Positively Pricked: A Billionaire Loathing-to-Love Romance

by Sabrina Stark

  I simply couldn't. The sight of him was far too compelling.

  His shoulders and pecs were perfectly cut and nearly bulging, whether from lingering tension or from the physical effort of dragging the senator down the hall.

  Below those muscles, his abs formed a perfect six-pack, tight and lean against the waistband of his expensive slacks.

  For some reason, I recalled the only other time he'd given me such a glimpse. On that day, I'd been standing on his doorstep, looking to chew him out for getting me fired. At the time, he'd been wearing a swimsuit and hoodie, unzipped far enough to hint at what was underneath.

  Even then, I'd found it difficult to look away, in spite of the fact that I loathed him with all my being.

  This posed a terrifying question. Did I still loathe him?

  I knew I should, especially after what I'd just learned.

  But it wasn't loathing that was making me stare.

  It was something else. But what?

  Lust?

  No. Or at least, that wasn't all of it.

  Even in my distracted state, I knew one thing for certain. It wasn't his glorious body, as stare-worthy as it was, that made my knees wobble and my breath hitch. It was the look in his eyes, dark and possessive, like a silent promise to destroy anything that tried to claim what was his.

  Funny, I'd always known that about him. He never gave up anything, and he had a ruthless streak a mile long. But to have any of this apply to me, well, it was a concept that I couldn’t seem to wrap my brain around.

  Even as my thoughts swirled, I still couldn't look away.

  But apparently, he could.

  He pulled his gaze from mine and looked toward the crowd. His jaw tightened, and his gaze grew ice-cold. Was he embarrassed? He didn't look embarrassed.

  But he did look pissed off.

  With a muttered curse, he moved away from the elevator and strode straight toward me like a man on a mission. In those few short seconds, time stood still, and I held my breath, dying to see what he'd do next.

  Take me into his arms?

  Kiss me like there was no tomorrow?

  Whisk me away to someplace private?

  I waited.

  For nothing.

  Because what did Zane do? He kept on going, striding past me like I didn't even exist.

  Wordlessly, I watched as he then moved past the crowd and disappeared around the nearby corner, heading back to wherever he'd come from.

  I stared after him. What on Earth had just happened?

  I had no idea.

  But I intended to find out.

  Chapter 48

  He'd barely disappeared when I felt my gaze narrow. Not so fast, Zane Bennington.

  Determined to get some answers, I plunged after him. To my infinite frustration, the crowd followed along beside me, as if eager to see Act Two of this impromptu performance.

  Without breaking my stride, I called out over my shoulder, "The show's over, okay? You should probably go back to your rooms."

  Of course, no one did.

  Like that was a surprise.

  When I rounded the corner, I spotted Zane up ahead, striding purposefully down the hall. As I followed after him, I tried not to stare at his naked back and long legs, but it was embarrassingly difficult not to. Confused or not, I had to admit, his silhouette looked annoyingly fine, even as it grew smaller in the distance.

  I wanted to yell for him to stop, but I didn't dare. After all, the last thing I needed now was an even bigger crowd.

  From somewhere behind me, a female voice asked, "Are you his girlfriend?"

  My steps faltered, and I glanced back to see who would ask such a ridiculous question.

  It was one of the two teenagers from earlier. I didn't know which one of them had asked, but I did know the answer. "No. Definitely not."

  Far from discouraged, they scampered up beside me. "Are you sure?" the first girl asked. "He looked really jealous."

  "Yeah," the other one said. "I thought he was gonna kill that guy."

  The first girl said, "Ugh, did you see that guy's stomach?"

  The other one made a sound of disgust. "It wasn't a stomach. It was a freaking pelt."

  Now, my steps did falter, but not because of anything they'd said. Rather, it was because, far ahead of us, Zane had stopped just outside the door to a hotel room.

  It was my hotel room.

  Now, I stopped moving entirely. I watched as he turned and opened a door. But it wasn't the one to my room. It was the door to the room directly across from mine.

