Billionaire on the Loose (10 page)

All right, then, she officially had a roommate for the next while. She ignored the excited flutter in the pit of her belly.

***

As Taylor emerged from his hotel bedroom in a pair of oversized pajamas, Loch felt an overwhelming sensation of . . . satisfaction. It was damned odd, really. Having her there with him shouldn't have been so utterly satisfying, but getting her to concede and agree to spend the next week with him felt like a victory. Now, having her here as she changed her clothing into the new ones he'd bought her? He felt pleased. Like she was his girlfriend and they were about to settle in for the day, despite the early hour.

The thought wasn't an unappealing one.

Taylor flopped one too-long sleeve in the air. “These are enormous!”

“It's definitely not the right size for you. Shall I get up and help you dress?” He started to get off the couch.

“What? Don't be silly!” She took a step backward and nearly careened over an end table, barely managing to catch herself before she tipped over. “That was a fluke, by the way. I'm fine. I don't need help dressing.”

“I shall save my talent for undressing, then,” he teased, relaxing back on the sofa. He was still watching her, just to make sure she didn't trip and fall over something and hurt herself again—this was Taylor, after all.

Her cheeks pinked and she headed toward the bedroom again. “I think I'll start with the smallest size and see how that one works. Be right back.”

“Stay off your ankle,” he called to her.

“Nag, nag, nag,” she yelled back, closing the door behind her.

He grinned to himself. Already his stay in the States had gotten vastly more entertaining, and it was simply due to the fact that she was around. Was he being selfish insisting that she stay with him when she had work to do? Perhaps. Gretchen or one of her other female friends could more easily take care of her if she needed bathing or some such, but to be honest, the thought of helping her gave him a strange sense of . . . pleasure. She didn't have anything he hadn't already seen—or licked—and he could just as easily help her around as another person.

He wasn't even doing this for the sex . . . though that definitely was a factor to consider when she was feeling better. He was just being a good friend—

Oh, blast. He couldn't even lie to himself.

He was enjoying Taylor's presence because he needed a bride and her temporary need for supervision fit in perfectly with his plans.

Ever since the minister had joked that Loch needed an unsuitable American bride, he hadn't been able to get the thought out of his head. If he needed an “unsuitable” American, she was perfect. Taylor was cute and bubbly, but she was also a bit loud, had a tendency to say whatever crossed her mind regardless of how appropriate it was, and she liked all kinds of strange things like her game and dressed like she was an extra on a science-fiction television show.

He liked sex with Taylor. That was a definite plus.

Taylor was also very trusting. That was also a plus. She was sexy without being overly flirty, giving, and fun to talk to. He wouldn't have to worry about her going behind his back to discuss foreign affairs, or checking on his accounts. She wouldn't be jockeying to go to royal affairs all over the globe like some of his more henpecked cousins' wives. Put a computer in front of Taylor and she'd be perfectly happy. She was easy to please.

She had great tits. He thought about them again, and his mouth watered. His cock stiffened in his trousers and he pulled a pillow over his lap. Not appropriate at the moment, but he couldn't overlook the fact that his physical attraction to Taylor was one of the things that made this strange idea of an impromptu marriage so appealing. If it were anyone else, he wouldn't consider the idea.

But Taylor? Taylor had merit.

There were a few drawbacks to the plan, of course, namely that he'd need to divorce her the moment things died down again. Her feelings would probably be a little hurt, but by then they'd likely be so sick of each other she'd be grateful to separate.

There was the question of money, as well. As in, he had a fair amount and she did not. He actually wasn't sure how much he had, but given that the hotel room he was staying in was bigger than her entire apartment building's floor, it was a safe bet that they had a significant difference in income levels. She didn't seem like the type that would care, but his accountant would. Best to just get it all taken care of cleanly. He'd ask for a prenup, just to be on the safe side. He'd bet Taylor wouldn't mind.

And really, she never had to know it was all a plan on his end just to destroy his own eligibility. She thought he was just visiting family in the States. No more needed to be said about his real reasons for being there.

