Positively Pricked: A Billionaire Loathing-to-Love Romance

by Sabrina Stark

  But I didn't say any of those things – not because I didn't have the nerve, but because a new voice sounded from the shadows.

  It was Zane's voice, low and ominous, saying only two words. "Get out."

  Chapter 14

  In unison, the guard and I turned to look.

  I spotted Zane, standing a few paces away. He was wearing dark pants, a dark jacket, and an expression so dark that I instinctively backed up.

  But I had no room. My butt hit the side of my car, and my keys slipped from my fingers and clattered to the pavement.

  I didn't even look down, and neither did the guard. Both of us were still staring at Zane, who eyed the guard with cold contempt.

  The guard practically gulped, "Mister Bennington."

  Zane said nothing, but his look said it all. He was not pleased.

  The guard looked to me and said, "Mister Bennington's right. You should probably get going."

  Zane spoke again. "No. Not her. You."

  The guard's eyebrows furrowed. He looked to Zane and said, "But I've got two hours left on my shift."

  Zane's expression didn't change. "Not my problem."

  It seemed a funny thing to say. After all, it would be Zane's problem if there was no one around to let people in or out of his neighborhood.

  Wouldn’t it?

  The guard tried again. "But—"

  "But nothing," Zane said. "Get the fuck out. Now."

  The guard turned accusing eyes on me. "This is your fault."

  I almost laughed in his face. "My fault?"

  Okay, maybe the guy did have a point. After all, Zane had decided to fire him nearly an hour ago, thanks to my careless confession on his front lawn. But there was no way the guard could know that.

  So, why was he blaming me?

  And seriously, what did he expect? He'd just been caught red-handed, away from his station, putting the moves on someone who obviously wasn't interested.

  It's not like I put a gun to his head.

  The guard turned back to Zane and said, "But I was just escorting her to her car. It's in my job-description. She asked me to." He turned back to me and urged, "Go on. Tell him."

  What a total crock.

  I made a scoffing sound. "No way."

  He gave me a pleading look. "Why not?"

  "Because it's a lie."

  The guard leaned closer and said in a low whisper, "C'mon. Help a guy out, will ya?"

  Like the sap I was, I almost wanted to say yes. I liked helping people. And I hated Zane Bennington. But even I knew that lying for the guy would be a huge mistake, especially if I cared one bit for whatever random female crossed his path next.

  Besides, from what I knew of Zane, lying for the guy wouldn't do a lick of good, anyway.

  I crossed my arms. "No."

  His nostrils flared, and he reached out, as if preparing to shake some sense into me. His hands never made it, because suddenly, he was yanked back by a shadowed force.

  That force was Zane Bennington, who had crossed the short distance and pulled the guard away – all in the blink of an eye.

  Already, he'd spun the guy around, giving him a hard shove in the opposite direction. The guy stumbled backward before catching his balance. His mouth opened, as if preparing to lodge some sort of protest. But then, he apparently thought better of it. He clamped his mouth shut and looked from Zane to me. His gaze narrowed, and he looked almost ready to spring.

  Zane said, "Whatever you're thinking, don't."

  After a long, tense moment, the guard lifted his hands in mock surrender and took a single step backward. "I wasn't thinking anything."

  Zane flicked his head toward the guard shack. "Now, get your shit and go. You're fired."

  "But…" The guard shook his head. "You can't fire me."

  Zane gave him a look. "I can. And I did."

  "But, uh, I don't work for you."

  "Right, you're done," Zane said. "So get the fuck out."

  The guy cleared his throat. "I mean, I was hired by the Board of Governors."

  I wasn't familiar with the term, but I could only assume that he meant something along the lines of a home owners' association. After all, this did seem like the kind of place that would have one.

  "So really," the guard said, "I work for them."

  "Not anymore," Zane said.

  "But—"

  "Get out," Zane said, "or I'll toss you out."

  From the look on Zane's face, he was willing to make good on the threat. Still, it was one of the strangest things I'd ever seen, because for all of Zane's harsh words, he looked in absolute control.

