or in fact, any of the other men in the room. But as Madame Alexa slammed the hammer on the table, she sucked in a breath. Safety hadn’t been why she’d done this in the first place.

  …

  “Please sign here,” a woman named Jackie told him.

  A mix of excitement and apprehension pumped into his veins, accelerating his heart rate. Theo Rhodes picked his Mont Blanc pen from the inside of his jacket and scribbled his trademark signature. Interesting. No one used real paper contracts anymore. The old-fashioned touch brought a feeling of nostalgia to him, calming him down a bit. People also didn’t buy virginity any longer, yet here he was.

  “You’ll have five minutes to talk to her. We call it a grace period,” Jackie announced. “We’ll bring her in, and if after the five minutes you’re both still sure about this, we’ll sign the contract for the month and your account will be charged half the amount. If you try anything inappropriate with her, you’ll be charged the full amount.”

  Just to talk to her, he’d had to sign a confidentiality agreement. According to Jackie, they’d charged him a non-refundable deposit of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the grace period. Not that he needed one, but fuck, he’d go with the flow.

  He’d been on a business trip because his sleazeball uncle Horace had stopped chec
king their partner companies in Vegas as he used to. Rhodes Enterprises had become one of the most successful exporters of processed petroleum oils, copper, and pipes from his country.

  When a business associate had told Theo about this place, he couldn’t believe his luck. House of Alexa. The answer to all his problems.

  The idea had tempted him like no other. After all, his marriage to Talia was a fact of life. In two months, he’d marry her and fulfill a longtime arrangement put in place before he’d known what marriages were. How could he go ahead and marry her and produce heirs when he hadn’t fucked in three years?

  He’d gotten intimate with his hand, sure, but after Eleni, he’d avoided screwing women to keep from physically hurting them. Guilt washed over him, and he clenched his jaw. A virgin like Talia wouldn’t be able to handle him, and he could jeopardize the entire marriage and merger if he didn’t please her or worse, hurt her. After all, one of the clauses of their marriage contract stipulated that she could change her mind after thirty days. So if he sent her running for the hills within the first month, then all would have been for nothing.

  His marriage to Talia was the only way for him to fulfill a promise made by his father to his belated grandfather, and also to save the company from his uncle’s shady business practices and possible embezzlement.

  If he managed to break in a virgin successfully, without causing her a trip to the nearest hospital because of his troublemaking, extra-large penis, he’d gain his confidence back. No one would get hurt. Not a lot, anyway. It was a strange problem to have. He knew this.

  “Wait here. We’ll bring her in a second,” Jackie said, sauntering out of the small office room.

  He headed for the wet bar and poured himself some whisky into one of the tumblers. Soon, the liquid rolled down his throat, burning its way into his gut. His groin stirred with anticipation.

  Shit. He ran his fingers into his hair, then gulped down the remains of the amber liquid. For a moment, a rush of adrenaline spiked through him, and he hoped it would distract him from the very real unsteadiness in his feet. The moment he’d seen Lolita on the stage, he’d known.