Billionaire on the Loose (8 page)

Loch should have lied. Taylor would probably be upset with him, but he didn't care. “I am.”

“They said you carried her in. You need to be careful with head wounds. Should have called an ambulance. If she'd been concussed, you could have aggravated the situation.” He gave Loch a chiding look.

Loch raked a hand through his hair. “I wasn't thinking. I just wanted to get her to a doctor.” The man's words sunk in and he looked up. “So she's not concussed?”

“She took a hard smack on the head, but she'll be fine in a few days. Six stitches at the hairline, a sprained ankle from where she fell, and a bruised rib from hitting something on the way down. Maybe a chair, if the place was as crowded as you said.” The doctor shifted on his feet and then gave Loch a stern look. “She said she lives alone but I want someone to watch her for the next few days, just in case her head wound is more serious than we think.”

“Of course.” The man didn't even have to ask. Loch was already planning on bringing Taylor to his hotel and pampering her for the next while. “I'll stay with her constantly until she's better.”

“The young lady has quite a chart,” the doctor said, raising an eyebrow. “She's a bit accident prone. Been in the emergency room several times in the last few years.”

Loch rubbed his mouth. Poor Taylor. “She gets distracted.”

“Try and keep her off her feet so she doesn't re-injure herself, then?”

Loch nodded. “Can I see her?”

The doctor gestured at the door. “Someone will be by shortly to finish her paperwork and then she can go home. I'll give her a prescription for some Tylenol-3, but other than that, just give it time and rest.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” He shook the man's hand and then raced toward Taylor's room.

Inside the hospital room, there was a bed, a blue shower-curtain thing pulled off to one side, and some beeping equipment. He didn't care about any of that. What he did care about was the small, fragile-looking woman lying on her back, her hair spread on the pillow, her eyes closed. There was a large bandage on her head and one of her feet stuck out from the blankets, wrapped in what looked like an inflated plastic boot.

“Taylor?” He moved toward her bed, keeping his voice low so as not to bother her if she was sleeping.

Her eyes flicked open and she looked over at him. “You're still here, Thor?”

“Still here.” He pulled a chair next to the side of the bed and took her hand in his. Her black T-shirt had DID YOU TRY TURNING IT OFF AND ON? In bold yellow lettering across the breasts, and his gaze slid there before moving back to her face. “How are you feeling?”

“Like an idiot?”

“You tripped and fell. That's all. Happens to everyone.”

“Happens to me a lot,” she whispered ruefully, then winced. “My head is killing me.”

“That's because you tried to remove it from your body.” Her small hand was soft in his, and he stroked his fingers over the back of it, over and over again.

She giggled, and then hissed, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. “That hurt.”

“No laughing.”

Taylor nodded, and then gave his hand a little shake. “You didn't have to stay. I'm sure this isn't the Saturday night you had planned.”

“Of course I stayed.” All of her other friends had clutched at their computers, unsure what to do, and had given him grateful looks when he left with her. He suspected they'd probably just gone right back to playing their games. “The doctor says you need to have someone with you for the next few days to watch over you.”

She made a face. “I'll be fine.”

“Even if you were, I've already decided that you're going to come back with me to my hotel.”

Her eyes squinted open. “What?”

“I have your laptop here with me.” He patted the bag hanging from his side. “My hotel has extra robes and we'll order room service. There's also a jacuzzi tub and I'll get you a massage tomorrow to help your aching muscles. In short, you're staying with me for the next week.”

She pulled her hand weakly from his. “Loch, really, you don't—”

“I know I don't, but I'm going to. You're my friend, Taylor, and friends look after one another.” Maybe she didn't realize that because all of her so-called friends had gone right back to gaming even as he'd carried her into a taxi. “Unless you have someone else in the city you want to call on and stay with?”

She thought for a moment. “My parents are in Colorado.”

“Bit of a drive.”

“A bit, yeah.” Her mouth twitched. “I could call Gretchen.”

“You could, but she's no doubt busy, and I, on the other hand, have nothing but free time.”

