The Million Dollar Virgin

Chapter Three - Stevie

She couldn't decide if she was about to lose her mind, or her lunch. Had Echo Hardman seriously just offered to buy her hand in marriage? For a million freaking dollars?

She blinked at him. Slowly. Her head was spinning, and she realized even if she didn't get ill (physically or mentally) what she might do was faint. Like a woman in a too-tight corset.

Kicking it old school, she thought as she swayed a little on her feet.

"What is this?" Even her voice sounded all breathy and days-of-yore.

"An audition, sweetpea," Echo replied.

"A...what?"

"An audition." The repeat came from her boss.

"For what?"

"Marrying For Money." This time, Snug Pants answered.

It was like being a pinball in testosterone machine. She didn't know where to look. Finally, she chose to focus on Snug Pants. At least he'd said something she could understand.

"Are you talking about the TV show? With the rich, old guys and the girls with the giant boobs?" Her eyes flew back to Echo. "But you're not – "

Echo chuckled as she cut herself off abruptly. "No. I'm not. But I do like the boobs."

"So you want me to..."

"Come and live in a big, giant house. Let me wine and dine you for twelve weeks. Then marry me, sweetpea."

Stevie swallowed. She needed to pinch herself. Or smack herself in the head with a frying pan. The room spun a little again, and she reached out for something to steady herself. She flailed, then, because her hands were still tied together.

"Can I just – can you just – can we just – oh."

And then a hand – strong, steady, and reassuring – landed on her elbow.

"Bathroom break," Snug Pants said in a growl.

Normally, Stevie would've protested. Both at the bossiness of his tone and at being manhandled. Right that second, she was just grateful that someone who didn't have feathers for brains and mush in their mouth had taken charge. She let him tug her out of the bar's main lounge and into the hall, like he and his brooding glare were her lifeline.

When they stopped moving, Snug Pants spun her around and dropped to his knees. And weirdly, his lips landed on her wrists. Something fierce and hot shot through her, making it hard to think. This was far worse than his hands on her ankles. And was that his tongue? His teeth? Why were so many parts of his mouth touching her?

"Hey! Snuuuuh – "

Dammit. She didn't even know his name. And she couldn't call him Snug Pants to his face. Could she?

A snap echoed through the hallway, and she clued in. He'd bitten through the zip tie. Apparently, the man was more than just a dry voice and a pair of too-tight trouser. He was also a beast. And now his hands were running up her calves as he stood, turning Stevie's brain to mush.

"Sorry," he said once he'd righted himself. "Would've brought the knife, but I was kind of worried you might stab me with it."

"Can't say I wouldn't be tempted," Stevie replied, rubbing her wrists. "But thank you."

"Don't thank me yet."

He leaned against the wall, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. His silver gaze roamed over her, inventorying her more slowly than it had when they were outside. The scrutiny was disconcerting, and it made Stevie shift from foot to foot. Waiting, even if she wasn't entirely sure what it was she was waiting for.