Positively Pricked: A Billionaire Loathing-to-Love Romance

by Sabrina Stark

  "Does what?" I asked.

  "The card key thing."

  Oh, for crying out loud. It wasn't that difficult. And if he didn't know how to use it, why was he carrying the card key at all?

  I said, "Well, she's not here, so…"

  Looking more unsteady than ever, he muttered, "Fucking Zane Bennington."

  "I know," I said. "You told me."

  He brightened. "I did?"

  "Yeah. Downstairs."

  "Oh. Okay."

  He still hadn't taken the card, which was probably for the best. When the elevator doors opened onto the fourteenth floor, I grabbed his hand and practically dragged him out of the elevator and then down the hall, watching room numbers as I went.

  When we reached room 1499, I asked, "Is this the one?"

  When he replied with an unsteady nod, I swiped the card key into the slot and heard the telltale click of the lock disengaging. I gave the door a tentative push and breathed a sigh of relief when it actually opened.

  Behind me, the senator slurred, "You're really nice."

  I turned to look. "Uh, thanks."

  "Not like him." He gave a snort of derision. "Or her."

  He didn't say who he was talking about, but it was easy to guess – Zane and Tiffany, who'd been doing who-knows-what in some elevator.

  As we stood there, I half-expected Tiffany to appear in the doorway at any moment. After all, this must be her room, too.

  I had to wonder, if they didn't make up, which one of them would be sent packing?

  I didn't plan on sticking around long enough to find out. So I wished the senator a good night and made a move to leave, only to have him envelope me in a giant bear hug. "You're really nice," he repeated.

  I said the same thing I said the first time. "Uh, thanks."

  "Smell nice, too."

  "Uh, okay."

  I made a move to pull back, but the senator only held on tighter. "I like your hair." He gave it a noisy sniff and mumbled, "Smells good, too."

  I gave a nervous laugh. "Thanks, but I'd better get going."

  As I spoke, it took me a moment to realize his hands were creeping lower. Almost before I knew what was happening, he'd cupped a cheek in each hand and gave them a firm squeeze.

  I yanked myself backward just as I felt both of his thumbs going in for the crack.

  I glared up at him. "What the hell are you doing?"

  He looked to his room. "You wanna go inside?"

  What the hell?

  I gave a bark of laughter. "No."

  He mumbled, "My ass isn't that hairy." He perked up. "If you want, you could shave it."

  I didn't know whether to laugh or slap him. The only upside was that I highly doubted he'd remember any of this tomorrow.

  I gave a shudder. If only I could say the same for myself.

  I dodged past him and scurried down the hall, not looking back, even as he hollered out, "Come back, you fucking tease!"

  At that particular moment, he sounded almost sober, and I couldn't help but wonder if the whole drunk-as-a-skunk thing had been only an act to get me up here.

  But no. It couldn't be. After all, he'd been staggering when talking to Tiffany, too.

  Hadn't he?

  I decided not to dwell on it, and just thanked my lucky stars that I hadn't been even more foolish.

  I made a mental note to avoid him like the plague in the future. And I might've managed it, too, if only it weren't for what happened the very next morning.

  Chapter 46

  Early the next morning, I was rushing around my hotel room when the telephone rang – not my cell phone, but rather the phone on the night stand.

  I gave it a worried glance.

  In five minutes, I was supposed to be meeting Zane in the lobby, where we'd be catching his limo to his next scheduled interview.

  Still, vowing to make it quick, I answered the phone with a breathless, "Hello?"

  It was Carla, the receptionist from the main office, who sounded a little breathless herself. "I'm terribly sorry to ask, but…" She hesitated. "Is Mister Bennington there?"

  I felt my eyebrows furrow. "You don't mean in my hotel room?"

  "I wouldn’t even ask, but it's an emergency." She lowered her voice to just a whisper. "Everyone knows, so there's really no need to hide it."

  I froze. "Everyone knows what?"

  "That you two are…you know."

  "No," I said. "I don't."

  She sighed. "Oh great. Am I in trouble now?"

