Positively Pricked: A Billionaire Loathing-to-Love Romance

by Sabrina Stark

  I gave a bitter laugh. "Oh, I'm sure you do."

  Zane stiffened, and I felt a tiny twinge of guilt. It only reinforced what I knew all along. We were totally different people. He could chew someone up and spit them out without breaking a sweat. But me? I felt awful every time I hurt someone.

  Even now, part of me worried that I might be hurting him, as crazy as that sounded. I heard myself murmur, "This would never work."

  Zane's posture grew rigid. "What?"

  "I'm just saying…" I blinked long and hard. "I really need to go."

  Zane looked at me for a long moment before saying, "All right. You wanna go home? I'm not gonna fight you."

  Good. It was, after all, for the best – or at least, that's what I kept telling myself, even as the heaviness grew in my heart.

  Still, I gave a quick, silent nod.

  "Fine," he said. "We'll leave at five tomorrow. And that's morning. Not night. The car will be waiting out front." As he turned to go, he added, "Be there. Or I'll come and get you myself."

  I gave a quick shake of my head. "But wait, you said we – as in both of us – leave tomorrow?"

  He turned back to say. "Right. That's what I was coming to tell you."

  "Sorry, I don't get it. You were coming to tell me what exactly?"

  "That we're done here. No need to stick around, right?"

  Ouch.

  What could I say? In barely a whisper, I said, "Right."

  With a tight nod, he turned and strode away, leaving me standing in the open doorway. As I watched him go, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was incredibly lucky that Bob showed up when he did – or if it was the worst thing that could've happened at the worst possible time.

  But obsessing wouldn’t change anything. And besides, I hadn't expected this to be a long-term thing, anyway – or at least, that's what I kept repeating to myself over and over, even as I packed my bags for the trip home.

  While hurling things into my suitcases, I tried to take some satisfaction from the fact that, unlike the rest of Zane's flings, I'd at least shown a little dignity.

  But dignity – or any other lofty ideal – didn't keep me warm that night as I tossed and turned in the cold and empty bed, wishing like crazy to turn back the clock.

  After that restless night, followed by a tense ride to the airport, Zane and I boarded his private jet before the sun even peeked over the horizon.

  And then, we were off.

  Across from me sat Zane, grim and silent, staring at nothing in particular. Stupidly, I found myself longing for the dubious company of Teddy or even What's-Her-Name – anything to break the lingering tension.

  After two silent hours, Zane looked to me and said, "Tell me."

  I almost jumped at the sound of his voice. "Tell you what?"

  "What you're thinking."

  I tried to smile. "Right now, I'm thinking that I'd better keep my mouth shut."

  "Yeah? And why's that?"

  "Because," I said with a glance toward the window, "I think we're like ten minutes from Kalamazoo."

  He frowned. "Was that a joke?"

  Was it? I couldn’t be sure either way. I gave a small shrug. "Maybe. Honestly, I'm not sure."

  His gaze locked on mine. "So that's what you think? That I'd ditch you at some random city?"

  "Well, you ditched her."

  "Yeah, I did." His voice hardened. "And admit it. You were glad."

  I stiffened. "I was not."

  "You wanna keep telling yourself that? Fine by me. But we both know what you were thinking."

  "Yeah. I was horrified."

  "Maybe," he said. "But you were glad, too, whether you'll admit it or not."

  "And what if I don't admit it?" I said. "Will you be dropping me in Kalamazoo?"

  He looked away. "No."

  "Oh yeah? And why not?"

  "Because we passed it five minutes ago."

  Now, it was my turn to ask, "Was that a joke?"

  He was still looking away. "Hell if I know."

  As an answer, it was oddly unsatisfying, but I was smart enough to not press the issue. After all, the flight wasn't over yet, and unless I wanted to cool my heels in Fort Wayne or wherever, I knew better than to push my luck.

  So instead, I leaned back and tried to think of anything but him – not that I had any success.

