The Athlete and the Aristocrat

by Louisa Masters

  “She’s upset about you. Apparently, she’s failed you as an aunt, and her sister as guardian to you while you live away from home.”

  Bending his head as he carefully poured, Lucien tried his best to hide his grin. It was unnecessary, however, as Malik was already laughing.

  Chapter Seven

  SI rolled over in bed. It was somewhere in the wee hours, because he hadn’t gotten to bed until after one and he felt refreshed enough that he must have slept for several hours at least, but no light was peeking around the curtains.

  He lay there, staring into the darkness. In less than forty-eight hours, it felt like his life had turned completely upside down. Not quite two days ago he’d been lying awake in his own bed, unable to sleep because he’d been nervous about his meeting with Lucien Morel. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

  Sighing, he threw back the sheet and sat up, reaching over to flip on the bedside lamp. Now that he was awake, he had to go to the bathroom, and he was kind of thirsty.

  He took care of business and then quietly made his way to the kitchen. The light over the stove was on, and he frowned at it. He was sure all the lights had been off in here when he and Lucien had gone to bed.

  “You could not sleep?”

  Si jumped, his heart somersaulting into his throat, and gasped as he spun. Lucien was leaning in the doorway. “Christ on a crutch, mate, you scared the hell out of me!” He put a hand on his chest and took a deep breath, willing his heartbeat back to normal. “How the bloody hell do you move so quietly?”

  Lucien grinned. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Shaking his head, Si let his hand drop and smiled back. “No harm done, I suppose. I was thirsty. What has you up?” He turned back to the cabinet where the glassware was, and got himself a glass. As he filled it with water, he heard Lucien coming into the kitchen and crossing the room. He looked up to see the blond man leaning on the bench near the sink.

  He wasn’t wearing a shirt.

  How did I not notice that before? Oh, right, I was trying to keep from pissing myself in fright. I’m noticing now, though. Wow.

  For a businessman, Lucien was built awfully nicely. Si wondered if all those people who had meetings with him knew that the Morel heir had a six-pack under his perfectly tailored suits and just enough golden hair on his chest to enhance his bitable pecs.

  “I could not sleep, so I thought I would do some work. But I could not concentrate on that, either.”

  Si drank his water, letting the velvet tones of Lucien’s voice and that delicious accent wash over him.

  “Something bothering you?” he asked, putting his glass in the sink, then deciding maybe he should wash it. Anything to keep his hands busy so they wouldn’t defy his brain and reach for Lucien.

  Professional, Si. You have to work with this man for the next five years. Besides, you’re still not entirely sure he’s even interested in men.

  Some of the comments made that day would indicate yes, Lucien was attracted to men, but Si knew better than to make assumptions.

  Lucien sighed. “No. Yes. No, nothing is bothering me.”

  Drying the glass, Si remained silent for a long moment, giving Lucien the opportunity to change his mind and share if he wanted to. By the time he’d put the glass away and hung up the tea towel, Lucien still hadn’t said anything.

  Time for a change of subject.

  “Will Malik be okay? He seemed fine when he left, but this isn’t likely to cause trouble for him, is it?”

  Tension Si hadn’t even noticed eased out of Lucien’s shoulders, and he straightened from his slouch against the bench. “He will be fine. He and his father are constantly at odds, and this was something new to argue over.”

  Si wasn’t sure that that was exactly reassuring, but if nobody else was worried about it, he wouldn’t be, either. “And your father? How did he react?” He hadn’t got the chance to ask that earlier, and it was likely part of the reason he’d been unable to sleep.

  Lucien shrugged and took a step closer. “He was annoyed that it happened, but of the opinion that it is just foolishness and will blow over. He would, however, like us to announce the program as soon as we can, so we must be… what is that expression about ships?”

  “Ships?” Si asked, bewildered. The program was for football, not sailing—right?

  “Yes.” Lucien looked both frustrated and amused. “When all the people are needed to complete a task.”

