The Bunny and the Billionaire

by Louisa Masters

  “Great,” Ben muttered. He’d known Léo had money, but… crap. No wonder he could buy higher-than-top-shelf champagne for dorky tourists and get a table at any restaurant he wanted.

  “Léo’s always been kind of a wild child, though. He and his cousin Malik—ooh, there’s a link to a page for him too, we’ll go back to that later—anyway, they were both kicked out of the best schools in France. That’s schools, plural. Then they went to England for uni—Oxford, no less.”

  “He told me he and Malik studied in England.” Ben sighed. For all that Léo had said a lot, it seemed more had been left out.

  “He and Malik seem kinda attached at the hip, to be honest. Since they graduated—both near the top of the class, so they either got smarts, or they used some of their cash to buy their way through school… what was I saying?”

  “Since they graduated,” Ben prompted, wondering if it was too early to hit the minibar. It was five o’clock somewhere, right?

  “Oh yeah. They spent a few years on the move, basically going from party to party, before they settled in Monaco about five years ago. They still hit the social scene pretty hard, but not so much the crazy parties anymore.”

  Well, that’s… whatever. “What does he do?” Ben asked.

  “What do you mean? I just told you, he lives the high life all over Europe.”

  “No, for a job. Like, what does he do every day? Does he work with his dad and brother?”

  Dani paused. “Honey, Léo’s a wealthy European playboy. He has more money than you or I can even believe exists. He doesn’t work. He just… bums around.”

  “He bums around.” Ben hadn’t thought he could get more depressed, but as someone with a strong work ethic who’d started working part-time at fifteen and had had a job since, the idea of “bumming around” all the time was anathema to him.

  “Don’t be judgmental, Benji. If he worked, he could be taking a job from someone who actually needed it to feed their family.”

  “So he does volunteer stuff or something?” Ben asked hopefully.

  Dani’s silence was deafening.

  “Right.” He sighed. “Well, it’s not like I ever thought he was my Prince Charming, right? And he gave me a great night. An experience. A story to tell.”

  “Whoa, mate. You’re talking like you’re not going to see him again. Lunch, remember?”

  Ben grimaced. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll do that, Dani. What’s the point? It’s not like it can ever lead anywhere. I leave in four days.”

  “Exactly! Ben, this is your chance to have a fling with a wealthy European playboy! It’ll be an adventure to tell people about when you get old, about the time in Monaco you were picked up by the half-French son of a Saudi princess and romanced by moonlight, wooed with champagne, and then had intense, crazy sex with for just a few days before you waved goodbye and swanned off to Italy for your next adventure. How many people can say they did that?”

  Ben wavered. She had a point. It would make for a fabulous story. Mrs. K. would have loved it. Plus, it would mean he could see Léo again. Have sex with Léo. Gorgeous, sexy Léo, who made him feel interesting and desirable and not dorky even when he was. He could be saying the dumbest thing and know that he’d feel like an idiot later, but the look in Léo’s dark-as-sin eyes just made him feel sexy and adorable.

  “Dani?” he said as he kicked back the covers and climbed out of bed.

  “Yeah?” She sounded wary.

  “What the hell am I going to wear?”

  Chapter Four

  ON Dani’s orders, Ben had a light snack at eleven, even though he hadn’t eaten breakfast until after nine. “What if he orders wine with lunch?” she’d asked practically. “You don’t want to drink on an empty stomach again. He probably already thinks you’re a lightweight.”

  After that heartwarming assessment, he’d been forced to go through the contents of his suitcase in detail. It had been a depressing experience. Ben liked being casual, and the only clothes he’d brought along that weren’t “too shabby” were the trousers and shirt he’d worn the night before—which Dani deemed unacceptable, as Léo had seen them. Ben’s horrified exclamation that he was not buying new clothes had been brushed aside, and after a quick shower and a more leisurely breakfast—leisurely just to spite Dani, who was waiting in Australia for him to finish—he found himself taking his phone (and thus Dani) shopping.

