Billionaire on the Loose

  Oh, boy. Taylor was pretty sure she’d just locked herself in the bathroom and the hot guy had just shown up. Could this day get any worse?

  With an uneasy glance at her phone, Taylor picked it up again.

  Sigmund: I wish I were dead. No one cares if I’m here or not. They won’t even show up for the raid. :(

  Yeaaaah. She shouldn’t have dared the universe. This day could get worse. She backed away from the toilet in case it decided to take her up on her dare and start overflowing or something.

  Chapter Three

  Loch studied the stately manor house as he strolled up the walkway. Felt a bit odd to be showing up at someone’s house without guards or at least a friend in tow. It was clear after a few days of being in the States, though, that while he was Someone Important in most of Europe, here, he was just another guy.

  It was quite nice, actually. Quiet. Calming. He could get used to this.

  He rang the doorbell, noting that even though the exterior of the house looked old-fashioned, the door was new and he’d wager that the interior was modern, too. He’d grown up in a manor house that was five hundred years old, complete with low ceilings and roof leaks and household ghosts. He’d sold the place after his parents had died and never regretted it. Didn’t want the upkeep of that sort of place. Didn’t mix with his lifestyle. He had a suite in a hotel downtown, but maybe he’d see about getting himself an apartment while he was staying in New York. Something modern. He liked the idea. Maybe something above one of the local pubs, though he hadn’t seen many of those yet—

  The door opened, interrupting his thoughts. A smiley redhead greeted him. “Oh, good lord, what are they feeding you over there?” She looked him up and down. “You must be Loch. My goodness, the internet does not do you justice.”

  He laughed and extended his hand. “Loch delle Scogliere, Griffin’s cousin. I’m told I’m expected?”

  “Yes! Come on in.” She waved a hand at him excitedly, ignoring his extended one. “I’m Gretchen, the bride-to-be. My fiancé, Hunter, will be finished working soon, and your tour guide is going to be around here somewhere.” She shut the door behind him as he stepped inside.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Loch told her. She seemed nice enough, if not a little frantic. “Cousin Griffin is still overseas, I suppose?”

  “Yes! It seems like you missed him and Maylee. You were leaving Bellissime and they were going. Ships passing in the night and all that. I’m surprised you didn’t stay to say hello to him.”

  Then she didn’t know about the political turmoil? That was good, then. That meant it was being nipped in the bud before it had a chance to spread. “Had business to attend to here. Diplomatic visits and all that.”

  “Sounds boring.”

  He laughed. “It can be, indeed.”

  “Have you met Maylee?”

  “I have not,” Loch said, opting to be diplomatic. “I hear she is . . . quaint.”

  “She’s a bumpkin,” Gretchen said, and then added, “But a cute one. She and Griffin are good for each other.”

  That was definitely an opinion he didn’t share. He’d heard about his cousin’s strange fiancée and had been slightly appalled at the thought of such an uneducated and thoroughly common woman marrying his rich, titled cousin. Between Griffin’s engagement and cousin Alex’s new marriage to the actor, the family tree was getting diluted like—

  Oh, bollocks. Now he sounded like the insurgents. He cleared his throat. “I’m sure she’s quite lovely.”

  Gretchen peered down a hall, and then turned back to him, opening her eyes a bit wider. Her expression of interest was intense. “So what is it you like to do, Loch? You into computers?”

  “Not really.”

  “Video games?”

  “I prefer sports I can do with my hands.” He raised them in the air as if holding a ball. “Cricket, rugby, football. I’m the captain of the Bellissime polo team and I do enjoy running. Physical things. I’m not a big fan of computers and the like.”

  “Oh.” She looked rather disappointed with that answer. “Maybe sports games are the answer, then.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Nothing.” Her smile returned and she snapped her fingers. “Unless you’re a big fan of those British sci-fi shows?”

  He gave her a blank look.

  “Yeah, that was a stab in the dark. It’s okay.” She clasped her hands tightly in front of her. “We’ll find common ground.”

  “Common ground for . . . ?”