  Si blinked and then realization hit like a bolt of lightning. “Oh! Do you mean, all hands on deck?”

  “That is the one. We must be all hands on deck to get things in process.”

  Smiling a little foolishly—who knew a language barrier could make someone so adorable?—Si nodded. “Absolutely. First thing Monday morning, I’ll start the registration process. I imagine word will get out then, even if we don’t make any official announcements.” Lucien stepped closer still, and the breath caught in Si’s throat. There was barely two feet between them now, and the dimness of the room closed around them, intimate. The low light turned Lucien’s skin a warm golden color, reflected off his hair.

  Si swallowed hard, aware that the soft cotton sleep pants he was wearing did nothing to hide his erection.

  “Do you know,” Lucien began conversationally, but his voice was rough, “when I was a teenager, you were my idol?”

  The words were like a bucket of cold water to Si. He’d given up fucking football groupies a long time ago. Drawing in a deep breath, he stepped back—and was stopped when Lucien stepped forward and caught hold of his arm.

  “You were always so honest and upfront with the media,” Lucien continued. “You seemed so sure of who you were and what you wanted.”

  Si stilled. That sounded like genuine appreciation for him as a person, and not just his football talent and fame. Dangerous territory, Si.

  “But it was the rumors that really got me. You see, I was so confused. Around me, all my friends were infatuated with breasts, with soft female bodies. And I was too—but I also obsessed over pecs, over broad shoulders and five o’clock shadows. I didn’t understand—was there something wrong with me? Then I heard the rumors that you were bisexual. I didn’t know what that meant, so I looked it up… and I knew I was normal.”

  He’s bi. Si could feel his pulse throbbing at the base of his throat in time with a different throbbing much lower down. He’s bi, and I think he’s coming on to me. Lucien reached out and laid his hand on Si’s shoulder, big and warm, and then let it slide down to the middle of his chest. He’s definitely coming on to me.

  What do I do?

  I know what I want… but I need to be professional.

  Fuck it.

  Si lunged forward and pressed his lips to Lucien’s, sending him stumbling back a step before he recovered and clutched Si to him.

  “So the rumor was true?” Lucien gasped between kisses.

  “Yep. So bloody true,” Si muttered, glorying in the taste of those lips and the feel of all that velvety skin and muscle under his hands.

  “Good.”

  They stopped speaking then, the silence of the apartment broken only by gasps and soft groans as they let hands and mouths explore. Si couldn’t get enough of Lucien’s body, the soft skin and coarse hair over hard planes, and all of it so warm. And his taste… had anything in the history of flavor ever tasted so good? Every touch, every movement seemed to send electricity buzzing through him. He’d felt attraction before, had great—even brilliant—sex before, but he’d never felt this vibe in his life, this energy that just touching Lucien sent coursing throughout his body.

  Could it get better?

  He slid a hand down over that lovely six-pack, lingering only slightly, and brushed his fingers along the line of Lucien’s sleep pants. Lucien moaned, broke their kiss, and stripped naked right there in the kitchen. The sight of all that toned, golden, aroused flesh ramped Si’s erection from enthusiastic to painful, and in seconds he was naked too. Then th
ey were tangled together again, mouths locked in the hottest damn kiss he’d ever had while their hands pumped each other’s dicks.

  It was… it was… fuck, there was no word to describe how it felt. Or if there was, his brain wasn’t functioning well enough to think of it.

  Right.

  That was the word. It was right. Arousing, yes. Electric, yes. Satisfying—well, it was certainly headed in that direction. But more than anything else, it just felt right. He was meant to be here, doing this, touching Lucien, being touched by Lucien, their mouths and bodies melded together. Lucien was meant to be here with him.

  Dangerous.

  When Si pulled away for air, he gasped, “I’m not going to last much longer.”

  Lucien’s blue gaze met his, almost electric in its intensity. “Come. Come on me.”