  I felt my eyebrows furrow. Well, that was unexpected.

  Next to me, the first girl spoke again. "If you're not his girlfriend, what are you?"

  Honestly, I had no idea. I was still staring down the hall. Absently, I mumbled, "Just his employee, that's all."

  "No, I don't think so," she said.

  "Yeah," the other one agreed. "You could totally tell he likes you."

  "He doesn't like her," the first corrected. "I think he's loves her. You don't do that unless you're totally in love."

  At this, I might've laughed out loud if I weren't so distracted. I heard myself mumble, "He doesn't love anyone."

  And if he did, he wouldn't love me. After all, I was a total nobody, and he was a billionaire with the world at his fingertips.

  As the girls chattered back and forth, I tried to tune them out as my thoughts continued to churn in my addled brain.

  Zane wasn't seriously staying in the room across from me?

  Was he?

  I was desperate to find out, but not in front of a crowd. Reluctantly, I turned to face them. The crowd wasn't huge, maybe only a dozen people, but it felt like more as they watched me with eager, excited eyes.

  From somewhere in the back, a guy announced, "I got the whole thing on video."

  I almost flinched. "What whole thing?"

  "Everything." His eyes were bright with enthusiasm. "I bet I can sell it for a million bucks."

  I reached up to rub my temples. It wouldn't be worth a million, but it would net him some decent cash if he shopped it to the right people. I only prayed he didn't.

  The guy standing next to him said, "You can't sell it for a million."

  "Oh yeah?" the first guy said. "Why not?"

  With a grin, the second guy held up his cell phone. "That only works if you're the only one who's got it."

  The first guy gave a shrug. "I didn't mean a million literally. I meant a few thousand, you know?"

  The other guy gave a slow nod. "Yeah, maybe we should team up, see what we can make happen. We'll get more if it's exclusive."

  Watching this exchange, I had no idea what to say. But I did know that just down the hall was the person who started all of this. And I desperately needed to talk to him.

  Alone.

  I cleared my throat. "Well, there's nothing to see now, so…" I made a little shooing motion with my hands. "Please, uh, disperse."

  Nobody moved.

  A tall woman near the front asked, "Hey, why wasn't he wearing a shirt?"

  Good question.

  Another woman asked, "And who was the guy? The one with the hairy gut?"

  I didn't know what to say. Technically, this was part of my job, dealing with questions and what-not. But I had no answers, and I told them so, over and over, until one by one, they wandered away, no doubt because Zane – the star of the show – was long gone.

  Soon, it was just me, standing alone in the long corridor. Like someone in a trance, I walked down the long hallway and didn't stop until I reached the hotel room door.

  Not my door.

  His door.

  And then, I knocked.

  Chapter 49

  When the door opened, I was almost surprised. After all, part of me hadn't really expected him to open up, at least not without some serious pounding and yelling first.

  But now that he'd actually answered, I was utterly lost for words. And he didn't look particularly chatty himself �
�� or thrilled to see me.

  Silently, I stared up at him as he stood in the open doorway. He was fully dressed now, but not in the way I might've expected.

  He'd ditched the slacks and was now wearing faded jeans, along with a gray T-shirt emblazoned with some university logo that I didn't recognize. The shirt wasn't tight, and yet, the thin cotton did little to hide the outlines of his defined pecs and bulging biceps.

  At the sight of him, I felt unsettled and confused, even more than usual. Just like that day on his porch, he didn't look like a billionaire. He looked like an All-American golden boy, fresh from his senior year at college.

  But he didn't look happy.

  Finally, I found my voice. "That thing with the senator, what was that about?"

  "Nothing," he said. "It's solved, so forget it."

  As if I could. "But what happened?"

  His gaze shifted to something behind me, and I turned to look. I saw nothing except the door to my own hotel room.

  Was that a hint for me to leave? If so, he was in for a rude awakening, because I wasn't going anywhere until I had some answers.

