Page 173 of Positively Pricked

Chapter 57

I woke alone in a cold and rumpled bed. Still naked, I sat up and looked around the luxurious bedroom. Sunlight streamed in through the massive windows, casting a pale glow on my posh surroundings.

I looked toward the bedroom's doorway, where the trail of discarded clothing brought back memories of the previous night.

Had I really done it?

Had I really slept with Zane "the Prick" Bennington?

A pleasant soreness, not only between my thighs, but also deep in my stomach, told me all I needed to know. Last night, I'd had so many orgasms, I'd literally lost count.

Did I regret it?

Yes.

And no.

Yes – because this wasn't me. I wasn't a jump-in-the-sack kind of girl. I was a relationship kind of girl. Until now, I'd successfully avoided guys like Zane – irredeemable man-whores with a list of lovers a mile long.

And yet, I also realized that regret cut both ways. If somehow, I'd found the willpower to walk away when I'd had the chance, I'd be dealing with regret of a different kind.

I had to face facts. I would've been screwed either way. But only one of those ways had given me a memory to last a lifetime.

There was no denying it. I'd wanted him.

I heard myself sigh. And now, I'd had him.What now?

Clutching the sheet close to my chest, I took another long look around, but saw no sign of him. I didn't hear him either. Was he gone? It sure seemed that way.

Was this my cue to leave, too?

I gave my discarded clothes a worried glance. There was no way I'd consider them cleannow, especially my panties. Last night, I'd been so wet from wanting him that, for all I knew, they were still damp.

The thought was more than a little embarrassing.

I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was only eight o'clock. The morning was still young, right? Maybe he'd just popped out for coffee? Like the sap I was, I waited in his bed until nearly nine-thirty.

Finally, when it became painfully obvious that he wasn't coming back, I did the only thing I could. I got up and started gathering my clothes.

Ten minutes later, I was fully dressed, minus the panties, which I'd wadded up and tucked into the front pocket of my shorts.

Silently, I crept toward the main door of his suite, feeling incredibly self-conscious, even though I was utterly alone.

Unfortunately, that dynamic changed within five seconds of my departure. His door had barely shut behind me when who did I see rounding the nearby corner?

Tiffany.

At the sight of me, she stopped dead in her tracks. I stopped in mine. I wasn't normally a blusher, and yet, I could feel my face burning with raw embarrassment.

Her lips formed a smirk. "So, what'd you think?"

"What'd I think of what?"

She eyed me up and down. "Oh, forget it. It's not like I want to hear it, anyway." She glanced toward the door that I'd just come out of. "I'm missing a pink hairbrush. Did you see it?"

I had, in fact. The brush had been sitting on a marble-top table near the main door. "Uh, yeah. I think so."

She frowned. "You didn't use it, did you?"