Billionaire on the Loose

by Jessica Clare

  “I’m not sure. What’s the most popular one?”

  “That would be World of Warcraft.”

  “Can I get a copy of that, too?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” If she was going to be house-bound for the next while, maybe he needed to learn how to play the game to spend time with her. The thought wasn’t unappealing, for all that it was sedentary. After all, his excursion out to the local polo club hadn’t exactly been the most welcoming. Going there had been nothing like home, where he was friendly with everyone and all the people at the club actually wanted to play, not just hang out and drink.

  For a brief moment, he was homesick. Dreadfully, awfully homesick. He’d left his country in the past, but never before had he been told not to come home. It rankled, quite a bit. He wasn’t a criminal. He was just a member of the royal family, a bit lower down the food chain than most. Why on earth should he have to play all these games just to avoid taking a job he didn’t want anyhow?

  Frustrated, he picked up his cell phone and called his manor house.

  “Villa delle Scogliere,” a smooth voice answered.

  He didn’t recognize the person. “This is Loch. Who’s this?”

  “Oh. My lord. I’m sorry. This is Brandon. I’m filling in for Simon. His wife had their baby. A boy.”

  “Give them my regards.” Damn. Simon was his friend and his valet. If the man wasn’t in, who was looking after his estate? Loch should have been there, not this terrified-sounding man. He wasn’t a monster, after all. He was just calling to check on things. “Who’s in-house today?”

  “Myself, the cook, the stable master, and your accountant. Shall I get one of them for you?”

  None of them would be able to help him. “No, thank you.”

  “I do have a number that Simon left for you if you should call with any questions?” The man—Brandon—sounded hesitant. “It’s for the Minister of the Crown? Franz Bersatz?”

  Right, the little man with the glasses when he’d had his meeting with his aunt. “Excellent. Let me have it.” He wrote the number down, thanked Brandon, and then dialed the new number.

  “This is Franz Bersatz.”

  He cleared his throat. “This is Loch.”

  “Loch! My lord, how are you enjoying the States?”

  He wasn’t enjoying them much at all, actually, but to complain would sound petulant. “Lovely. I wanted to call and see how the situation was back at home. Everything swept under the rug?”

  The man made an unhappy noise. “Not exactly.”

  “What do you mean, not exactly?”

  “I mean that the insurgents are aware that you have left the country and are lobbying for your return.”

  Well, on that they both agreed. He wanted to return, too. Of course, if he did, they’d insist on him taking the throne, and that wouldn’t do. “What if I abdicate? Like George?”

  The minister made another unhappy noise. “That would be bad.”

  “Why would it be bad? Isn’t that what we all want? Me to be taken out of the line of succession?”

  “Yes, but it’s the how that is sticky.”

  He rubbed his brow. “Explain.”

  “People start making noises about the line of succession after the princess marries an American. Then, George drops from the line—”

  “But George dropped because he got caught sticking his dick in the maids.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Franz said. “It can still be seen as manipulated by the throne. Griffin is less of an issue because he hasn’t lived in Bellissime for the last decade. He’s not much more than a remote figure, unlike you. Also, he’s technically still in the line of succession, just considered undesirable because of the new wife-to-be. Now, let’s say you were to drop from the line of succession for whatever reason. How would that look to the public?”

  The man was right. It would look as if his cousin Alex were getting rid of her competition. It didn’t matter that there were no ulterior motives on his cousin’s end—Alex was a nice girl but very much a stickler for the rules. All that would matter was that all the male family members were being struck off the list for one reason or another. He sighed heavily. “Damn it.”

  “You see my point? You can’t just drop from the line of succession simply because you don’t want to be king. Everything has to be carefully orchestrated in order to reduce any amount of blame that Princess Alexandra might get. All it takes is a few words in the wrong ears and we’re looking at revolution. No one wants that.”

  Fuck. No, he certainly didn’t want revolution. “So what do I do?”

