Billionaire on the Loose (11 page)

Loch emerged from the bedroom a few moments later, dressed in jogging pants, a tight gray shirt that made all her tingly girl parts tingle just a little bit more, his shaggy hair pulled back into a man-ponytail. It shouldn't have looked half as sexy as it did, but damn, he was working it.

Well, that and she was ultra horny thanks to her dang period. God, this was going to be a long week.

He gave her another curious look as he tugged one foot behind him, stretching his hamstrings. “You sure you're all right?”

“I'm fine. I'm just going to lie here and”—
bleed in misery
—“check my email.”

Loch grunted acknowledgement, stretched his other leg, and then moved to the table, tucking his phone into a pocket. “You have my number if you need me, yes?”

Had they exchanged phone numbers? She couldn't remember. “I'll be fine,” she deflected, and opened her laptop.

He hesitated for a moment longer, then left the room.

The moment he did, she leapt for the room phone. The woman at the front desk was sympathetic and understanding . . . and wanted to bill it to Loch's room. Taylor had to do a bit of coaxing to get the woman to accept cash for it instead, and she waited by the door of the room for the drop-off. As she waited, she checked her phone.

It was like a double whammy of crap. Not only was her boss demanding to know where she was, but Sigmund was blowing up her phone, too. The knot of anxiety returned to her stomach. Why was it she could never make people happy? Loch thought she was being weird, and now both Sigmund and her boss were pissed at her.

At least she could do some damage control. She quickly texted her boss back.
Sorry. I'll log on ASAP. I hit my head this weekend and am staying at a friend's so he can watch over me.

Three dots immediately showed up, telling her that her boss was already texting a message back. Well, that wasn't good. She glanced at the clock. Ten in the morning. Okay, so she was a few hours late for her seven
A.M.
shift. She'd just work late to make up for it.

I see. Do you have a note from the doctor?

I didn't get one. I'll just work late. Sorry again.

This is the third time this month you've been late or called in, Taylor. Last month your record was even worse. Do we need to talk?

She winced.
No, I promise it won't happen again.

You said that last time.

So she had.
This is truly the last time, I promise.

No response. Well, that had gone over like a lead balloon. She'd just have to do damage control and knock out one of the projects he was waiting on. Now for problem number two.

HaveANiceTay: I'm here, Sigmund. I've just been busy.

His response was immediate, too.

Sigmund: I'd swear you're avoiding me, Taylor. I hate that.

Sigmund: You're the only good thing in my life.

Hello, guilt. Nice to have you back.

HaveANiceTay: Sorry. I'm at my friend's. She's watching me because the doctor said I should be careful for a few days.

She hoped Loch would understand that his gender was temporarily female, because otherwise Sig might go nuts.

Sigmund: Are you not okay?

Sigmund: I played your toon in Saturday night's raid. Hope that's all right.

HaveANiceTay: It's fine. Thanks for picking up the slack.

Sigmund: Everyone's real worried about you, Tay.

HaveANiceTay: Aww, that's sweet. Tell them my head is fine, I promise. It feels much better today.

Sigmund: No, not about that. About all the time you've been taking away from the guild. It's like you don't care anymore.

Sigmund: People are counting on you, you know. We can't raid without you.

Taylor stared at the message in shock. For a moment, she was irrationally, completely, furiously angry. So it wasn't that people were actually worried about her health inasmuch as they just wanted her to show up and run raids for them? What about her wants? What about her life? Or did that not matter as long as everyone else online was happy? Her jaw clenched and she fired back an angry message.

HaveANiceTay: Excuse me for getting wounded and not being online for a raid. I'll try not to injure myself at times it'll inconvenience everyone else.

Sigmund: You know I didn't mean it like that.

Sigmund: I'm just passing along the message.

Sigmund: You know I care about you!

Sigmund: You saw my flowers, right?

Sigmund: Tay?

Sigmund: Are you ignoring me?

Sigmund: Come on, Taylor. Don't do this.

Sigmund: Please don't be mad at me.

Sigmund: Please. I lose all hope when I think about you not in my life.

Sigmund: That's why it scares me when you're not on. What am I going to do if you ever leave?

Sigmund: I don't think I can survive. . . .

