Billionaire on the Loose by Jessica Clare Page A

delete her account and never look back, but that would just push Sig over the edge, wouldn’t it?
    Frustrated and full of anxiety, Taylor flung herself onto her bed and hugged her pillow.
    It did smell like Loch.
    A helpless little sob escaped her throat and she buried her face in the pillow and let herself cry for a few minutes before she had to be online again.

Chapter Seven
    Every morning, Loch left his posh Park Avenue hotel and went jogging in Central Park.
    On Monday, Loch had a meeting with the local Bellissime ambassadors.
    On Wednesday, he had a charity photo op. He showed up, shook hands, and smiled for pictures.
    On Thursday, he checked out the local polo club.
    Other than that, he was completely and utterly bored stiff and had entirely too much time on his hands. He swam laps in the pool. Went riding. Ate out for his meals. Did more jogging. Watched a few football matches on television.
    It was fucking dreadfully boring. He’d made a few acquaintances, and the chaps at the polo club seemed nice enough . . . and yet. Everyone either thought he was British, which was annoying to constantly explain, or they looked at him like he was a walking, talking wallet. They asked him if he knew Prince William or Duchess Kate. They asked him if he hung out with Prince Harry. They joked and asked if he’d been to Hogwarts. A few of the women at the polo club had looked at him like they’d wanted to devour him whole, but instead of being intriguing, it was just . . . irritating. To those women he wasn’t an easygoing man who happened to have a title and some family connections. He was a status symbol of some kind, or worse yet, an oddity.
    And he was prey, which was alarming. They’d sidled up to him, asked him to buy them drinks, and then dropped veiled hints, asking about his family and what he did for a living. It took about three questions before he realized they were trying to suss out just how much money he had.
    Joke was on them—Loch had no clue how much money he had. He’d not gone back to the polo club after that. He’d rather be bored and watch football—or soccer as they called it here—on television, than feel like an outcast or hunted animal.
    It was a damn odd feeling for him.
    After a week of this, though, he was feeling isolated and restless, and resentful of the situation at home that kept him here. Damn separatists.
    He’d called and texted Taylor a few times during the week, but he’d never gotten anywhere with her. Each time she was sincerely apologetic, and funny, and sweet, but she didn’t have time. She was on call, or she was on a raid, or she was working late . . . any number of excuses. Her life was simply too busy to put aside time to entertain him.
    And it was a shame, because she was the most entertaining thing in the States so far. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her happy, playful laugh, her bizarre clothing and her enthusiasm. Her uninhibited excitement in bed. Sex with her had been amazing. Couple that in with the fact that she was blowing him off? She was a mystery and one he wanted to explore a bit more . . . if she’d give him the chance.
    So he picked up his phone again on Friday and tried again.
    It went to voice mail three times and each time he hung up. No texts, because texts were too easy to ignore. He’d been texting her all week and now he wanted to talk to her and not give her the chance to brush him off.
    On the fourth try, it went through. Her light voice came on the line. “Tech Support level two, how can I help?”
    â€œYes,” he said. “I can’t figure out how to turn my computer on.”
    There was a long pause, then a giggle that made his cock ache. “Loch?”
    â€œHi there.”
    â€œI’m working, sorry. I didn’t realize it was a personal call.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “How are you?”
    â€œBored