  "Why would you be in trouble?"

  "I don't know," she said. "For not pretending?"

  "Pretending what?"

  "Not to know."

  I made a sound of frustration. "Not to know what?"

  After a long moment, she whispered, "That you're his…" Again, she hesitated.

  "His what?"

  And then, in a low whisper, she dropped the hammer. "Mistress."

  I sank to a sitting position on the bed. The term, as old-fashioned as it was, felt like a slap to the face, especially because Zane and I were barely on speaking terms. I said, "Excuse me?"

  "Oh come on," she whispered. "You're the only one who pretends."

  Where on Earth had this come from? "I hate to tell you this, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

  She was still whispering. "Listen, you seem like a really nice person, and I'm just hoping I don't get in trouble for this, but you should probably know that he's already admitted it."

  If I weren't already sitting, this would've knocked me on my ass for sure. "He has? When?"

  "I dunno…Maybe a month after you were hired?"

  That asshole. Trying not to lose it, I said, "And just who did he 'admit' this to?"

  "To that bedding supplier from Cincinnati."

  "Boris Feldman?"

  "I think so."

  "So, let me get this straight," I said. "Zane Bennington – our boss – told Boris Feldman that I was his mistress? Am I understanding that right?"

  Sounding more nervous than ever, she whispered, "Oh, no. You're angry, aren't you?"

  Yes.

  I was.

  But not at her.

  On the phone, Carla muttered, "I knew I should've kept my big mouth shut."

  By now, I hardly knew what to think. But I did know that none of this was Carla's fault. Absently, I murmured, "No. It's fine."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Uh, yeah." I paused. "Wait a minute. Was that why you were so nervous when that guy showed up with those flowers?"

  "Well, wouldn't you be nervous?" she whispered. "I mean, I know Mister Bennington sees other people, but…" Again, her words trailed off.

  "But I don't?"

  How humiliating was this? I could only imagine what everyone thought of me. Not only was I the ho-bag sleeping with my boss, but I was so pathetic that I let him run around like some kind of horn-dog while I waited at his beck and call.

  Carla sighed. "Well, I've never seen you with anyone else, except the guy with the flowers. And you seemed pretty eager to get rid of him, so I just figured…" She paused. "You know what? This is really none of my business."

  All of this was giving me a headache. I reached up to rub my temples. By now, I hardly knew what to say. Somehow, I managed to mumble, "No. It's fine. I'm glad you said something."

  "Oh, sure," she whispered, "you're glad, but what's gonna happen when Mister Bennington finds out?"

  "Nothing's gonna happen. It's fine."

  "If you say so." Carla said, sounding far from convinced. "And I'm sorry to push the issue, but I've gotta know. Is he around? Like, maybe in the shower or something?"

  Oh, good grief.

  Through gritted teeth, I said, "Did you try his room?"

  "Sure, but—" Abruptly, she stopped. "Never mind."

  "But what?" I asked.

  After a long pause, she said, "But someone named Tiffany answered. She said he'd been gone for hours."

  I felt my hand tighten around the phone. "Ti
ffany? As in the senator's fiancée?"

  "I'm not sure. She didn't say." Carla paused. "So is he there?"

  It seemed like a ridiculous question. After all, if Zane Bennington were here in my room, I certainly wouldn’t be asking all of these stupid questions. And why? Because I'd be too busy throttling him.

  "He's not here," I told her. "And in fact, he's never here."

  "Oh." She hesitated. "Because the penthouse is that much nicer?"

  "No," I said with all the patience I could muster. "Because I’m not sleeping with him. I don't even like him."

  That made her pause. "Really?

  "Yes. Really." In the back of my mind, I started listing the reasons.

  Because he's a total prick.

  Because he lied about me.

  Because he was awful in all the ways that counted.

  And… Before I could continue with my mental list, a thud just outside my hotel room made me pause. This was quickly followed by a yelp, and then a scream. I looked toward the sound and felt my brow wrinkle in confusion. The screamer sounded like a guy.

  Well, that was odd.

