The Athlete and the Aristocrat

by Louisa Masters

  “That’s very considerate of him,” he said, just as Ben came back into the room.

  “It’s all sorted,” he said, an edge of triumph in his voice, and Lucien laughed again.

  “Come here,” Léo demanded, grinning, and Ben went over and snuggled up next to him.

  Chapter Four

  LUCIEN was going to kill his friends.

  It normally took a lot to embarrass him. He had a thick skin, hardened further by years in the business world, and he’d learned to shake off slights and disappointments. More, he’d always delighted in good-naturedly taunting his friends, and expected their retaliation. Just a month ago, Ben had viciously set him up on a date with a strict vegan. Lucien was not usually bothered by lifestyle choices, but that woman had been of the belief that all meat eaters were murderers and had tried to take his belt and shoes from him in the middle of the restaurant because they were leather and needed to be properly buried to respect the animal that had died for them. It had only taken twenty minutes after he’d finally gotten home (alone) before Lucien had begun to laugh. When he’d related the story to Ben and Léo the next day, he’d laughed so hard that tears had streamed down his face.

  But this… this blatant attempt to matchmake between him and Simon was inexcusable. He’d seen Malik and Léo whispering to Ben, surely telling him about Lucien’s teenage crush—he was almost certain they didn’t know it had lingered into adulthood—and that Simon was reputedly bisexual. Ben, as much as Lucien adored him, was completely unsubtle and lacking in cool, as evidenced by the way he’d all but tied Simon to a chair to convince him to stay. And Malik’s little crack about bedrooms was deserving of truly evil vengeance.

  On the other hand…. Lucien glanced around the room, at his friends and the man he’d fantasized about for half his life gathered in his home (well, one of them), drinking and laughing and enjoying themselves, and the knot of embarrassment eased. Who cared? Did it matter if Simon guessed that he was attracted to him? Did it matter that his friends had been heavy-handed in trying to make something happen?

  No. What mattered was that Lucien was in one of his favorite places with some of his favorite people, he had a lovely weekend ahead of him, and was finally going to be able to give underprivileged kids the opportunity to pursue their dreams through football. He was going to work closely with a man he’d idolized for years, and if this program was successful—and Lucien would make sure it was—then he’d have the leverage to convince his father to back similar programs in dance, art, swimming, and other sports and activities that routinely got overlooked.

  Really, life was good.

  Malik dropped down heavily beside him on the sofa, and Lucien adjusted his grip on his glass to avoid spilling. The martinis were rather good, if he did say so himself.

  “Are you angry?” Malik asked in a low voice—in French. They normally spoke in a mix of English and French around Ben, to facilitate both ease of conversation and Ben’s growing ability to speak French, but Simon spoke only English, so Lucien was rather surprised that Malik had switched languages.

  “No, not angry,” he replied. “I was… not happy, but it really doesn’t matter, does it?” He waved a hand dismissively, and Malik grinned.

  “Good. We’re only acting in your best interests.”

  Lucien raised a brow. “Really? Really, Malik?”

  His friend drained his glass and then filched Lucien’s and took a drink from it. It was nothing he hadn’t done in the past, but Lucien took sudden note of Malik’s glassy eyes and realized he’d already had quite a bit to drink—and he’d only arrived a short time ago.

  “Is everything all right, Malik?” Malik flinched, and Lucien sat up straight, all thoughts of vengeance gone. “What is it?”

  Malik took a deep breath, and Lucien braced himself… and then Malik’s trademark winning smile came out, and he knew he would get nothing more out of his friend that night.

  “Of course we’re acting in your best interests! This is an amazing opportunity for you—how many people get the chance to hook up with their celebrity crushes? And if I understand what you were telling us before, he can’t escape you for five years!”

  “Can’t escape me?” Lucien parried, making a mental note to ask Léo if he knew what was going on with Malik. It was probably more family drama—Malik’s father could be a real despot. “That sounds very close to criminal, Malik. And the next five years are part of the problem. Even if I were inclined to act on my teenage crush, I need to work with the man. This program is important. I can’t do anything that would put it at risk.”