  “Never mind.” She waited an awkward moment, and then glanced around. “My goodness. I don’t know where Taylor’s gotten off to. She said she’d be right back.”

  He wasn’t familiar with the name. “And Taylor is . . . ?”

  Gretchen beamed up at him wearing a look he was utterly familiar with—the matchmaking-mama look. “She’s one of my bridesmaids and has agreed to show you around the city, new guy! Isn’t that sweet of her?”

  “Charming.” He managed to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Wonderful. His new hostess was going to be flinging women at him, was she? He was old hat at avoiding those types of entanglements. He liked his bachelorhood, thank you very much.

  Gretchen frowned at her surroundings, then shrugged. She patted his arm. “Why don’t you wait here and I’ll get my fiancé? We’ll sit down and have a nice lemon scone and tea. I made them fresh just for you.”

  He nodded at her and watched as she hurried up the stairs. A matchmaking session with one of her bridesmaids? He should have suspected as much when he’d gotten the invite. And as a guest, he couldn’t very well turn them down, could he? Hopefully his escort would be tolerable. He mentally tried to picture the type of woman they’d assume he liked. Someone with big blonde hair and even bigger, ahem, assets, he imagined. Americans didn’t seem to do things halfway.

  He lifted one of his Italian leather loafers and noticed gum stuck to the underside. Disgusting. That was one thing that New York City was taking some serious getting used to—everything was just . . . dirty and crowded compared to his pastoral little country. And there was a faint smell no matter where he went. Loch shuddered and pulled his shoe off. He needed tissue or something to wipe it off. Normally he’d have a manservant handle this for him, but his manservants were back in Bellissime, because he was supposed to be “incognito.” This was a damned inconvenient time to be incognito.

  Loch looked around and saw no wastebasket or anything of the sort in the room, just a lovely rug that he was centimeters away from ruining if he took another step on it. Nor were there any servants around. All right, he’d have to man up and fix this himself, then. He headed down a hall, filthy shoe in hand, looking for a lavatory.

  The first hall he turned down yielded nothing interesting, but off of the kitchen, he saw what looked to be a washroom. Excellent. He headed toward it—

  —And stopped as a closed door down the hall rattled violently.

  What in the devil was that? A servant stuck in a room? He narrowed his eyes and studied the door. There seemed to be a bit of ugly fabric sticking out of the doorjamb. He turned and headed toward it, his curiosity getting the better of him, and the door rattled again.

  Now that he was closer, he could hear slight muttering.

  “. . . Stupid . . . wish I had a stinking holodeck . . . or a freaking TARDIS. Bet Doctor Who never gets stuck in the damn TARDIS.” Another violent shake of the door, then a pause. “Don’t be stupid, Tay. The Doctor doesn’t take a shit. He’s a time lord. They’re evolved life-forms that don’t need bowel movements.”

  Er, okay. “Is everything all right in there?”

  The door shook again and then the person spoke once more. “Beam me up, Scotty. There’s no intelligent life in here.”

  Right. A crazy servant. “Are you . . . looking for someone named Scotty?”

  A pause. “It’s a T
rek-ism.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “A saying common to Trekkies?” The doorknob twisted. “Haven’t you ever seen the Star Trek movies? The TV shows? The cartoon?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Why on earth would he watch any of those?

  “Oh. Man, that’s weird.” The woman’s voice sounded skeptical. “I really need to talk to Gretchen about educating her staff or like, giving them a day off so they can watch TV or something. Poor souls probably only watch Downton Abbey or some crap like that. Double-yew-tee-eff.”

  Against his will, Loch’s mouth curved into a hint of a smile. “Not a fan of it, are we?”

  “Sorry. No offense to your British people or anything, but no. It’s a real snoozer.”

  Loch snorted. His accent was about as British as hers was.

  “Anyhow. Give me some good old science fiction any day of the week.” The doorknob twisted again. “Or fantasy. Speaking of fantasies, I have one where I can someday escape this bathroom, but I seem to be stuck.”

  He chuckled. “Shall I assist you, then?”

  “That would be just ducky.”