  His BFF believed, as he did, that a belt should not cost as much as rent, and so had spent her wait time frantically searching the internet for a reasonably priced clothing store near him. She’d had no luck, so Ben, phone plastered to his ear, took himself off to ask the concierge for help. At first he’d worried that a language barrier was causing the man to look at him so oddly, but it turned out just to be general disbelief that a guest of the Fairmont was asking for a discount shopping outlet. Once he came to terms with it, he was as helpful as possible, mentioning a market in a small town on the Italian border, only twenty or so minutes away by train. Dani nixed that idea, claiming he didn’t have time to get there, shop, and get back with still enough time to make himself presentable, especially as there was no guarantee he’d find something suitable. Ben was vaguely insulted by the insinuation that he needed a lot of time to look presentable, but let that go in favor of arguing about her latest edict that he had to suck it up and buy designer.

  The concierge interjected at that point, advising that he was likely to find some “not too expensive” designer stores at Le Metropole Shopping Center. Ben took his advice, waved off the ridiculous offer of a taxi in favor of walking the very short distance, and then nearly suffered a heart attack upon arrival at Le Metropole when he saw exactly what the concierge considered not too expensive. A whispered argument with Dani and a promise that he’d never again need to buy her a Christmas present resulted in him marching stiff-backed into the nearest store that sold men’s clothing and spending the next twenty minutes hunting through the displays while he muttered into his phone and two wary salespeople watched him. Finally, he gave up searching for a bargain and, with Dani yammering in his ear, requested assistance.

  “Oui, monsieur,” the young man, whose name tag said Michel, agreed—albeit cautiously. Apparently they didn’t often get people in old shorts with their toe poking out of their shoe in that store. Or maybe it was the fact that Dani could actually be heard through the phone, her voice tinny and yet still shrill as she told Ben exactly what he needed. The other salesperson, a young woman, disappeared into the back of the store.

  “I have a lunch date and I need something to wear,” Ben said. “The voice you hear is my friend in Australia, who doesn’t think I’m capable of shopping on my own.”

  Michel’s gaze swept over Ben from head to toe (literally), and from his expression, Ben guessed he agreed with Dani.

  “We can help,” Michel assured. “This lunch, is it casual? Or something more chic?”

  “I have no idea,” Ben told him. “Here”—he fished the note from Léo out of his pocket and handed it over—“this is everything I know.”

  The salesman frowned at the piece of paper before handing it back. In Ben’s ear, Dani demanded to speak with him. Ben sighed.

  “Brace yourself,” he warned, and then handed over the phone. Michel took it warily, but within moments was smiling and nodding, making sweeping gestures as he spoke, as though Dani could see him.

  Ben wished them both to perdition.

  “Alors,” Michel said finally, handing Ben back his phone. “I know just what you need.” He immediately began bustling around the store, pausing only briefly to scan Ben again before he started piling clothes on the counter. Ben eyed the growing stack dubiously.

  “Dani,” he interrupted whatever she was babbling about. “Why is this man choosing me an entire new wardrobe?”

  Michel called out, and the saleswoman emerged from the back of the store and began carrying the pile of clothes to a change room.

  “Benji, let’s face it, you
don’t have the wardrobe for Monaco, and you definitely don’t have the wardrobe to date a sophisticated, hot billionaire. So you’re just going to have to buy one.”

  “Are you insane?” Ben hissed. “Do you know how much these clothes cost?” He snagged a shirt from the display nearest to him and looked at the discreet tag. “Holy fu—”

  “Don’t you dare swear in that shop!” Dani demanded.

  “Why not? Rich people swear, you know.” Sometimes she said the dumbest things. “Dani, I’m holding a cotton T-shirt that costs nearly two hundred and fifty Australian dollars. For a T-shirt! I can’t afford a new wardrobe from this place.”

  “Well, technically, you can.”

  Ben returned the shirt to the display. She was right, damn her. “Let me put it this way, then—I don’t want to pay that much money for clothes.”