  And for some reason, that was ten times more terrifying than if he'd completely lost it.

  I looked from one guy to the other. In spite of the guard's beefy size, he was decidedly outgunned in the face of Zane's quiet menace.

  Already, the guard was stepping backward. "But my ride's not here."

  Zane flicked his head toward the road. "So walk."

  The guard looked down and muttered, "Son-of-a-bitch."

  Zane took a single step closer. "What's that?"

  "Nothing," the guard said. And then, with a final muttered curse, he turned and trudged to the guard shack. He opened the door, went inside, and emerged a moment later, carrying an uncorked bottle of wine and a big, brown backpack, bursting with who-knows-what.

  He slung the backpack over one shoulder and gave me one final, disgruntled look as he turned away and began trudging toward the road that led into the neighborhood.

  Watching him go, I couldn’t help but feel at least a little sad. It was true that Zane probably did the right thing – as much as I hated to admit it – but it was still such a sorry sight that I almost felt like crying.

  And I wasn't a cryer.

  Who knows? Maybe it wasn't because of the guard. Maybe it was because, well, today had been one giant crap sandwich, and I'd had just about enough. All I wanted now was to be home, away from all of this, away from him – the guy who'd brought me nothing but trouble.

  I glanced at the exit gate and wondered if I'd need someone to open it. If so, I was screwed, unless – damn it – my gaze shifted to Zane. Would he open it for me?

  He was the only person around, and I yet hated the idea of asking him for anything.

  Summoning my last bit of optimism, I decided that the gate would open automatically, if only I pulled up my car. With that in mind, I turned away, intending to get the hell out of Dodge.

  But before I could climb into my car, Zane's voice cut through the shadows. "What the hell were you thinking?"

  Chapter 15

  His question caught me off guard, and I froze in mid-motion. What the hell was I thinking? What kind of question was that?

  I whirled to face him. "What?"

  Standing in the shadows, Zane's eyes were hard, and his mouth was tight. "I told you that guy was trouble."

  My jaw dropped. "You did not."

  He stepped closer. "You want some advice?"

  "From you?" I tried to laugh. "No."

  "Yeah? Well, you're getting it, anyway." He looked toward the road, where the guy was already out of earshot. "When you know someone's trouble, you don't stand alone with them in the dark."

  I made a sound of disbelief. "Well, that's rich."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning, you've caused me ten times more trouble than the guard. And here I am, alone with you." I gave him a thin smile. "So, if you wanted to warn me, maybe you should've warned me about yourself."

  His jaw tightened. "Then consider yourself warned."

  He was standing almost within arm's reach, and something about his statement – or maybe something about him – sent a shiver down my spine. And yet, to my extreme annoyance, the shiver felt warm, more like a caress than a warning.

  And that only irritated me more.

  My tone grew sarcastic. "Gosh. Thanks ever so much. Now, if only someone had warned me yesterday."

  Before I'd lost my job.
<
br />   Before I'd witnessed people getting tossed out of their home.

  Before making this stupid trip out here at all.

  In front of me, Zane said, "If you see him again, you avoid him." He gave me a hard look. "Got it?"

  "Who? The guard?" I gave Zane a hard look right back. "You know that was at least partly your fault."

  He looked anything but contrite. "Yeah? Why's that?"

  "Because here, you act like he's a big raging pervert, but you never thought to do anything about it?" My voice rose. "Until now?"

  He gave me another long look, but said nothing.

  "I mean, come on," I persisted. "How long have you known?"

  Zane moved closer until he towered over me in the near darkness. Already, I had nowhere to go, and it suddenly struck me that the guy standing before me now was a million times more dangerous than that stupid guard on his worst day.

  I don't know how I knew. I just did.

  Still, I refused to back down. "Well?" I said. "How long?"

  "Before you showed up?" Zane's gaze met mine. "An hour. Maybe two."

  I blinked. "What?"

  "I had a visit."

  Curiosity got the best of me. "From who?"