  “You stay put. You let things die down. You show up to any social events in the States that you are invited to. You talk encouragingly about your cousin’s wedding and how happy you are for her.”

  “For how long?”

  “However long it takes. A year, maybe two. More likely two. We have a publicity team working with the crown to ensure that both the princess and her new husband are seen in the best light possible, and she is working hard at getting pregnant.” He coughed, as if realizing what he was saying. “Er. You know what I mean. Regardless, until things are settled here, you need to be there.”

  A year or two? Good god. He’d been here a week and he was already bored out of his mind. “What am I supposed to do for a year or two?”

  “Charity events? Photo ops? I’m sure you’ll figure out something.”

  Loch rubbed his brow, frustrated. “So I can’t come home because my cousin married an American. But I can’t abdicate a throne I don’t want because it’ll reflect badly on the crown.”

  “That’s right. You’re the most popular royal at the moment, unless you find a completely unsuitable American to marry, too.” The minister laughed uncomfortably at his own joke.

  Loch held his breath. He stared at the door to his bedroom. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir, but—”

  Loch hung up. He gazed at the bedroom door, rubbing his chin. Now he had a plan. Was it the nicest plan? No. Would it take care of all his problems?

  Oh, yes. Absolutely.

  Chapter Eight

  Taylor’s head was a throbbing nightmare, and her mouth tasted like cotton. She groaned softly and hugged her pillow closer, only to discover that her pillow had somehow gotten softer and fluffier overnight. She squeezed it again, testing to make sure she wasn’t crazy, and that was when she realized she was still dressed and under a rather heavy blanket.

  Slowly, she sat up in bed and glanced around.

  This wasn’t her bed.

  This wasn’t even her apartment. It was dark, but even in the dark it felt different than her place. More open. Plus, there was the soft sound of a vacuum down the hall.

  Her scattered mind vaguely remembered the hospital room, and Loch’s big hand stroking hers. Something about him taking her back to his hotel to take care of her. Oh. Right. She squinted at the room. It was dark, heavy curtains drawn over the windows, but even in the dark she could tell the room was enormous. Taylor slid over to the edge of the bed—a king bed, no less—and felt around for a light. When she flicked it on, her eyes widened. The bed she’d slept in was magnificent, with a padded leather headboard and tawny, thick blankets made of something luxurious. There were a dozen pillows tossed around and above the bed, and an artsy painting of what looked like paint splatters decorated the mocha-colored walls. Nice chairs and a table were along one wall, and against another there were double doors leading into what looked like a bathroom.

  Okay, his hotel was officially nicer than any building she’d ever been in, except maybe Gretchen and Hunter’s magnificent house. Damn. Loch had said he was a noble in Bellissime—a count or a baron or something—but had acted like it was no big deal.

  This room told her he was a Big Deal. Capital B, capital D.

 
Normal people didn’t rent rooms in places like this. Not even close. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and a bolt of pain shot through her body, the breath hissing out of her lungs. Owie owie. She gingerly touched her side. It felt as raw as her head, but the skin didn’t feel broken. Her foot felt hot and sweaty—and hurt, too. A quick glance down showed that her skinny jeans had been slit all the way up to the knee on one side. Freaking lovely. There was a plastic boot around one foot, and she tried to flex her foot inside said boot. Another bolt of pain ripped through her. Okay, she wouldn’t do that again.

  She rubbed her face, trying to remember what the doctor had said. Her head had been throbbing so hard she hadn’t paid attention to much. Oh, right. Her ankle was swollen and tender, but not broken. Ditto on the ribs. They felt like hell, though.

  Actually, all of her felt like hell, which meant she probably looked worse. And she was here in the bed of the hottest guy she’d ever met. Shit. Time to do some damage control.