  I turned back to him and asked, "Is this really your hotel room?"

  He gave me a look. "Every room is mine."

  Technically, this was true, but he wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what I meant.

  I pointed vaguely toward the interior of his room. "But you're not actually staying here, are you?"

  "No." He glanced past me. "I'm heading out."

  I made a sound of frustration. "Oh, come on. You're deliberately not understanding a single thing I'm asking."

  And I hadn't even gotten to the hard questions.

  "I understand you fine," he said. "But if you expect answers, you're in the wrong place."

  "No," I told him, "I'm in the right place, because the person I need answers from is you, and this is where you are."

  "Not for long," he said. "I'm flying back."

  "You are? But we have those…" I gave a little gasp. "Oh, my God. The interview. The one with that morning show. We should've left already." I was nearly frantic now. "Hang on. Just let me grab my stuff."

  "Forget it."

  "You're right. There's no time. Should we just leave from…" I let my words trail off and looked to his clothes. "But wait. You're not dressed for it."

  "Yeah. And I'm not gonna be."

  "But what about the interview?" I asked.

  He looked away. "Fuck the interview."

  "What?"

  "It's canceled."

  I still wasn't following. "But who canceled it?"

  "Carla."

  And then I remembered. "She was trying to reach you. She said it was an emergency."

  "Yeah. And it's handled. So forget it."

  The more he talked, the less, I understood. "But if you were going to cancel, why would you have Carla call them?" I gave a shaky laugh. "After all, that's my job, isn't it?"

  He was quiet for a long moment, and something in his gaze told me that I wasn't going to like whatever he was planning to say next.

  Sure enough, his next words hit like a hammer. "You can't work for me anymore."

  Of anything I'd been expecting, this wasn't even on my radar. "Why not?"

  "You've gotta ask?"

  "Yes." I lifted my chin. "Apparently, I do. Because I have no idea what's going on."

  His gaze met mine. "Don't you?"

  I sucked in a quiet breath. Something in his expression had changed. Gone was the familiar cold bastard, and in his place was the other Zane, the one I'd seen by the elevators – raw and ragged, like he might lose control any moment.

  Suddenly, I was feeling a little out of control myself.

  He loomed closer. "You wanna know what happened?"

  My lips went dry, and I felt myself nod.

  His gaze bored into mine. "That fucker – the senator – was camped out, waiting for you."

  I felt my brow wrinkle. "He was? For how long?"

  "Too long."

  I got the point. Still, his reaction seemed a bit extreme. After all, it's not like the senator had been humping my doorknob or anything – I gave a shudder of disgust – at least, not that I knew of.

  But what had he been doing? With a twinge of dread, I asked, "Is that all?"

  Zane's mouth tightened. "You know it's not."

  Oh, crap. So Zane knew what happened last night? Yes. He did. Now, I was absolutely sure of it.

  Because I worked for the company, I knew a little something about the hotel's security. There was no shortage of surveillance cameras, especially in long hallways and near the elevators.

  Obviously, Zane knew more than I'd originally thought. Reluctantly, I said, "So, you saw what happened last night? Between me and the senator, I mean?"

  "That and other things." As he spoke, something in his tone suggested that if senator showed up now, he'd be dragged off a second time, and maybe chucked down the stairs for good measure.

  I'd known Zane for months. He wasn't one to lose his cool. And yet, he had. Even now, he looked dangerously close to losing it again.

  I winced. "He didn't hit on anyone else, did he?"

  Zane looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "Hit on? That's what you're gonna call it?"

  I sighed. "All right, fine. Did he get grabby with anyone else?"

  "Don’t know. Don’t care." His jaw tightened. "But I do care that he was bragging that he fucked you. And, he was–" Zane looked away. "–touching himself outside your room."

  Chapter 50

  Instantly, an image of the senator popped into my brain. Much like the guy's stomach, it wasn't pretty. "No." I gave slow shake of my head. "He wasn't."

  "Yes. He was."