  That did it for Si. Orgasm took over all his faculties as he came harder than he could ever remember doing in his life. He was vaguely aware that Lucien was coming too, that hot seed was spraying over his chest and stomach, but all that mattered was Lucien’s grip on his cock as he milked him dry.

  When Si finally caught his breath, he straightened and took a step back. “That was….”

  “Incredible?” Lucien supplied, and they smiled at each other.

  “Yeah.”

  Lucien went to the sink, opened the cabinet beneath it, and took out a roll of paper towels. He ripped some off, dampened them, and in short order had them both cleaned up and dressed. Si just stood, bemused and kind of turned on by his efficiency.

  Who knew I’d be so attracted to a capable business type? he wondered. Then again, power was attractive, and Lucien had it in spades. Not to mention he’s hot—and blond. You’ve always had a thing for blonds.

  And nice. He was nice too. Cared about his friends. Funny. Loved football and gave a crap about others.

  Oh, bollocks. You’re falling for him. After two days? What the fuck is wrong with you? When did you become a Harlequin heroine?

  Si shook the thought out of his head. He was not falling for Lucien. Just because he appreciated that he was a genuinely good guy, would make an amazing friend, and was hot, didn’t mean he was getting emotionally involved. He couldn’t. That would make things incredibly messy.

  Fuck.

  He looked up to find Lucien staring at him, a tiny, amused smile on those well-shaped, really soft lips that would be brilliant around his—

  Stop.

  “You’re thinking very hard,” Lucien said, and Si pulled himself together.

  “Yeah. Um, just thinking about the program.” Internally, he winced as Lucien raised a brow. “I mean, this is something I’ve wanted for a really long time, and I wouldn’t want things to be awkward between us.” Like they are right now.

  To his relief, Lucien was still smiling. “Because we must be able to work well together for the next five years,” he said, and Si nodded, thrilled that he hadn’t been misunderstood. “We are both grown men, both experienced. I believe we can agree that what we do away from the program can remain separate.”

  Si kept nodding, beginning to feel like a bobble-head doll. “Yes. And… discreet? I don’t want people to think the funding—”

  “Of course.”

  They stood there, seemingly in complete agreement, and yet the moment was still awkward. Until Lucien raised a brow and said, “My bed is very comfortable.”

  Well hell, that was an invitation if ever Si had heard one, and not one he was about to turn down. With a grin, he headed out of the kitchen and down the corridor toward the bedrooms, Lucien following.

  Life couldn’t be better. He had the charitable program he’d been working toward for twenty years, and a hot blond to warm his bed in a no-strings discreet affair.

  He ignored the hollow feeling in his chest.

  SI leaned back in his desk chair with a real sense of satisfaction. In the nearly six weeks since his return from Monaco, On the Ball had gone from a concept on paper to reality. They were now fully registered and licensed to operate as a charity within the EU—the process sped up to light speed somehow by the Morel Corporation’s contacts, thanks to Lucien’s indispensable assistant, Paul. They’d also contracted with a graphic design and marketing company to begin design of their promotional materials and website. That had been a lucky stroke—the award-winning boutique company had agreed to do the work for free in return for being named as one of On the Ball’s key sponsors. The owner had privately confided to Si that it was great exposure to be so closely associated with the Morel Corporation. Si had made a mental note, hoping to use that to get other discounted and free services. They had a healthy budget allocation for all the services they would require, but every cent they saved in those areas was another cent toward sponsoring kids.

  Rumors were already circulating, and he’d been contacted by several sports journalists to confirm. So far, he’d been able to hold them off, pending an official announcement of On the Ball’s purpose, but as soon as the website was ready to go and people who were interested had somewhere to find information, he’d give some interviews. That should be within the week—it seemed the connection to the Morel Corporation also expedited production times. The next step was finding office premises and hiring staff, because as soon as things went live, Si was hoping they’d have a rush of inquiries to deal with.