  Taylor hobbled her way to the bathroom and flicked the light on. She sucked in a breath at the sight because good god, this was an incredible bathroom. Fluffy rugs dotted the travertine floor, and thick, pillowy towels were stacked on a small rolling table next to a bathtub that looked like a gigantic marble bowl resting on the floor. She limped toward it, eyes wide. She needed that tub in her life like yesterday. Off to one side was a shower that looked a lot like a waterfall, complete with rocks for the wall instead of tile, and a half-dozen spray nozzles. Jesus. This bathroom was officially The Shit.

  She peeked at the mirror—a gigantic, mosaic-lined oval that covered nearly all of one wall—and winced. Oh yeah, she was a hot mess. The enormous bandage covering half her head had to go, especially because her hair was sticking out in every single direction underneath it. With delicate fingers, she slowly unwound the gauze, revealing a blood-spotted square bandage high at her hairline. She peeled it up and peeked at the damage. Six stitches, lots of purple bruising. Lovely. With her fingers, she tried to comb her hair flat, and then washed her face with a soft towel to freshen up. When she looked about as good as she could hope given the circumstances, Taylor replaced the small, square bandage over her stitches and then hobble-limped back to the bedroom. There were double-doors that must have led out to the rest of the hotel room. Was this a suite or something?

  Did Loch realize how much a hotel room like this cost? And they were probably charging him extra to have her here. Crap. She needed to talk to him.

  She limped out of the doors and stared in awe at her surroundings. If she thought the bedroom was insane, it was nothing compared to the rest of the hotel suite. Three large sofas sat together near a table with fresh flowers in a crystal vase. If she looked to the left, there was a piano, a desk complete with computer, a minibar off to one side, and the TV on the nearby wall was larger than it had any right to be. On the opposite wall, there was a balcony and window after window that showed a gorgeous view of New York City.

  Her apartment was nothing like this, and she felt acutely out of place. “Hello? Loch?”

  Something on one of the couches moved, and Loch sat up, his magnificent hair shaggy and out of place as he rubbed sleepy eyes. “Hey, Taylor. How are you feeling?”

  “Like a rancor crapped me out.”

  “Like what?”

  She waved a hand, hobbling over to him. “Never mind, I—”

  He leapt to his feet in a surprisingly fluid motion and moved toward her. “You shouldn’t be up and walking on that ankle. Let me carry you.”

  “I— No, I’m fine, I just—” Her protests died as he lifted her in his arms as easily as if she were a child, and carried her across the room. Okay, wow. So she hadn’t been dreaming when she’d had vague recollections of being hoisted about like a damsel in distress. She should have hated that, she really should have.

  Instead, it was kinda . . . sexy.

  Distracted, Taylor was silent as Loch carried her to one of the plush sofas and set her down gently. She remained quiet as he lifted her leg onto one of the padded ottomans and carefully put a pillow under her foot.

  “How’s that?” he asked.

  “Great. Just great. Um.” She smoothed her hair nervously. “You slept out here?” There was a nest of blankets and pillows on one of the sofas that filled her with guilt.

  “I did. Didn’t want to accidentally bang up any of your banged-up parts.”

  “Probably shouldn’t say the word ‘bang’ so often,” Taylor murmured. It made her think of, well, dirty sorts of banging.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing. Um, thanks for bringing me here. I swear I’m fine, though.”

  “You’re not fine. The doctor said someone should watch you for the next few days, just in case the head wound was more severe than originally thought.” He sat down on the ottoman and pulled her foot into his lap. “Shall we have a look at this?”

  “You really don’t have to,” she began, but the words died when he unzipped the plastic boot and began to unwrap her foot. He was very careful with touching her, she noticed, and his fingers grazed over her skin with the utmost concern. “This hurt?”

  “Not really, no. A little bruised but overall it’s not too bad if I don’t walk on it.” She was more fixated on those big fingers caressing her swollen ankle than the actual ankle itself. She couldn’t help it; every time he moved, or touched her, or heck, even smiled, she thought about that one-night stand.