  Malik’s smile dimmed a little, and understanding crossed his face. “I know how much you’ve wanted to start a football scholarship. Okay, we’ll stop pushing. But I think you should take a shot anyway. You don’t know that you’d be putting anything at risk.” He raised his voice and switched to English. “In the meantime, we need to teach Ben about football so he can be useful.”

  Ben groaned. “Are you high? There’s no way my brain will be able to absorb anything sports related.”

  “You watch football with us sometimes,” Malik pointed out.

  “No, I watch footballers,” Ben retorted. “I couldn’t give a crap what’s happening with the ball, but I don’t mind checking out what’s happening in those shorts.”

  Lucien laughed, his gaze on Simon, who was grinning.

  “It’s all good for ticket sales,” he said, and even Ben laughed at that.

  HOURS later, Lucien lay in the dark and wondered what would happen if he were to venture down the hall and slip into Simon’s bed. Would he be outraged? Surprised but accepting?

  Or welcoming?

  Lucien groaned and rolled to his side. Regardless of how such an overture would be received, his arguments to Malik were valid. This program was important. If he and Simon had sex, that could complicate things, and they needed to work together—work well together—for five years.

  Would it complicate things, though? After all, they were both adults. Both sexually experienced—very, in fact. Weren’t they both capable of a one-night stand or even a purely sexual relationship?

  Maybe Malik was right and he should take a shot.

  Except… would it be a purely sexual relationship? If he were being honest with himself, Lucien had to admit he’d had a crush on Simon Wood for fifteen years, and meeting the man and discovering he was funny, interesting, and socially responsible hadn’t exactly killed that crush. Lucien didn’t “fall in love” as easily as some others did, but it did seem likely that if his emotions were going to get involved, it would be with a man he’d lusted after for a long time. Plus, Simon had fit in so well with his friends. They’d spent the latter part of the evening in cheerful, semidrunken frivolity, without a single awkward moment once Lucien’s friends had given up on the matchmaking.

  And while that would be fine if his feelings were returned, if they weren’t, it would lead right back to the complicated situation he was so eager to avoid.

  Am I overthinking this?

  He flipped back onto his back and pulled a pillow over his face. What the hell was wrong with him? Better to stay in his own bed and not tempt disaster. In two days, Simon would be back in England, Lucien would be back in Paris, and he could find someone sweet and uncomplicated to take the edge off his lust without endangering a dream that both he and Simon had apparently both had for a long time.

  He and Simon would have to work together for the next five years, but once the program was up and running and secure… well, who knew what the future held?

  WHEN Lucien stumbled into his kitchen the next morning, it was to be greeted by the enticing aroma of coffee and the delightful sight of Simon’s bare chest. He froze.

  “Good morning,” Simon said, a little too cheerfully for a man who’d matched Lucien drink for drink the night before. Lucien could hold his liquor—it was a point of pride for him—but even he felt a bit fuzzy the next morning.

  “Good morning,” he replied.
“You’re up earlier than I expected.” He glanced at the clock on the oven as he made his way toward coffee. It was nearly eight, which was very late for Lucien, even on a weekend, but he knew many others considered it early.

  “I can’t sleep past seven,” Simon said as Lucien fixed himself a cup and then leaned against the counter. Simon was leaning opposite him, the cotton lounge pants the concierge had bought for him slung low on those incredible hips.

  Lucien forced his gaze up to meet Simon’s hazel one. “Why is that, do you think? A hangover from early morning training?” Had he really asked such a boring question?

  Simon shrugged. Lucien had noticed it was a frequent gesture for him. “Nah, it’s always been like that, even when I was a little kid. Used to drive Mum crazy on Sunday mornings.”

  “I can imagine,” Lucien said, although he really couldn’t. He too had been an early riser as a child, but he didn’t think his mother had ever even been aware of that fact. He’d never seen her in the morning until he was bathed and dressed and presented for family breakfast, promptly at seven thirty every weekday and ten on weekends. His parents had always had—and still did have—a rigorous social schedule that meant they often dined out, and so breakfast had been designated as family time.