And now she felt worse than ever. She knew it was emotional blackmail, but it was so much easier to cave in than to stand strong against his constant barrage of guilt.

HaveANiceTay: It's fine, Sig. I'll try and be on a bit more today. I need to catch up on work first, though.

Sigmund: No problem! Let me know if you need me to run your toon for a bit. I'm happy to help out.

HaveANiceTay: K thx!

She threw a smiley face on so he wouldn't flip out on her again, and then threw her phone aside. God. She wished she could flush the damn thing down the toilet sometimes. Her belly cramped a protest and she moaned. If life was fair, she wouldn't have her period while staying with the hottest man ever. People online wouldn't be nagging her to log in to a game for hours on end, and her boss wouldn't think she was a flake.

But it was clear that life wasn't fair.

Taylor sighed. They weren't the worst problems to have, but they still stressed her out. She needed a vacation, one that didn't involve anything but a beach, some fruity umbrella drinks, and lots of naps.

Unfortunately, the odds were against that happening in the near future.

Loch jogged through the tree-lined paths of Central Park, body sweaty with exertion. After a day of inactivity yesterday, it was good to push himself, and after he'd done one circuit, he started up again. Exercise helped him clear his mind, but even after two rounds of his regular path, he was still thinking.

Taylor had been a little standoffish this morning, but he was still determined to go through with his plan: Marry her as quickly as possible, cock up the succession plans for the anti-Alex fools, and go about his merry way.

It was the right thing to do. Never mind his nagging conscience at deceiving her. It wasn't truly deceit; he liked her, and he liked sex with her. It just wasn't going to be a very permanent sort of marriage on his end. After all, it wasn't like either of them was in love. They'd marry, have a bit of fun together, and when everything quieted down, they'd get a nice, simple divorce.

It was brilliant, really. Everyone back home should be thanking him for his loyalty to the crown.

Mind made up, Loch ended his jog and headed for a vendor selling water bottles. He pulled out a bill and handed it to the man.

The man immediately handed it back. “I can't break this.”

Loch looked down at the dollar. It was a hundred. “Is it not any good?”

“I don't take anything bigger than a twenty, buddy.”

“Right.” He dug through his wallet again, found a twenty, and handed it over, then walked away with the bottle.

“You want your change?” the man called after him.

Loch waved a hand, distracted, and continued to walk away. He should call and speak to Franz again. If the man knew what Loch was planning, then perhaps he'd be able to go home a little earlier. He mentally pictured his small villa in the green hills, his horses, the quiet compared to the bustling city around him, the smell of the grass instead of whatever the hell the smell in New York was. Home was definitely appealing. He wondered what Taylor would think of his house. He'd sold the palatial family castle and now lived in a much smaller, Tuscan-style villa that suited him much better. He bet she'd like it, and she'd probably like his horses, too. Maybe he'd get her a horse.

He chugged his water and then pulled out his phone, dialing.

“Franz Bersatz,” the other end answered.

“Yes, this is Loch,” he began. “I've an idea.”

“An idea? For what?”

“To take myself out of consideration for the throne. I'm going to marry an American.”

On the other end, the man sputtered. “You . . . you what? You can't! My lord, think about what you're doing—”

“I am, actually.” Loch sat back on the park bench, feeling rather pleased with himself. “Thing is, people love a good love story, right? So I show up with my happy bride, we let it leak to the press that it was love at first sight, and everyone thinks I'm a bit of a buffoon, but they don't want me for the throne any longer, so it doesn't matter. Everyone's happy, and I can come home.”

“I really don't think we have to go to such drastic measures—”

“Not drastic,” Loch assured him. “The girl's quite nice.” He thought of Taylor and her bouncy breasts. Yeah,
quite nice
was an understatement. Being temporarily married to her wouldn't be a chore in the slightest.

“And she's agreed to this?”

“Getting there.” He just needed to turn on the charm a bit more once he knew she wasn't hurting from her wounds.

“Is she a fortune hunter? Because—”

“Nah. I'll get my accountants on it. Have a nice prenup.” He frowned, thinking. “I don't suppose you know how much money I have, do you?”

The man sputtered. “How should I know?”

He was right. Fair enough. “So, will that work? Give it a few weeks post-marriage and think it'll be safe for me to return?”