  “Please, Ben? You can’t go to lunch, or to anything else Léo might plan, wearing Target-brand T-shirts you found secondhand at the Salvos store. And you told me that your runners were on the verge of falling apart.” Ben glared down at his big toe where it so cheekily peeked out of his shoe. “Buy a couple of outfits. Enough to get through the next few days. When you get to Italy, pack them up and put them at the bottom of your suitcase. We’ll sell them on eBay or Gumtree when you get home. Hardly worn designer stuff holds its value.”

  Across the store, Michel beckoned eagerly. Ben tried really hard not to glare at him.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Cross my heart. You’ll get a lot of the money back.”

  Ben sighed. He was pretty sure she wasn’t telling him the truth. But he could technically afford it, thanks to Mrs. K., and it had been a really long time since he’d bought new clothes that were actually new. Why not splurge?

  Which was how he came to be sitting in the foyer at the Fairmont, dressed in formfitting caramel-colored trousers and a pale blue polo shirt, with what he was pretty sure were blue boat shoes on his feet. Boat. Shoes. What the hell had happened to him? The entire outfit, including brown leather belt, had cost about as much as the bottle of champagne Léo had bought the night before.

  Léo. It was kind of sappy, and he’d never say it out loud to anyone, not even Dani—especially not Dani—but trying to appeal to Léo was kind of worth the money and hassle.

  Crap, he was such a dork.

  And on the topic of his dorkiness, was it really sad and lame that he was sitting here waiting right by the door? Should he go back up to his room and come down a few minutes after one?

  Ben leaped to his feet, nearly slamming into a passing hotel guest, and after profuse apologies hurried toward the lifts. Halfway there, he decided pretending to be late was just as lame as being eagerly early, so he changed direction abruptly and went over to one of the shops in the foyer, peering in the window and pretending to be fascinated by the display while he actually watched the reflection in the glass of the doors behind him. It took him a few minutes—and the glare of the saleswoman in the store—to realize he was “staring” at a women’s swimwear display. His face went hot and he took two quick steps back—

  And collided with a warm body. A hard body. One that smelled so good.

  Of course Léo would be witness to yet another embarrassing moment.

  Ben slowly turned around and smiled weakly. “Hey.”

  Léo’s amused smile melted his insides. Without the concern about his identity or the buffer of alcohol, lust hit hard and sharply. Today, the demigod was wearing an outfit similar to his own, only his shirt was red, a color that did amazing things for Léo’s dark skin and eyes. Ben’s cock jerked in his too-tight trousers, trying to sit up and beg.

  “Good afternoon,” Léo said, and Christ, how had Ben not noticed how amazing his voice was? It was like coconut rough, if coconut rough were a voice, or voices could be chocolate. It vibrated through every cell in Ben’s body, the warm, deep timbre stroking over—

  “Ben?” From the questioning tone, it wasn’t the first time Léo had said his name. Ben hadn’t thought it was possible for his cheeks to get hotter, but it seemed he was wrong.

  “Er, sorry. Um. Distracted. Remembering… stuff. That I need to do. But not right now!” he rushed to assure Léo. “Now I’m all yours. For lunch. I mean, to have lunch with.” He fell silent, wishing fervently that he had a time machine and could redo the last ten minutes. Sitting by the door eagerly was suddenly a much more sensible option.

  “I’m glad you are all mine for lunch,” Léo murmured, with a hot look that couldn’t be misunderstood. Ben was sure his heart actually stopped beating.

  “Ungh….”

  “What would you like for lunch?” Léo asked. “Have you eaten here at the hotel yet? The main restaurant is only open for dinner, but the restaurant upstairs is decent. Or we could go to the club.”

  “The club?” Ben asked blankly. Like a nightclub? That served lunch?

  “The yacht club,” Léo told him. “They have a nice bistro there for casual meals.”

  Ben’s eyes went wide. He’d never been to a yacht club—didn’t even know anyone who had a yacht, although maybe now he did—but his image of one was based on many movies, and he was sure it wasn’t a place he’d fit well. The “casual” hotel restaurant, on the other hand, he’d walked past several times, and it looked quite comfortable, even if he hadn’t wanted to spend that much on meals while he was here.