  When we landed, another limo was waiting. To my lingering despair, he told me flat-out that he was seeing me home. Just like so many other things, it was sweet and terrible all at the same time.

  But I knew better than to argue – because from the look on his face, it was pretty obvious that I wouldn't win.

  Through all of this – all of the tension, all of the silence, all of the unanswered questions – I tried to console myself with one single thought. Soon, I could crawl into my own bed, have a good cry, and then forget that Zane Bennington ever existed.

  There was only one problem. When we pulled up to my house, it looked nothing like it had when I left. In fact, I wasn't even sure how to describe it.

  As I stared at the destruction, only one word came to mind.

  Squashed.

  Chapter 61

  As we pulled into the driveway, I stared, dumbstruck, at the place I used to call home.

  Squashed was definitely the right word. The roof was caved in, and the exterior walls were slanted inward, like the house had been stomped on by a mythical giant.

  Encircling the entire mess was bright yellow tape, like something yanked from a crime scene.

  The limo had barely stopped when I lunged for the door handle, intending to jump out for a closer look. But something made me stop. It was a hand on my elbow – Zane's hand.

  He said, "Don't."

  I whirled in my seat to face him. "Don't what?"

  "Don't go out there."

  I was nearly frantic. "Why not?"

  "Because I'm gonna look first."

  "Why?" I demanded.

  His mouth was grim. "Because, you don't know what you'll find."

  "I don't care. I'm going." I made a move toward the door. Again, he pulled me back. Again, I whirled to face him. "Will you stop that?"

  He rapped on the glass that separated us from the driver. When the glass slid aside, Zane told the guy, "When I get out, secure the back."

  And then, almost before I knew what was happening, Zane slipped out on the opposite side and slammed the limo door shut behind him. A split second later, something clicked. Damn it. The door locks? It had to be.

  I lunged for my door and yanked on the handle. And then, I pushed. Nothing happened. The glass separating me from the driver had already slid shut.

  I reached up and rapped on the glass.

  When it slid aside, I said, "Hey, unlock the doors."

  "Sorry. Can't."

  "I mean it," I told him.

  "Sorry," he repeated. "Just following orders."

  I made a sound of frustration. "Not my orders."

  "I'm terribly sorry."

  I spent the next five minutes practically begging for him to let me out. He spent the next five minutes apologizing, but refusing to open up.

  The whole time, I kept glancing at the house, watching as Zane circled the front and then disappeared around the side, heading into the back yard.

  He emerged sooner than I expected, and strode back to the limo. He rapped on the driver's side window, and exchanged a few words with the guy before I heard the telltale click of the locks opening.

  Immediately, I bolted out of the limo and ran up to the house, not bothering to close the car door behind me. I stopped short at my front door – or rather, what was left of it.

  Behind me, Zane said, "That's close enough."

  Obviously.

  I mean, even I could tell that it wasn't remotely safe. I heard myself say, "What happened?"

  "It was a tree."

  "What?"

  "A tree," he repeated. "It fell on the house."

  I shook my head. "I don't think so. I
mean, wouldn’t there be branches or something?"

  "Yeah, but they're gone now."

  "Then how do you know it was a tree?"

  "Because part of it's still in the back yard."

  Almost in a daze, I walked around the side of the house, barely noticing as Zane kept close to my side. Sure enough, the giant oak tree that had previously taken up most of the yard was gone, replaced by a jagged stump and not much else.

  I turned away from the stump and looked toward the house, only to feel the color drain from my face. If anything, the back was more squashed than the front.

  This was where the bedrooms were. If I'd been asleep in my own bed, I would've been squashed, too.

  I bit my lip. "Do you think anyone was hurt?"

  I held my breath and waited. If anyone had been home, the answer to that question was obvious.

  Yes.

  But next to me, Zane replied, "No."

  Relief coursed through me. Still, I had to ask, "But how can you be sure?"

  "I'm not," he said. "But the way it looks, it happened a few days ago. Seems to me, you would've heard if anyone was injured."