  The office was a bone of contention between him and Lucien. So far, they’d agreed on pretty much everything, including logo design and color palette, taking turns to top, and getting up early for a workout and a run, but not on that. Si wanted the office to be in London, because he lived in London, and since he was the one who was going to be running the program day-to-day—once Lucien had trained him, of course—it made sense that the office was where he lived. Otherwise he’d have to move country.

  Lucien wanted the office in Paris. His reasons were, in Si’s opinion, utter bullshit, something about it being more central to most of Europe, cheaper to rent space—although only slightly—and closer to him as the executive consultant and Léo as the financial advisor. Si had argued that with modern technology they didn’t need to be physically close, but after several conversations in which Lucien described London as a “cesspool,” “horrific,” and “unbearable,” he’d sussed out the real reason.

  Lucien didn’t like London.

  Leveraging his newfound friendship with Ben—he and Lucien had spent another weekend in Monaco just a few weeks ago, and Ben and Léo had met them in Paris for a couple of meals when Si was on one of his trips to meet with Lucien—he’d sent a quick text to confirm it. In fact, Ben had texted back that Lucien loathed London, with “loathes” all in capitals. He didn’t seem to know why, though, just something about people and traffic and the weather.

  It didn’t really matter why; all that mattered was what he was going to do now. Si looked out the window of his Docklands apartment. He had a fabulous view, but more important, he finally had the damn place exactly the way he wanted it. While he’d been playing, and juggling studies with his already grueling schedule, the apartment had resembled nothing so much as a storage locker with a view. He’d spent the most time in the room he’d turned into a study, so it had been kitted out with everything he needed, but the other rooms had been barely furnished and… bare. After his retirement, he’d carved out some precious time to actually go shopping and unpack all his stuff, and now the apartment was home.

  He’d really hate to leave it.

  But Lucien wasn’t wrong that office space was cheaper in Paris. And it was more central to other European countries.

  Si sighed. Was he really going to move to Paris? He didn’t speak French, for fuck’s sake.

  Maybe he could work remotely, at least for part of the week? Not initially, of course, but once they had the team hired and a rhythm going?

  He picked up the phone and called Paul.

  “Bonjour, Simon,” the smooth-voiced Frenchman said. Si had been surprised when he’d met Paul—he looked rough-and-tumb
le, the kind of guy you might be tempted to cross the street to avoid, but he sounded like a languid aristocrat.

  “Hi, Paul. Is the boss around?” The first few times he’d wanted to speak to Lucien after he returned to London, he’d called him directly. Lucien always answered, but usually just to ask if he could call him back. It didn’t take Si long to wise up to the fact that he was interrupting meetings, and Lucien was, for some reason, not letting his calls go to voicemail as he did with others. He’d tried texting a few times instead, asking Lucien to call when he was free, but since Lucien always texted back, he was still interrupting, really.

  Then he’d realized he could just call Paul. Paul always knew where Lucien was, and if he was in a meeting, whether that meeting could be interrupted, and—based on one conversation—whether Lucien wanted Paul to make up an excuse to interrupt a meeting so he didn’t have to sit through it. So now Si always called Paul first—during business hours. The late-evening video calls he’d made to Lucien, he really hoped Paul didn’t know about.

  “He is in a meeting, but it should be over in the next few minutes. Then he has half an hour before the next one.”

  “Great—can you ask him to call me, please?”

  “Of course.” Paul made it sound like nothing would please him more, and Si decided to tell Lucien that however much he was paying Paul, he should add 10 percent.

  “Oh, hey, maybe you can give me your opinion. Where do you think we should locate the office?” He was being cheeky for asking, he knew. Paul couldn’t help but be aware that this was a source of conflict, since Lucien had asked him to put together a list of suitable properties in Paris, and Si had thrown a shit fit. Well, not exactly a shit fit. He’d expressed his dissatisfaction in an email to Lucien, cc’ing Paul.

  In mostly capitals.

  Paul’s hesitation spoke volumes, and Si sighed. “You think Paris, huh?”

  “It would be more cost-effective and convenient,” Paul murmured. “I have lists of potential properties in both cities, and London is more expensive.”