She wandered back out a moment later, the new set of pajamas fitting her perfectly. Too perfectly, he noticed, because he could see her breasts sway under the fabric as she hobbled toward him.

He got up and moved to her side. “Let me carry you.”

“Don't be stupid. I can walk.”

“I told you to stay off your ankle,” he said, and hauled her into his arms. She squealed and wriggled delightfully against him, and his cock got hard again. So he swatted her bottom. “Behave or I'm going to spank you.”

“And that's punishment?” She wiggled against him again.

“It's torture for both of us, you little minx. I'm not shagging you while you're injured.” His cock had other ideas, especially with her so soft in his arms.

“Party pooper.”

He gently set her down on one of the sofas and tucked blankets around her. “You're not to get up for anything unless you have my permission.”

Her brows went up. “That so?”

“That's right.”

“And what happens if I don't, again?” She ran a finger over the blanket. “A spanking? Much punishment, so wow?”

“What?”

“Guess you're not up on your Doge. Never mind.” She gave him a mischievous look. “I have to admit, though, telling me you're going to spank me if I misbehave isn't exactly the way to get me to behave.”

“I will steal the television remote and force you to watch documentaries about the environment.”

She made a face. “You win this round.”

“Believe me, I take no pleasure in this win.” He leaned over the couch and stuffed a pillow behind her back. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Shall I get you your laptop?”

Taylor glanced down at the blanket and toyed with the edges. “Food sounds good.”

No computer? For a self-professed computer nerd, she wasn't in a hurry to get to her keyboard. Maybe her head hurt worse than she was letting on? He immediately felt remorse for hauling her around and teasing her. She might act sassy but it didn't mean she wasn't injured. He brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. “Want room service or cereal?”

She brightened. “Cereal would be awesome.”

He got up and picked through the supplies that had been dropped off, found cereal, a bowl, and grabbed milk from the minibar. Once she was set up with her breakfast, he moved back to the bags of stuff, looking for something for himself since he wasn't a fan of that sugary marshmallow mess she enjoyed.

“So what else do you have there?” she asked between bites. “Anything entertaining for today?”

He picked through the contents. “A few computer games, some DVDs, and a few items from the gift shop downstairs. I'm not sure why they thought I'd need a Statue of Liberty hat but I suppose it's thoughtful.” At her giggle, he glanced back at her, grinning. “Want to watch a movie?”

“Sure. What do we have?”

“I told them that you liked science fiction and fantasy and it looks as if they sent us several Star Wars movies.”

“Oooh. Want to watch the original trilogy or the prequel? Which one's your favorite?”

Loch shrugged. “Don't recall seeing either.”

“Shut the front door! You're from Europe, not Mars, you crazy man. How is it you've never seen a Star Wars movie?” Her eyes were wide. “You're not human, are you? You're a sexy space prince sent here to conquer Earth, and that's how you've never seen a Star Wars movie. It's the only logical conclusion.”

“Clearly. So, number one, then?”

“It depends. Is it the real Episode One or Episode Four?”

He frowned. “I don't know. Which one do you want to start with?”

“It depends. Do you want to watch nine hours of people arguing about trade negotiations or do you want to watch a farm boy discover his destiny?”

“Is this a joke? Trade negotiations?” His brows furrowed. “That sounds dreadful.”

“Episode Four it is, and a very good choice.” She took another bite of cereal and beamed at him. “You'll love this, trust me.”

***

He did, in fact, enjoy the first three movies. The others, not so much. In fact, he might have dozed off halfway through the first prequel. At some point, he woke up and realized she was asleep, too, the TV droning on about senators and intergalactic trade agreements. He shut the television off, tucked the blankets closer around Taylor, and pulled her against him to sleep.

Today had been a good day. He'd been lazy, granted, and had eaten nothing but pizza and all the terribly sugary snacks that Taylor insisted he try from the minibar, but he'd had fun. Her commentary on the films and her enjoyment bolstered his own enthusiasm, and he looked forward to spending more time with her.