  All I could do was scoff. "Yeah. You'd think." I made a useless gesture toward the house. "But no one called to tell me this."

  I cringed. Oh, no. Unless the person who would've told me was dead or in the hospital.

  Already, I was pulling out my cell phone. I found Paisley's number and hit the call button.

  No answer.

  Shit.

  With an effort, I reminded myself that it was still early in the morning. Probably, she was fine. She was a late sleeper. Even under the best of circumstances, she wouldn’t be up for hours yet.

  I mean, just because she didn't answer, that didn't mean she was dead or in a coma or anything.

  I kept telling myself this, even as I called my sister. Unfortunately, that call went straight to voicemail. With increasing desperation, I tried Paisley a second time, and then a third, and a fourth after that.

  On my fifth attempt, she finally answered with a cranky, "What?"

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Never had I been so happy to hear her voice. Breathlessly, I said, "I'm here at the house. What happened?"

  "Gee," she said, "thanks for your concern."

  I stiffened. "I am concerned. That's why I'm calling. Are you okay?"

  "No," she said, "I’m not."

  "Oh, my God. So you were hurt?"

  "I wasn't hurt," she said. "I was asleep. Why'd you keep calling?"

  I glanced at the destruction. "Gee, I wonder why."

  "I'm just saying, if someone doesn't answer the first time, you don't need to keep calling."

  Oh, for God' sake.

  "I'm ever so sorry," I said through gritted teeth. "I'll keep that in mind the next time our house is squashed while I'm out of town."

  "I hope so," she said, "because you know I’m not a morning person."

  "Right," I gritted out. "And like I said, I'm sorry. But seriously, what the hell happened?"

  It took ten full minutes to get the story out of her, but apparently, the tree had fallen during a storm four nights ago while she'd been out at some art show with the professor.

  Her ten-minute explanation included nine full minutes of gushing at how incredible Fergus had been in cleaning up the debris.

  She concluded by saying, "He even bought a chainsaw. You should've seen him." Her voice became almost husky. "He was magnificent."

  The professor? Magnificent? I couldn’t even imagine. "Uh, yeah. Well, that's good."

  She gave a little giggle. "I know, right?"

  Funny, I'd never heard her sound so happy. Maybe the lumberjack life was for her. Still, I had to say, "I don't want to be critical here, but there's something I've gotta ask."

  "What?"

  "Why didn't you call and let me know?"

  "Because Charlotte said she'd tell you."

  "She did? When?"

  "The day after it happened, when she stopped by to check on the place – which I didn't appreciate, by the way." Paisley gave a snort of disbelief. "What is it? You don't trust me?"

  Considering that I'd spent the final few minutes before my trip stuffing all of my valuables into a suitcase, this was a question better left unanswered.

  I cleared my throat. "Well, she was probably in the neighborhood."

  "Yeah, right," Paisley said, sounding decidedly disgruntled again. "But anyway, she saw the damage and said she'd let you know."

  "She did? Are you sure?"

  "Of course, I’m sure. In fact, she told me not to worry about it."

  Paisley? Worry?

  About anyone but herself?

  I couldn’t even imagine.

  Even now, I knew she was lying. After all, I'd talked to Charlotte just yesterday, and she hadn't mentioned a thing.

  Still, there was no point in arguing, so I ended the call with as much grace as I could muster. And then, I shoved the phone back into my pocket and tried to think.

  What now?

  Zane's voice interrupted my thoughts. "You want me to get anything?"

  Funny, I'd almost forgotten he was there. It was the strangest sensation, because every other time we'd been together, I'd been obnoxiously aware of his every move.

  I gave a mental eye-roll. Finally, I knew just the thing to push Zane Bennington out of my mind.

  A squashed house.

  Now, if only I had a million more.

  Almost in a daze, I turned toward the sound of his voice. He was standing next to me, frowning as he eyed the damage.

  I said, "Sorry, what was the question again?"

  He gestured toward the house. "You want me to grab anything?"