  Into the phone, I said, "Sorry, but I've gotta go."

  "But what about Mister Bennington?"

  Fuck Mister Bennington. But I didn’t say it, because none of this was Carla's fault. So instead, I promised to keep an eye out and quickly hung up before dashing to the door to see what on Earth was going on.

  I poked my head out of the doorway and looked down the long corridor, just in time to see Zane Bennington – shirtless, no less – dragging the senator away by his ankle.

  What the hell?

  Chapter 47

  My eyes widened, and I stifled a gasp. Why was he dragging the senator? And why on Earth wasn't he wearing a shirt?

  Had he lost his freaking mind?

  Unsure what else to do, I dashed out of my hotel room and scurried after them.

  As for the senator, he was screaming like a girl. I could almost relate, because I felt like screaming, too.

  All along, I'd known Zane was trouble. He was a prick. A liar. A total reprobate. And now, he was – I could hardly think of the word – a senator assaulter?

  On both sides of the long, carpeted corridor, doors swung open as hotel guests leaned their heads out to gawk at the commotion. All things considered, I couldn't exactly blame them.

  The senator was still screaming. "Help! Somebody!"

  As I moved, I glanced down. I was still holding my little notebook, the one I used for my daily to-do list. If only I had time, I'd jot down a new top priority.

  Kill Zane Bennington.

  I called out after him, "What are you doing?"

  The senator stopped screaming only long enough to holler back, "I'm being assaulted! What the fuck does it look like?"

  Dumb-ass. I wasn't talking to him. I was talking to my future murder victim.

  Yes. That would be Zane.

  As they passed a random door on their left, a couple of teenage girls swiveled their heads to stare at the traveling spectacle.

  They were still staring when I scrambled past their doorway. As I plowed forward, one of them called out after me, "Hey, was that–?"

  "No comment!" I yelled, hoping to keep the publicity to a minimum.

  Probably, too late for that.

  Already, the other girl was finishing the question. "Zane Bennington? Oh, my God. I think it was."

  Damn it.

  Hustling away from the girls, I called out to Zane's receding back. "Where are you taking him?"

  Zane didn't even pause. He just kept plowing forward, ignoring me and the guy twisting and screaming behind him.

  By now, the friction had wreaked havoc with not only the senator's suit jacket, but with his dress-shirt too. The shirt came completely untucked and rode up his torso, revealing a stomach that was soft-looking and yes, pretty darn hairy.

  The senator gave a particularly girlish scream. "Call security!"

  I yelled, "Damn it, Zane! Will you please stop?"

  After the events of the last couple of days, I wasn't even sure I'd be keeping my job, but I still couldn't afford to take any chances. If word of this got out, I'd be the one doing damage-control.

  How on Earth would I explain this?

  Maybe I should've felt bad for the senator. But I couldn’t, not after what happened last night.

  After ditching him at his doorway, I'd returned to the bar in desperate need of that mimosa – which of course, someone had snatched up while I'd been away.

  I'd ordered a new one, and had almost finished it when the senator reappeared in the lobby looking surprisingly sober. He hadn't seen me sitting in the shadows of the bar, but I'd seen him, all right.

  This led me to a pretty sad conclusion. The pig was, once again, on the prowl.

  And now, even as I scurried down the hall, I shuddered with revulsion at the memory of his hot breath in my ear and meaty hands on my ass. And I so didn't want to think about his thumbs.

  As I watched, Zane rounded the corner, still dragging the senator behind him. The way it looked, they were heading for the elevators – my steps faltered – or, oh crap, the stairwell.

  I called out, "Don't you dare take the stairs!"

  Whether Zane heard me or not, I had no idea.

  A split second later, the screaming stopped, and I almost feared the worst. I rounded the corner just in time to see Zane yank the senator up by his jacket and shove him hard against the wall between the two nearest elevators.

  Now that I'd actually caught up to them, I wasn't quite sure what to do. Silently, I edged forward, hoping to catch Zane's elbow and maybe ease him away from the senator.