This marriage thing? He had it in the bag. By the end of the week, she'd be eating out of the palm of his hand. Then he could go home and pick up his life again, blissfully throne-free.

***

The next morning, Taylor woke up from some rather filthy dreams, sprawled over the object of her filthy dreams on the couch.
Not the worst place in the world to wake up,
she mused. Loch lay on the couch with his hands loosely at her waist, and her cheek was pressed against his chest, her injured foot propped up on one arm of the couch. God, this was nice. Her hand smoothed over his broad chest. Injury or not, she wasn't averse to a little morning nookie. After all, he was spread out in front of her like a darn buffet. A girl could only hold off for so long.

Off in the distance, something vibrated. Her phone, probably. It paused, then vibrated again, the sound angry.

Shit. Was it Monday? She was supposed to be working.

She sat up, detangling her limbs from him slowly. As she did, the worst cramping in her lower abdomen set in, and a horrific realization struck her. Her period was coming on. Ugh. Worst timing ever. Not only was she not home, but she was at a sexy guy's sexy hotel room and about to have the least sexy week of her life.

Clearly fate hated her.

She got to her feet—and her inflated boot popped under her weight, the sound loud. “Shit!”

On the sofa, Loch sat up. “You all right?”

“I'm good.” Once she found the tampons, that was.

“Here, let me carry you—”

“No!” Taylor all but yelped the word and sprinted for the bathroom. She managed to make it there and locked the door before he could come in, and then rummaged around in the toiletries, looking for “lady” supplies. She should have known. Her period was the worst cockblocker ever.

A week with Loch should have been sexy central. Now it was going to be Crampytime Central. Not only was she injured, she'd be cramping and miserable and unable to have sex with the hottest guy on earth.

“You all right?”

“Fine,” she yelled out. She spotted her bag in the corner and let out a sigh of relief, grabbing it. She kept tampons in a hidden pocket, and they'd last long enough until she could discreetly phone the front desk and ask for someone to send some up.

Then again, maybe this was a sign from God that her legs should stay firmly closed together and she should just take her happy ass home. Even as she thought it, though, she hated the idea. She wanted to stay here. Being around Loch made her feel safe and less stressed. Funny, she hadn't realized how stressed she was until she'd logged off the computer with him . . . and felt like she could breathe.

She emerged from the bathroom a short time later to see him frowning at the door, arms crossed over his chest. “You all right?”

How to explain to seven feet of beefcake that she was menstrual without totally turning him off? “Fine, but I think I should go home.”

He shook his head. “Absolutely not. You're going to be my guest this week. I won't take no for an answer.”

She bit her lip. She was afraid he'd say that. “I'm just not feeling . . . a hundred percent.”

A look of worry crossed his face. “Do you need to go to the doctor?”

“No! I just . . . need some me time.” And hopefully that “me” time would involve a quick trip down to the gift shop for some Midol and pads.

Loch frowned, but then slowly got up from his perch on one of the tables. “I should probably get my morning jog in—”

“Yes! That's an excellent idea! You should definitely do that.”

He tilted his head. “You sure you're all right?” At her over-enthusiastic nod, he headed for the bedroom. “All right, then. I'll change into my jogging clothes and be back shortly.”

“Fabulous! I'll be here.”

He nodded then moved toward her. “Let me carry you back to the couch—”

“No!” she yelped. If he did, she was sure to, well, gush. Ugh. “I can make it myself! I'll just hop!”

“And crack your skull again? I don't think so.” He moved toward her and she flinched backward. To her relief he paused. “You sure you're okay?”

“Just not in a touchy-feely mood at the moment.”

“I see. All right. I'll let you get back there on your own, then, but no hopping.”

“No hopping!” She limped across the bedroom and headed for the couch, hoping he wouldn't see on her face just how much her stupid ankle was hurting at the moment. She thumped down on the couch and then winced when she realized her phone was across the room, and still vibrating with incoming messages. Crap. Loch was still in the bedroom so she hobble-walked over to retrieve it and her laptop, and then made her way slowly back to the couch.