  He put aside his offending shoe and studied the door. The wood was old and he could see where the door had warped at the top and the bottom, likely due to humidity and settling. It happened at his old manor house, too. There was usually a trick to forcing the door open, but the ugly bit of fabric sticking between frame and door would be a problem. “You might need to cut this bit of cloth—”

  He could hear her gasp on the other side. “Fuck that noise! This is the fourth Doctor’s scarf!”

  Right. “Very well, then. Stand back.”

  “Hang on! Let me take my scarf off!”

  He waited, and as he did, he heard a small choked noise. Uh-oh. “All right in there?”

  The woman on the other side coughed. “Yep. Just . . . forgot I was attached and all. I’m good now.”

  “All right. Move away from the door.” He took a step backward. “And if I break the doorjamb, give my hostess my apologies, will you?”

  “Eep!”

  Loch squared his shoulder, eyed the door, and then flung his body against it. The wood rattled hard, but stayed put, even though the woman on the other side squealed. A second slam of his weight against the door did the trick, though, and it flung open, and Loch pushed inside.

  The washroom was a mess. There was water all over the counter, spilled soap, the scarf seemed to be tangling around his legs, and there was a young woman sprawled on the carpet, her legs splayed and her head resting against the lip of the footed claw tub.

  Blast. He rushed forward to her side. “You all right?”

  She groaned, rubbing the back of her head with a hand. “Did anyone get the number of that truck?”

  “I told you to step back from the door.”

  “Yeah, but then I thought I’d help out by pulling on this side. That was probably a bad idea.” She rubbed the back of her head and let him help her sit up on the rug. “My damn head’s killing me now.”

  Helping him pull? That was the most foolish thing he’d ever heard of, but Loch kept that thought to himself.

  He should have been looking at her head, he really should have. But he couldn’t help but notice that she was wearing a white shirt, and it was completely soaked and sticking to her body. Through the wet fabric, he could see an outline of a pale bra, two spectacular, well-formed breasts, and tiny, pert nipples that were just begging for attention.

  “I hate to ask,” Loch murmured, helping her to her feet. “But why are you all wet?” Rather magnificently wet, if he said so himself. She was cute enough, her face round and sweet, but those breasts were drawing all of his attention—and rightly so. They were damn magnificent, and they were completely outlined by her drenched clothing.

  “Oh.” She blinked up at him with big gray eyes surrounded by thick lashes. Then she glanced down at her shirt and grimaced. “There’s a reason.”

  “Do tell.” He pulled a towel off a nearby rack and handed it to her, even though it was a shame to cover up those glorious breasts.

  She immediately dropped the towel, bent over to pick it up, and smacked her head on the counter. “Ow!”

  Good lord almighty. “Hold still. Let me get that for you.” He bent down to get the towel and as he did, she leaned forward, and one of those nipples scraped against his arm. His cock stiffened in response. It had been a while since he’d taken a woman to bed, and his body was definitely responding positively to this strange but attractive girl.

  “Sorry,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “I guess I should point out I’m a bit of a klutz.”

  Bit of was probably an understatement. “S’all right. Do you need to sit down?”

  “Nah.” She blinked several times. “My scarf okay? You didn’t have to cut it, did you?”

  Since she didn’t seem to be in a hurry to do so, he draped the towel around her shoulders, feeling oddly protective of her. “Your scarf is fine. Why are you wet?”

  “Me? Oh.” She bit her lip and gave him a sheepish look. “So I was reading online that you should use soap and water on a stuck door, and I tried that but I ended up getting more on myself than on the door.” Her mouth flattened. “Then I tried to clean it up and made an even bigger mess. The soap they use here is downright slippery.”

  “I’ve heard that about soap,” he said dryly. “Perhaps you should put in a word with your employer about purchasing less . . . slippery soap.” And he’d have to thank Gretchen for putting her employee in a thin white T-shirt, though the jeans were throwing him off. It didn’t seem like a typical servant uniform.

  “My employer?” She giggled. “I do tech support. My employer doesn’t know the first thing about soap.”