“Loch—my lord, be reasonable.” Franz sounded miserable. “Do not do this. Think of your great-aunt the queen. Would she approve?”

“I think she would, given that I'm taking steps to ensure that her granddaughter is not overthrown.”

Franz sighed. “This feels hasty to me. My lord, it isn't necessary. Relax. Enjoy your stay in the States. Buy yourself a nice town house and be a visible Bellissime presence over in America. Win them over with your charm. When things are settled here, then you can come home. Is three years really so long a time?”

Funny how the time seemed to get longer every time he talked to the man. Now it was three years? It just convinced Loch even more that his idea was the right one.

Marry Taylor. Go home. Everyone would be happy. “My mind's made up. Let my great-aunt know my plans. I'll keep in touch once I've married.”

“My lord—”

Loch hung up. He'd heard enough protests. It was a good plan.

Now to go woo his sweet, daffy American.

He grabbed his water bottle and pocketed his phone, heading back to the hotel. It was a few cross-streets away, but considering he'd just jogged for the last two hours, it was not so long a walk. Certainly not worth getting on the subway all sweaty, not with a breeze blowing. He walked, whistling to himself, and almost passed the homeless man without seeing him.

Then, he stopped.

There were no people living on the streets in Bellissime. They were a small, wealthy country with a tiny populace. Even the poor had assistance from the government and were given menial jobs and cheap housing. The man seated on the street was covered head to toe in dirty, worn clothing. He had a ragged beard, a baseball cap shoved down over shaggy hair, and held a cup in his hand. A garbage bag sat on the sidewalk next to him.

Loch paused. He headed over to the man and opened his wallet, then pulled out the hundred-dollar bill. “Here.”

The man took it, looked at it, then handed it back. “Can't take that.”

“Why not?”

The man looked up at Loch. His face was lined and dirty, but there was a proud set to his expression. “I try to take that anywhere and they're going to think it's a fake. Or they're going to think I stole it. Guys like me only get small change.”

He dug through his wallet, but he only had more hundreds. Damn. “I don't have anything else.”

The man grunted. “You tried. More than most people do. Thanks anyhow.”

Loch hesitated. “May I ask—”

“Nope.” The man looked down the street.

Oh. He felt a little embarrassed. The man was probably asked the same thing all the time. As he watched several people pass by without even glancing at the man, he felt . . . unhappy. This felt wrong to him, but he didn't know how to fix it. “Can I buy you lunch at least?”

“You can give me five bucks and I'll get my own lunch,” the man said. “Otherwise, I'm not interested.”

“Right.” Loch headed down the street. He went into the nearest deli, purchased a sandwich and a drink, broke the hundred, and then returned. The man was still there, gazing off into the distance. Loch put the change from the hundred in the man's cup, left the bag with the sandwich and drink. The man tipped his hat in thanks.

It still didn't feel right. He watched as people hurried past, and felt dirty. He needed to do more. But what?

He didn't have any answers. Suddenly, his own problems felt rather petty, though.

***

Living with Loch was kind of awesome, Taylor decided. Well, when things weren't completely awkward, that was.

Sometimes it was great. The bed was awesome, the pillows fluffy as air. The bathtub and the toiletries he'd gotten for her were out of this world. Plus, it was fun to just hang around the hotel room and work with another person around. She didn't realize how lonely her job could be until she looked up and would see Loch making a face at her, and then her whole day would brighten.

There were a few snags, of course. Loch was sleeping on the couch still. She wasn't thrilled with that, but she also wasn't sure about snuggling up to him with her girl stuff going on in full force. He'd never said a peep about it, but she was acutely aware of the situation. It was his hotel room and she was in the bed, not him. Add in the fact that they were extremely platonic and she hated that they were? It made things awkward. She wanted to tell him about her “Aunt Flo” situation but every time she tried to broach the subject, she clammed up. It was really, really hard to tell a sexy man that you were bleeding.

The thing that bothered her most wasn't that, oddly enough; it was that she was spending so much time on the computer. She'd worked late for two shifts in a row, and when that was done, she'd logged on to
Excelsior
to spend time with her guild and to get Sigmund off her back. Each hour on the computer felt like pure torture, because she wanted to spend time with Loch as he watched movies, or read books, caught a game, or even when he went jogging. Instead, she felt chained to her laptop.