  His gaze shifted to the guard shack. "From someone who wasn't supposed to be here."

  Obviously, he couldn't mean the guard. So who was he talking about? For some reason, I couldn’t seem to let it go. "Yeah, but who?"

  I'd barely finished the question when a car – coming from inside the neighborhood – sped up to the guard shack and squealed to a stop, not in the parking area, but on the side of the street.

  I recognized the car immediately. It was the same little sports car I'd seen passing me a few minutes earlier. Sure enough, the now-familiar brunette emerged from the car and slammed the car door shut behind her.

  She stalked to the guard shack and went straight for the door. She twisted the doorknob and gave a hard tug.

  Nothing happened.

  "Hey!" she hollered through the door. "I know you're in there! Open up!" When nothing happened, she raised her arms and started pounding with both fists. "Hey, jackass!" she yelled. "You owe me! You fucking liar!"

  I looked to Zane, wondering what he'd do. But the way it looked, he wasn't going to do anything, except eye the woman with barely concealed revulsion.

  I whispered, "Shouldn't we tell her? You know, that her boyfriend's gone."

  Slowly, his gaze shifted to me, and his eyebrows lifted just a fraction. "Boyfriend?"

  Heat flooded my face. Okay, I didn't really think they were boyfriend-and-girlfriend, but I wasn't sure how else to put it.

  I gave a loose shrug and mumbled, "Or whatever."

  At this, Zane looked like he just might smile. But he didn't. Instead, he turned back to the guard shack and watched as the woman stalked to nearest window and pressed her face to the glass. She cupped her hands around her eyes, as if to better see inside. What she saw, I could only imagine.

  I whispered, "Do you think he locked the door?"

  Zane gave a tight shrug. "Probably."

  I couldn't help but wonder why. As a responsible safety measure? Or as a final "screw you" to Zane for giving him the old heave-ho?

  That reminded me of something. I asked, "And how could you fire him if he didn't even work for you?"

  "Easy," Zane said. "Two words. 'You're fired.'"

  "But won't someone get mad? I mean, what'll happen? You know, with the people he does work for?"

  "Nothing," Zane said. "They'll piss and moan, and I'll tell them to fuck off. End of story."

  It suddenly struck me that this was pretty much what he'd done with my job. After all, I hadn't worked for Zane directly either, and he'd still gotten me fired, even if he hadn't bothered to do it personally.

  The jerk.

  At the guard shack, the woman was yelling again. "I know you're in there! And just so you know, that merlot sucked ass!"

  In spite of everything, I wanted to snicker. In my book, all merlot sucked ass.

  At the guard shack, the woman stopped yelling and looked around. I knew the exact moment she spotted us, because her eyes widened to epic proportions, and she smiled so big, it was almost scary.

  Next to me, Zane muttered, "Fuck."

  I looked from Zane to the woman and back again. I felt a slow, evil smile spread across my face. I lifted my hand and hollered out, "Yoohoo! Over here!"

  Under his breath, Zane said, "What the hell are you doing?"

  "Why, introducing you, of course."

  "You wouldn’t."

  I was still smiling. "I would."

  And I did. After the woman scurried over, I gave her a warm welcome and said, "Have you met Zane Bennington?" I flicked my head in his direction. "He's a gazillionaire, you know."

  The woman sidled closer to Zane and gave a little shimmy of excitement. "Oh, I know," she gushed, batting her eyelashes up at him.

  "And he's single," I helpfully added.

  The woman gave a little squeal of excitement. "I know!" She turned to Zane. "I just love your hotels. They're soooooo luxurious." She leaned toward him. "I'd just love a private tour." Her eyes brightened. "And you know what? I've never been to Paris, but I'd just love to go sometime."

  I gave a happy sigh. "Oh, well, I'd better get going." And then, true to my word, I swooped up my keys, got into my car, fired up the engine, and pulled away, leaving Zane staring after me.

  As for the woman, she paid me no attention at all. Instead, she kept her gaze firmly on the so-called gazillionaire, even as he ignored whatever she was saying.