  Ah. Realization dawned. “Taylor?”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “Wild guess.” He found himself grinning down at her. “My name is Loch. I believe we’re supposed to be spending time together.” He should have been appalled, he really should have. The woman was clearly a mess . . . but she was a mess with a magnificent set of tits and rather nice eyes. He’d wager that there were other parts of her that were equally nice, and he was looking forward to seeing them.

  Those nice eyes fixed on his face, and then traveled down his chest and then his legs. “Mamma mia. What are they feeding you guys in Europe?”

  His lips twitched with amusement. “Goat cheese and baguettes?”

  “Damn,” she breathed. Her gaze went up to his face and then back down his body again. “You are eating a lot of goat cheese, then. You’re like Thor. I mean, not the mythology one but the Marvel Comics one. The hot blond Chris Hemsworth one. Though I think you’re definitely more Avengers Thor than Dark World Thor.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” She blinked rapidly again and stared at his chest. “Definitely Avengers Thor.”

  He laughed. All right, if he was going to have a woman thrown at him, at least she was amusing. “I’m starting to think you hit your head harder than you realize.”

  “Nah, I’m always like this.” She gave him an apologetic smile and then pointed at the door. “I don’t mean to be a party pooper, but it’d probably be bad if that thing shut again and we were both on this side.”

  “Right. Shall we go find our hostess, then?”

  “Oh, gosh, yeah. Gretchen’s probably worried I’m busy destroying some priceless vases or something.”

  He could see that. Loch offered her his arm, just because she seemed a bit unsteady on her legs still. Plus, she’d hit her head twice.

  She clutched at his arm and then furtively squeezed his muscles. “Oh, man.”

  And he couldn’t help but laugh at that, too.

  “Did you realize you’re missing a shoe?” she pointed out as they left the bathroom.

  “Ah. Right
. It has chewing gum on it and I couldn’t find a servant to take care of it for me.” He released her arm and moved forward, scooping up his loafer.

  “You want me to get it for you? Least I can do,” she said.

  “I really don’t think—”

  Too late. She took the shoe from his hand and immediately got gum on her fingers. He watched her small, cute nose wrinkle, and she tried to pull the gum off, only to spread it more on her fingers.

  “I should probably go back to the bathroom and get rid of this,” she said faintly.

  “Just do me a favor and don’t shut the door.”

  ***

  Oh, dear god, Gretchen was trying to hook her up with Adonis. She didn’t know whether to thank her friend or curse her. Adonis was so not in Taylor’s league. She was more of a nerdy-sidekick’s-romantic-interest kind of girl. Her type was more Spider-Man than Thor.

  This guy? He was definitely godlike.

  She couldn’t stop staring at him as they sat down with Gretchen in one of the manor’s luxurious studies. He had a cup of coffee in his hands, and man, they were such big hands. Enormous, tanned ones with big fingers. He probably wouldn’t be very good at toggling buttons in Excelsior because the game’s on-screen buttons were close together and were more suited to smaller fingers. But like . . . who cared? Those were some amazing, beautiful hands.

  His hair was incredible, too. It was tawny colored, thick and wavy and brushed against the collar of his shirt. It shouldn’t have worked for him, and if his hair was thin, it’d have just looked stringy. As it was, he looked like a dang movie star. Thor, her brain reminded her. Definitely Thor-like. Plus he was tall and built, and oh my goodness, just looked like no man she’d ever seen before in her life. Couple that with the sexy lilt in his accent? She was pretty sure she’d be shucking her Batman panties at him if he asked.

  Of course, he wouldn’t ask. She’d already thoroughly humiliated herself, what with being caught stuck in the bathroom and spilling water all over herself. She looked like an idiot, and he was being polite, feigning interest as Gretchen rattled on and on about the wedding. Next to her, her fiancé, Hunter, looked awfully uncomfortable, as if he’d rather be anywhere but there. She and Hunter were very similar, Taylor decided. They just weren’t people people. He loved Gretchen desperately, but Tay suspected he could avoid the rest of the world and not give a damn.