  “Let’s eat here,” he said quickly. “I haven’t tried the restaurant yet, but I saw the menu and it looks good.”

  Léo smiled in a way that made Ben’s stomach feel funny, and in short order they were at the mostly open-air restaurant on the roof level, greeted effusively by a man who seated them at what Ben was sure was the best table in the place, shaded yet with an uninterrupted view of the Mediterranean.

  If he hadn’t been so stupidly nervous, Ben would have soaked it up.

  The maître d’hôtel left them, replaced by an eager waiter who asked what they wanted to drink. Léo shot Ben a wicked glance, his lips curving, and Ben’s face went hot.

  “Sparkling water,” Léo told the waiter. “Then perhaps wine later.” The man left, and Ben smiled gratefully at Léo.

  “Thank you,” he said. “And thank you for being so good about last night. I know I made a bit of a fool of myself.”

  “Not at all,” Léo said gallantly. “You were charming.”

  Ben laughed outright. “I wouldn’t have called it that, but hey, your description sounds better than mine. Anyway, I drank too much of that incredible champagne, and you were really nice. So thanks.”

  Léo’s expression was warm and approving. “I’m glad you enjoyed the champagne, and it was my pleasure to spend the evening with you. We would not be here now otherwise.”

  Ben’s face went hot again, and he buried it in his menu. He felt awkward, even more than usual, and desperately wanted the loosening effects of alcohol. Maybe he should have ordered a drink, after all, but he didn’t want Léo to think he was a lush.

  Come on, Ben. You don’t need alcohol to talk to the billionaire playboy son of a princess.

  Fuck. He needed to come up with a safe topic of conversation, something that would allow him to be intelligent and witty—or at least not a total loser—and woo Léo into his bed.

  The waiter came back with their water, and hovered, ready to take their order. Léo ordered his meal decisively and then cast an inquisitive glance at Ben, who wished he had the nerve to ask Léo to order for him like he had the night before. Instead, he randomly picked a pasta dish, and felt first relief, then shame at his relief, when Léo ordered a bottle of wine to have with lunch. I’ll only have one glass, he promised himself. One glass with a meal wouldn’t affect him, but he could convince his brain that it had and hopefully relax enough to hold up his end of a rational conversation.

  The waiter left, and silence stretched between them. Each second lasted an eternity, going on and on and—

  “Oxford!” Ben blurted, then mentally k
icked himself.

  Léo blinked. “Oxford?”

  “You went there,” Ben continued, wondering when he’d lost the ability to construct a sentence. He took a deep breath and made himself smile. “I visited when I was in England, and I thought it was amazing.” There, that was pretty good. “What was it like to study there?” He sat back, proud of himself. He’d started a conversation.

  “I enjoyed it,” Léo said, “although how much of that was due to the locale and how much was due to the pubs is up for debate.”

  Ben laughed, fondly remembering his own uni days and frequent piss-ups at the local pub. He was about to make a comment to that effect when Léo spoke again.

  “How did you know I studied at Oxford?” he asked, a gleam in his dark eyes that told Ben he knew exactly how and found it amusing to tease him.

  “Er….” Oh, fuck. This is all Dani’s fault. “You told me last night, remember?”

  Léo leaned back in his seat, a small smile twitching his lips. “Did I? I thought I’d only said I studied in England, when you asked me why my English was so good.”

  “No, no, you said you studied at….” Ben gave up. He’d never been much of a liar, and right now his face was so hot that he knew he must be lobster red. He grimaced. “Okay, so maybe I was talking to Dani—my best friend, Danika. Did I mention her?” Léo nodded slightly. “So I was talking to Dani this morning when I saw your note, and I told her about you, and maybe she was curious and googled you and then made me listen while she read your Wikipedia page.” He snatched up the glass of sparkling water in front of him and took a gulp, instantly regretting it when the bubbles burned the back of his throat. Eyes watering, he blinked furiously and then gave up and swiped at his eyes. By the time he was finally able to focus again, he felt real tears prickling. Why did he have to be such a dork?