Taylor slowly sat up in bed. “I'm going to feel like a huge burden if you take care of me. This is not how one-night stands work, Thor.”

“You let me worry about that.”

She nodded, and then touched her side, wincing. “I feel like crap.”

“You look like crap, too, if it helps.” Her face was entirely too pale for his liking.

Another giggle escaped her, followed by a wince. “Thanks for the flattery.”

“You're as cute as a button most times. You just look a little less sexy after you've tried to kill yourself on a bar chair.”

“Mm, fair enough.” She hesitated, then gave him a sad look. “You don't have to do this, Loch. I don't want you to feel obligated to me. We're barely friends, and—”

“Don't be ridiculous.” He leaned in and took her hand again. “I am bored senseless, Taylor. Please. Come and wreck my hotel room for me.”

Her shy smile made him feel like the Norse god, after all.

***

By the time they checked Taylor out of the hospital, paid her bill, and cabbed back to his hotel, it was late. Her eyes were closed and she had a pained expression on her face, so Loch carried her through the lobby and into the elevator. She was light in his arms, and though she initially protested, she was quiet by the time they got to his room. Her face was tucked against his shirt and as he walked into his room, he realized she was hurting. He crossed the suite into the bedroom and set her down gently in the bed. “Wait here,” he murmured. “I'll get you a glass of water and your pills, and then I want you to sleep.”

She nodded, her eyes tightly closed.

He pulled the blankets over her, turned off the lights, and retrieved a bottle of water from the mini-fridge. The doctor hadn't given her much of the medicine, stating that she wouldn't need it after tonight. He shook out two pills and brought them into the room, then handed them to her. “Take this and go to sleep.”

She swallowed the pills, drank the water, and laid back down on the pillows. He got up to leave and she spoke. “Can you do me a favor?”

“What's that?”

“This is going to sound weird,” she murmured in a sleepy voice. “But can you find my phone and send Sigmund a text message?”

A weird, gnawing sort of jealousy crept through him. “Sigmund?”

She gave a small sigh and burrowed into his bed, turning on her side. “He's a guild-mate and I was supposed to be on tonight and I don't want him freaking out.”

“Of course.”

“Thanks, Loch.”

She was silent after that, and he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. He was exhausted. His suite was equipped with a full-sized couch, so he'd be fine sleeping there. Sleep, however, wasn't on his mind just yet. He picked up Taylor's bag and rifled through it, looking for her phone. She'd dropped it when she'd fallen, and he vaguely remembered shoving it into her pack.

Sigmund, eh? And this after she assured him she didn't have a boyfriend?

He found the phone and swiped to unlock it. Several messages were on her screen.

Sigmund: Heard you had to leave the LAN party early. You coming home for the raid?

Sigmund: It's past raid start-time. Where are you?

Sigmund: You're not pulling this shit again, are you?

Sigmund: The raid needs you, Taylor. Where the hell are you?????

What a prick. His jealousy vanished when he realized it was just one of her game mates trying to find her. Of course it was. Taylor was cute and utterly distractible and a little wacky, but she didn't strike him as a liar. She spoke her mind too freely. Reminded him of her friend Gretchen, the woman whose wedding he was going to be in. No wonder they got along so well.

He typed a message back.

HaveANiceTay: This is Taylor's friend. She hit her head and had to go to emergency. She's fine now but sleeping.

The reply fired back immediately.

Sigmund: She's all right?

Sigmund: Should I play her toon?

Sigmund: We need her DR for the raid. She's one of the tanks.

Fuck, like he knew what a toon was? Or a DR? Or a tank?

HaveANiceTay: She's asleep. Use your best judgment.

Sigmund: K. Tell her we need her back for Tuesday's raid for sure tho. And tell her I'll be on tomorrow to chat.

Loch gritted his jaw. Whoever this Sigmund was, he wasn't worried about Taylor half as much as he was worried about their raid or DR or whatever it was. He got it, he really did—she said it was like a sports match, but online. If a player didn't show up, the others had to scramble to cover the spot.