  Man, she was a dirty bird. Here he was trying to take care of her and all she was thinking about were his fingers in all her sensitive spots.

  “Can you rotate for me?”

  Taylor immediately flushed. “What?” Her voice was a shocked squeak as she stared at him.

  “Your ankle?”

  Oh. Of course. She gave it a little flex and then gently rolled it a bit. “Hurts, but it’s not so awful I can’t stand it. I can go home—”

  “No, you’re staying with me for the rest of this week.” He zipped the boot again and set her foot back down on the ottoman. “Let me see your stitches.”

  “I looked at them in the bathroom. They’re fine,” she said quickly. “There’s no need.”

  “I still want to look at them.” Loch sat down next to her on the couch, so close that his knee brushed up against her thigh. Oh dang, now she was thinking about sexy knees. Why was she being such a horndog after she’d been injured?

  Because it was Loch, of course, and Loch was the sexiest thing alive. And she’d tapped that and she knew just how good sex with him was, so of course she was obsessing. It was only natural, or so she told herself. Any woman in her right mind would be thinking about flinging off her plastic boot and riding him like a pony right about now.

  She held her breath as he moved closer and his big, gorgeous torso leaned in toward hers. His hands went to the bandage on her brow and his face was stunningly close to her own. She gazed up at him, blinking rapidly. He had beard stubble on that strong chin of his, and instead of looking scruffy or unkempt, he looked roguish and even more sexy. Heaven help her, she was creeping on a guy who was trying to play nursemaid. He probably wasn’t turned on at all.

  “Looks hideous,” he announced in a cheerful voice. “You’ll probably have a scar.”

  “You shouldn’t sound so happy when you tell a girl that.”

  “Scars are just a side-effect of any game.” He replaced the bandage.

  “Yeah, but my game involves sitting in a computer chair. Takes a special kind of skill to hurt yourself doing that.”

  “To be fair, you never even made it to your chair.” He grinned down at her.

  Gosh, he was entirely too close for her to be unaffected. She dragged her gaze away from him and touched the bandage a little harder than she should have, just to ground herself firmly in reality. “Thank god for hats.”

  “You’re cute without the scar
, and you’ll be just as cute with one.”

  Oh man, fuck reality. “I don’t suppose you want to have sex right now, do you?”

  Loch’s eyes widened and then he laughed.

  “Is that a no? Or a maybe?” Because she could work with a maybe.

  “While I find you incredibly attractive, Taylor—”

  Oh shoot, that was a no. Damn.

  “—You have a head wound, a busted ankle, and bruised ribs. The last thing you need right now is for me to jounce you around.”

  “I could do the jouncing around,” she said hopefully.

  He grinned again. “I must say, all this enthusiasm for sex with me is incredibly flattering. Are you truly that turned on right now? You just woke up.”

  “It’s just that . . . for girls like me, you’re like, a rare and wonderful unicorn. You don’t come along but maybe once in a girl’s life. And like any unicorn, I’m going to kick myself if I don’t try to ride you.”

  He threw his head back and laughed long and hard. “God, Taylor, the things you say.”

  “They turn you on?”

  Loch wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “I don’t need words for you to turn me on. I find you incredibly attractive.” He cupped her face in his hands and gazed down at her. “But I’m also very aware of the fact that you are hurt, and so we’re not doing anything.”

  She sighed. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

  “No, I can’t.” He leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose.

  Her entire body felt flushed with warmth after that sweet little gesture. “Well, if you didn’t want to have sex again, why did you volunteer to take care of me?”

  His brows drew down. “Because we’re friends? You need someone to look after you, Taylor, and I’ve got plenty of free time on my hands.”

  “Yeah, but you could just dump me at my apartment. I promise I won’t leave it for a week. I’ll just get the grocer to deliver some cereal and milk. It’ll be all good.”

  “No, it will not, because you’re going to stay here.” He grabbed one of the pillows off of his bedding and tucked it behind her back. “I won’t take no for an answer.”