It sucked.

They'd gone out for lunch a few times, and had met Gretchen and another friend, Greer, that week as well. And okay, she might have been a little head over heels when it came to Loch, to the point that Gretchen was casting her smug looks. She hadn't mentioned that she was staying with him. That would have made Gretchen crow with glee for sure.

But going out with Loch? Staying with him in his hotel? Even though they were platonic, it felt . . . more like they were a couple than just friends. Of course, Taylor worried that was all in her head, that she was imagining the heated looks between them. That Loch was just being nice and she was misinterpreting it. After all, she wasn't his type and he'd even said so. Now she was in his space twenty-four-seven and he had to be getting tired of her.

So she kept her head down and she worked. That day, she'd woken up early, covered a double-shift, and had her game minimized in the other window so it looked as if she was present. If anyone sent her a message in-game, she simply told them she was working in-between pelt-farming. Sigmund sent her occasional messages to let her know he was bored, or if he had gotten a particularly fun item in the auction house, but it seemed that just her presence there was enough to keep him chill, which was good.

She was seated on the sofa, just finishing up a work ticket when something tickled her ear. She flicked at it absently, and when it tickled again, she looked up.

Loch was leaning over the back of the couch, a pencil in his hand, and he brushed it against her ear again. That time, instead of making her ticklish, it made her aroused. Oh, boy. She blushed and touched her ear. “Is my typing bothering you?”

“You've been working all day. Want to take a break?”

Taylor bit her lip. “I should stay online. We're supposed to have a guild run in about an hour and I should be on.” Sigmund had been giving her crap about it all day, and she'd sworn that she would be there, even though she didn't want to. “What did you have in mind?”

He shrugged and looked around. “Thought we could go out for dinner or something, but if you have to be online, maybe I'll make a character up and play with you?”

Her jaw dropped a little. “You will?”

“Sure, why not?”

A warm, happy flutter started in her belly. “Well, okay. You probably need to patch the game and that'll take several hours—”

“Already did that.” He moved across the room, all casual grace, and she couldn't help but stare at his glorious ass. Because seriously, it was downright delicious, especially when it flexed as he walked.

“You . . . did? Really?”

“Yup.” He picked up his laptop—something she never saw him using—and moved back to the couch. He sat down next to her, his weight making her bounce on the cushions. “Put it on last night while you were working.”

“Oh.” She must have been so into work that she hadn't noticed him. Now she felt ashamed. This was his hotel room and she was being the worst roomie ever. “I'm sorry if I'm not much fun—”

“Don't be sorry,” he said, and nudged her with his arm. He was so close to her that she could smell his aftershave, and god, it just made her tingle all over. “You're busy. It's fine.”

It wasn't fine, but she was downright awful at juggling her responsibilities, which was why everyone seemed to be constantly irritated with her. Frustrated tears threatened to prick at her eyes, and she didn't know why. Because he was being understanding? Because it felt like another thing to juggle? She didn't know.

He shifted on the couch and moved a little closer to her as the game's boot-up screen displayed. Currently, it was an advertisement for the next
Excelsior
Convention, about to be held in Oxnard, California. “Do people really go to this sort of thing?” he murmured, glancing over at Taylor.

“Oh, yeah. I've been twice. It was . . . fun.” She'd also hooked up with a guy there but he didn't need to know that. “Everyone dresses up in costumes and talks game stuff. It's exciting. You get to see previews of the stuff coming out, and they give everyone special gear for their characters.”

His brows went up. “Did you dress up?”

“Of course.”

“As anything in particular?”

“You wouldn't know the character.” Time to change the subject. She pointed at his screen. “Did you make a username yet?”

She walked him through how to set up his account, mentally wincing at his awkward typing. It was clear that Loch didn't spend much time on computers after all. It was kind of bizarre in this day and age to see a grown man who couldn't type worth a damn, but in a way, it was kind of cute.

He touched the track pad and the character-creation window came up. “What now?”

“Now we create a toon for you.”

“Toon—that word. Like cartoon?” He looked over at her again, and she felt that hot body flush return.

“Yup, just like it. It's slang that started a while back and stuck around.” She typed a quick AFK on her own computer and set it aside, then settled in a little closer to him, peering over his shoulder. “Any idea of what kind of character you want to be?”