  Against my better judgment, I just had to ask, "Above, or…" I gave a little shudder. "…below his clothes?"

  "Above," Zane said. "And lucky for him."

  I reached up to rub the back of my neck. "Well, that's a relief."

  Zane loomed closer to say, "He's lucky I didn't toss him down the stairs."

  Now, this I believed. A traitorous smile tugged at my lips. "For a minute there, I thought you might."

  Unlike me, Zane wasn't smiling. "If you want, I'll track him down, try again."

  Now, I couldn’t help but laugh – although for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why. After all, it wasn't funny.

  Zane said, "You think I'm kidding?"

  "Honestly, I don't know."

  But I did know that for the first time since meeting him, it felt almost like we were just two regular people – not the client and the caterer, not the boss and the employee, and not even the bastard and the basket case.

  I was mulling all of this over when something he said finally hit home. My smile faded to nothing. "Wait a minute, when you said that I couldn't work for you anymore, what did you mean?"

  "You know what I mean."

  I shook my head. "No. I don't."

  Or more likely, I didn't want to know.

  Zane said, "Trust me. I'm doing you a favor."

  I made a sound of disbelief. "Some favor."

  "Are you forgetting?" he said. "Just two nights ago, you wanted to quit."

  "No," I said. "Two nights ago, I was thinking of quitting. But I didn't, because you wouldn’t have it."

  "Yeah? Well things change."

  I made a scoffing sound. "Obviously."

  "Don't worry," he said, "you'll get a nice severance."

  "So you're really firing me? Seriously?"

  He looked away and muttered, "Fuck."

  "Yeah, tell me about it."

  We'd been talking for how long now? Five minutes? Maybe ten? In that short timeframe, my emotions had bounced all over the place. And was it really any wonder? I was getting so many mixed messages that I didn't know what to think.

  I said, "Are you going to give me a reason?"

  He looked back to me and said, "You know the reason."

  "I do not," I said. "All I know is I'm getting a little tir
ed of you telling me that I know things when I don't."

  On that note, I also didn't know why we were arguing out here in the hallway. So far, we'd been incredibly lucky that no one had come out to look, but our luck couldn’t last forever, especially given the fiasco from earlier.

  I looked past him, into his room. The bed was made, and everything was in pristine condition. The way it looked, he hadn't slept there at all. Either that or he had his own personal maid, which, of course, wasn't out of the realm of possibility.

  When his only response was an icy stare, I said, "Seriously, you can't just fire me and not give a reason."

  "Wrong," he said. "I can. And I did."

  "But—"

  "You remember what I told you."

  "Yeah. Nothing."

  Speaking slowly and deliberately, he said, "Read the fine print. Always."

  And there he was, the prick I'd known all along. I muttered, "I should've known."

  "Yeah," he said. "You should've."

  I glared up at him. "And here's another question. Why do people at work have the impression that we're sleeping together?"

  He frowned. "If they do, it's the first I've heard of it."

  "Oh come on, at least be honest. Did you – or did you not – give Boris Feldman, that bedding guy from Cincinnati–"

  "I know who he is."

  "Good," I said. "So why'd you him tell that I'm your mistress?"

  "Mistress?"

  "You know. Your side-squeeze or whatever you'd call it."

  Zane looked down and muttered, "Shit."

  "So you did?"

  He looked up. "No. I didn't."

  There was something he wasn't telling me. That much was obvious. I made a forwarding motion with my hand. "But…?"

  He gave a loose shrug. "But yeah, he might've gotten that impression."

  "How?"

  Zane gave another shrug, but said nothing.

  I made a sound of impatience. "Well?"

  "The guy's a pig."

  This, I believed. I'd participated in exactly one meeting with the guy, and he'd been more focused on my breasts than the paperwork that he was supposed to be signing.

  But that wasn't the point. I looked to Zane and said, "So?"

  "And married."

  "So?" I repeated.

  "He was gonna ask you to show him around town."