But hell, couldn't he have at least pretended a bit more worry for his friend? Asked how she was doing? Loch didn't like it. He tossed the phone aside and then sat down on the couch, picking through the rest of her bag. She'd kept an extra shirt in here the other day, but it seemed that tonight all she had was her laptop, some power cords, and a few protein bars nestled next to her keys. She'd need clothes, then, and he'd need extra blankets. He dialed down at the front desk.

“Mr. delle Scogliere, sir, how can I assist you?”

“Yes, I'm having a friend stay over for a few days. I need some additional things for my room. Another bathrobe, some extra towels, some bedding.”

“Of course, sir.”

“And some shampoo and bath soaps. If you have bubble bath, that would be nice, too.” He pictured Taylor in the enormous tub surrounded by bubbles, the childish glee on her face and her gorgeous body sudsy. “Definitely bubbles.”

“I'll send someone out to get those things for you. Anything else?”

He frowned, thinking about what she liked. “Cereal. With marshmallows.”

“Cereal, sir?”

“Yes. And some pajamas. Very soft pajamas.” She was going to spend all day in bed tomorrow if it was the last thing he did.

“What size?” He heard a pen scratching busily on the other side of the phone.

“Women's medium, I think. Actually, bring several sizes just in case. I'll pay for them all.”

“Very well, sir.”

“And some movies. Some science-fiction movies. The Mr. Who ones.”

“
Doctor Who
, sir?”

“Yes, those.”

“I believe that's a TV show,” the woman corrected gently. “And I'm sure you can find some of it on-demand if you check your television.”

“Oh, of course. Thank you.”

“If you can think of anything else, let me know, sir.”

“Will do.” He hung up, rubbing his jaw and thinking. After a moment, he called back down to the front desk again. “Do you know of a game called MMOG?”

“Um. Do you mean an MMORPG?”

“Yes, that's it.”

“That's a type of game, Mr. delle Scogliere. My son plays several. That's the only reason I know what you're talking about.” Her voice was amused. “Was there one in particular you were interested in?”

“I'm not sure. What's the most popular one?”

“That would be
World of Warcraft
.”

“Can I get a copy of that, too?”

“I'll see what I can do.” If she was going to be house-bound for the next while, maybe he needed to learn how to play the game to spend time with her. The thought wasn't unappealing, for all that it was sedentary. After all, his excursion out to the local polo club hadn't exactly been the most welcoming. Going there had been nothing like home, where he was friendly with everyone and all the people at the club actually
wanted
to play, not just hang out and drink.

For a brief moment, he was homesick. Dreadfully, awfully homesick. He'd left his country in the past, but never before had he been told not to come home. It rankled, quite a bit. He wasn't a criminal. He was just a member of the royal family, a bit lower down the food chain than most. Why on earth should he have to play all these games just to avoid taking a job he didn't want anyhow?

Frustrated, he picked up his cell phone and called his manor house.

“Villa delle Scogliere,” a smooth voice answered.

He didn't recognize the person. “This is Loch. Who's this?”

“Oh. My lord. I'm sorry. This is Brandon. I'm filling in for Simon. His wife had their baby. A boy.”

“Give them my regards.” Damn. Simon was his friend and his valet. If the man wasn't in, who was looking after his estate? Loch should have been there, not this terrified-sounding man. He wasn't a monster, after all. He was just calling to check on things. “Who's in-house today?”

“Myself, the cook, the stable master, and your accountant. Shall I get one of them for you?”

None of them would be able to help him. “No, thank you.”

“I do have a number that Simon left for you if you should call with any questions?” The man—Brandon—sounded hesitant. “It's for the Minister of the Crown? Franz Bersatz?”

Right, the little man with the glasses when he'd had his meeting with his aunt. “Excellent. Let me have it.” He wrote the number down, thanked Brandon, and then dialed the new number.

“This is Franz Bersatz.”

He cleared his throat. “This is Loch.”

“Loch! My lord, how are you enjoying the States?”