  I pulled my car up to the exit gate and said a silent prayer that the gate would slide open automatically, which, thank heaven, it did.

  And, then, I was on my way.

  As for the guard, I spotted him maybe a mile up the road, lugging that same brown backpack and yelling into his cell phone. Oh, sure, I couldn’t hear him over the sounds of my rattletrap of a car, but his contorted face told me all I needed to know.

  Whoever he was talking to was a getting an earful.

  I was just glad it wasn't me.

  Funny to think, I'd just had one of the crappiest days of my life, and yet, I couldn’t help but smile. Revenge – who cared about serving it cold, when you could dish it up, nice and hot, thanks to a rabid fangirl and her merlot-swilling sidekick.

  I gave it some thought. Maybe the guard wasn't so much a sidekick as an accomplice. I considered what Zane had said, about getting an unwanted visitor at his house. He couldn’t have meant the brunette, because from what I'd seen, their first actual meeting had been the one I'd initiated.

  Had there been another girl? Before that one? And what was the guard doing, anyway? Trading access for blow-jobs?

  I decided not to think about it.

  I was just glad to see Zane inconvenienced, even if only a little. The bastard had it coming, and a whole lot more besides.

  The only upside was that I'd never have to see him again – or so I thought.

  Turns out, I saw him just an hour later. But at least this time, it wasn't in person.

  Chapter 16

  When I walked in through my own front door, the television was blaring, and the whole house reeked of burnt popcorn. I found Paisley and Professor Lumberjack on the living room sofa, watching Paisley's favorite celebrity gossip channel.

  The professor was big and burly, with thinning hair and a red beard that almost perfectly matched his red flannel shirt.

  In the nearby armchair sat Charlotte, with her arms crossed and an expression I was all too familiar with. It was her "I'm-not-going-anywhere-and-you-can't-make-me" expression.

  Funny, she'd been wearing the exact same look earlier when I'd left the house to confront Zane. Over my objections, she'd insisted on waiting for me to return. The only real surprise was that she wasn't waiting alone.

  I looked to Paisley, cuddled up next to the professor. She was making an obvious point to ignore me, which I thought took a
lot of nerve, all things considered.

  I gave her an annoyed look. "I thought you were going out of town."

  Paisley's eyes remained glued to the screen. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

  "That depends," I said. "Does this mean you have the rent money?"

  Next to her, the professor muttered, "Rent."

  My gaze narrowed. "Excuse me?"

  "Rent," he repeated to one in particular, "it's only a tool for exploitation."

  I felt my jaw clench. Speaking of tools.

  "No," I said, as if speaking to my least-favorite half-wit. "Rent is the thing that keeps us in this house."

  "Exactly," he said.

  Oh, for God's sake.

  I looked to Charlotte, who was glowering in their direction. I gave her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry I'm late. That took longer than I thought."

  "That's all right," she said. "It's not your fault."

  Actually, it was my fault, but the way it looked, Charlotte was focusing all of her hostility on the dynamic couch-duo.

  With more than a little trepidation, I asked, "So, what's been going on here?"

  It was Paisley who answered. "Your sister's being a major pill, that's what."

  Charlotte turned to me and said, "And your roommate ate all the cake."

  I asked, "What cake?" And then, it hit me. "Oh, my God. Not the cake you brought?"

  From the sofa, Paisley gave a dramatic sigh. "Look, if you wanted to save it, you should've put your name on it or something."

  Through gritted teeth, I said, "My name was on it."

  "It was not," Paisley said.

  Now, I was glowering, too. "Well, it said 'congratulations.' My name was implied."

  The professor muttered, "Implications don't pay the rent."

  What the hell did that even mean?

  I snapped, "And neither does your side-squeeze."

  With a little gasp, Paisley whirled around on the sofa. Glaring daggers at me, she demanded, "What did you just call me?"

  It was too late to back down now. So instead, I repeated it. "His side-squeeze."

  Paisley jumped up from the couch and looked to the professor. "Did you hear that? Aren't you gonna say something?"