  And then, I reasoned, could murder Zane myself privately.

  I was still moving forward when Zane finally spoke. In a voice filled with menace, he leaned closer to the senator and said, "If you ever touch her again, I'll break off those fucking fingers." His grip visibly tightened. "And then, I'll shove them down your fucking throat."

  I froze. What?

  Again, Zane shoved the senator against the wall. "Are we clear?"

  I stood in stunned confusion. Who on Earth was he talking about?

  He couldn’t mean me.

  No. Definitely not.

  Probably, the senator had gotten grabby with someone else, like maybe an important guest or heaven forbid, Zane's latest squeeze, whoever she was this time.

  My jaw clenched.

  Tiffany?

  Or someone else?

  No. It couldn’t be Tiffany, because the way it sounded, she'd been tucked away in Zane's penthouse doing who-knows-what with you-know-who.

  Trying to make sense of it all, I studied Zane's face in profile. For as long as I'd known him, he'd been the epitome of control.

  And yet, he didn't look in control now.

  When the senator offered no coherent response, Zane gave him another shove and repeated his question, more slowly this time. "Are. We. Clear?"

  The senator swallowed. "I, uh, what?"

  More confused than ever, I stepped toward them.

  Instantly, the senator's gaze snapped in my direction. He called out, "Jane! Go on! Tell him!"

  My steps faltered, and I heard myself ask, "Tell him what?"

  The senator gave me a pleading look. "Tell him that you liked it. You know, that it was voluntary."

  My jaw dropped. Huh?

  I gave a confused shake of my head. I didn't like it. But that wasn't the thing that had me reeling.

  It was the implication of what he'd just said.

  My gaze shifted from the senator to the guy holding him against the wall. As if feeling my gaze, Zane slowly turned to look. And when he did, I saw something new in his eyes – a possessive spark that caught me totally off guard.

  My breath caught. Oh, my God. This was about me.

  But why?

  I mean, we were barely on speaking terms. And the way it sounded, he'd spent last night with another girl, the senator's fia
ncée, in fact.

  In that instant, I almost felt bad for the senator – right up until he blurted out, "And seriously, she was coming onto me!"

  I sputtered, "What?"

  "Yeah," he said, turning desperate eyes on Zane. "It was all I could do to shove her away."

  I glanced down at my notebook.

  Item Number Two: Kill the senator.

  Just as the thought crossed my mind, something horrible happened.

  I snickered.

  Both guys turned to look.

  My hand flew to my lips, and I looked from the senator to Zane. Nothing about this was funny. So why had I laughed? A nervous reflex? It had to be.

  But for whatever reason, it seemed to break the spell. Already, the senator was reaching back to slap at the nearby elevator buttons, even as Zane continued to hold him tight against the wall.

  I looked to the buttons. Both were now lit – the one with up arrow and the one with the down arrow. Probably, this was a good thing, because it doubled his odds of a quick escape.

  As it turned out, luck was on the senator's side, because within mere seconds, the nearest elevator arrived with a ding.

  Going down.

  And not by way of the stairs.

  Thank God.

  Zane let go, and the senator practically dove into the crowded elevator. To no one in particular, he yelled, "For God's sake, hit the button!"

  Someone did, and the doors slid shut, leaving just me and Zane – and, of course, a dozen other people who'd scrambled out of their rooms to witness the spectacle.

  I looked around and tried to think of something useful to say. When nothing came to mind, I gave the crowd a nervous smile. "No comment?"

  Of course, it was a stupid thing to say, because technically, no one had asked me anything.

  They were all too busy staring at Zane.

  From the looks on their faces, the females in particular, they liked what they saw. I pulled my gaze from the crowd and turned to see what I was missing.

  And then, I felt myself swallow.

  He stood a few feet away, facing me in all his shirtless glory. His muscles were deliciously defined, and his hair was tousled like he'd just had the sweetest sex in the world.

  And then, there were his eyes, brooding and dangerous in a way that I'd never seen them. The cautious part of me wanted to back away, but I was way too mesmerized to go anywhere.