  I looked toward the mess and tried to think. Oh sure, I had a few dishes and clothes, but the place had come already furnished, and I couldn't see the point of sifting through the rubble now.

  After all, not much of it was mine. And, in a weird twist of fate, everything I truly cared about was already packed, thanks to my distrust of Paisley.

  I shook my head. "No. But thanks." I glanced toward the front of the house. "I guess I should grab my suitcases, huh?"

  He gave me a look. "What?"

  "From the trunk of the limo."

  "I know where they are," he said. "But you're not unloading them here."

  I was only half-listening. In the back of my mind, I was still trying to come up with a plan.

  Stupidly, I'd sold my old beater of a car. And the other car, the nicer one, wasn't even my own. Rather, it was a company car for a job that I no longer had. This meant, of course, that I had no vehicle at all.

  But surely, someone would be willing to pick me up – if not my parents, then definitely Charlotte, assuming she ever answered her phone.

  I mumbled, "It'll be fine. I'll just wait here with my suitcases."

  "Wrong," Zane said. "What you're going to do is stay with me."

  Chapter 62

  I turned to face him. "What'd you say?"

  He looked dead-serious. "I said you're staying with me."

  Instantly, an image of Bob popped into my brain. I couldn't help but wonder, why hadn't he been offered a place to stay? After all, he needed shelter way more than I did.

  And yet, Zane's offer was so very tempting.

  Embarrassingly, it wasn't even because I had no options. It was because, even now, I wanted to throw myself into his arms and forget everything else – the squashed house, the tension between us, and worst of all, the slump of Bob's shoulders as he shuffled away.

  It was that final image that stiffened my resolve. I shook my head. "No. Thanks, really. But I'm not."

  "That's what you think."

  "No," I told him. "That's what I know."

  "We'll see." With that, he turned, once again, to look at the house.

  I looked, too. As I took in the damage, I couldn't help but compare this place to Zane's estate. Unlike the mess in front of me, Zane's place was big and luxurious. It even had
a swimming pool.

  Plus, it wasn't squashed.

  But it wasn't his house that was tempting me. It was Zane himself. Heaven help me, I probably did love the guy – because the longer this went on, the more I wanted to cry at the thought of life without him.

  I was pathetic.

  But I wasn't so pathetic that I'd actually jump on his offer – or him, as tempting as he was, standing beside me, looking annoyingly fine in the morning light.

  I had to end this now, before I forgot all of the reasons why this would never work. With that in mind, I turned and began striding toward the front of the house, planning to grab my suitcases and settle this once and for all.

  As I moved purposefully toward the driveway, Zane silently kept pace, never letting me out of arm's reach.

  When I reached the back of the limo, I paused as a realization hit home. The trunk was locked. Trunks were always locked. I knew that. I'd just forgotten, that's all.

  Undaunted, I strode to the limo's driver's side and rapped on the window. When the glass slid down, I said to the driver, "Could you please pop the trunk?"

  The driver looked to Zane, who gave a slight shake of his head. The driver looked back to me and said, "I'm sorry, but no."

  "Oh, for God's sake." I turned to glare at Zane, even as the window slid back up. Through gritted teeth, I said, "Give me my suitcases. Please."

  He shrugged. "All right."

  I felt my gaze narrow. Knowing Zane, there had to be a catch, because nothing with him was this easy. I crossed my arms and waited.

  He flicked his head toward the limo. "Get in."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Get in the car," he said, "and I'll give you the suitcases."

  "When?"

  "When we get there."

  "Where?"

  "My place. Like I said."

  And there it was. The catch.

  I couldn’t help but sigh. "I'm not staying with you." I stared up at him, silently begging him to understand. "I can't."

  But the look on Zane's face suggested otherwise. In a tight voice, he said, "I've got a guest room."

  Stupidly, the statement didn't make me feel any better. In fact, I was pretty sure it made me feel worse. Talk about messed up.

  I shoved a nervous hand through my hair. "You've probably got ten guest rooms, but that's hardly the point."