  “What time are we meeting the others for breakfast?” Simon asked. “Oh, and where? Is there a dress code?”

  “Nine thirty at the yacht club,” Lucien told him. “No jeans, tank tops, or flip-flops, but anything else should be fine.”

  Simon grinned. “I should be okay, then, since I don’t have any of those things with me. I have everything else I need, though—your concierge was incredibly thorough. He even got me shoes and socks.”

  Lucien nodded. “He’s very good at his job. I tried to headhunt him for one of our businesses in Paris, but he refuses to leave the area.” Lucien didn’t think he needed to mention that the owners’ corporation management company that looked after the building was owned by the Morel Corporation, and so the man technically worked for him anyway. The job he’d had in mind had been different.

  “Lucky for me this weekend,” Simon commented, and went to rinse his cup.

  Lucien studied the way the soft pants draped over the curves of his ass, and murmured, “Yes, lucky.”

  Chapter Five

  SI followed Lucien into the bistro at the yacht club. He’d been there once before when he and a teammate had spent a weekend in Monaco, years ago, and met a wealthy German football fan eager to show off his “friendship” with two famous footballers, even if they were British. That had been a long time ago, though, and it looked like the décor had been redone since.

  Ben and Léo were already seated at the table the maître d’hotel showed them to, but Malik hadn’t arrived yet. Si slid into a seat and smiled at the men.

  “Good morning.”

  “Hi!” Ben chirped, grinning. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Well, thanks,” Si replied, forcing himself not to look at Lucien. To be honest, he’d hoped his host would make a move, but instead he’d spent the night alone. Maybe I should make the move tonight?

  He’d think about that later. Not at breakfast in a posh yacht club with Lucien’s friends.

  Malik yanked back the remaining empty chair and sat. “I’m not late,” he announced. Léo looked up from his menu, raised an eyebrow, and said nothing. “I’m not,” Malik insisted.

  “It’s fine, we haven’t ordered yet,” Ben told him. “And even if we had, we would have ordered for you.”

  “We wouldn’t have needed to order for him,” Lucien said smugly. “We could have just told the waiter that he was joining us, and the kitchen would have known exactly what to make him.”

  Si chuckled. “Do you always order the same thing?” he asked Malik, who scowled, but his eyes were twinkling.

  “I just know what I like,” he responded. Léo opened his mouth to comment, but the waiter approached at that moment, and he shut it again. Si was rather disappointed; the previous evening Léo had proven to have a quick and incisive wit, and seemed to enjoy teasing his cousin and Lucien.

  They ordered quickly—in fact, the waiter began writing on his pad the moment he saw Malik—and soon were discussing the scholarship program again. Lucien had brought some of the financial estimates for Léo to look over, and the two of them bent their heads over the documents, muttering in French.

  Si sighed and looked at Ben and Malik. “I really need to learn French,” he announced.

  Ben nodded sagely. “Good for you. It took me a lot longer to come to that conclusion, but I eventually got sick of Léo telling people to speak in English so I wasn’t excluded.”

  “We got sick of it, too,” Malik chimed in. “Fortunately for us all, you were a quick learner.”

  “You didn’t speak French before you met Léo?” Si asked, a little surprised—although not sure why.

  “Nope.” Ben shook his head. “When I arrived in Monaco just under a year ago, I knew maybe half a dozen French words and some of them were foods. Then I met Léo, and he speaks English, so I was really lazy about learning a new language.”

  “And you were in denial about staying.” Malik smirked at Ben over the rim of his water glass, but Ben ignored him.

  “So I didn’t really start learning in earnest until late last year. It helps being surrounded by native speakers, though.”

  “I won’t have that advantage,” Si admitted. “And when I do speak to French people, it’ll be on a professional basis, so probably not the time to try out new words.”

  Their breakfast was served then, and Lucien put away the financial documents as they all settled in to eat.

  “Is everything good?” Si asked him and Léo, and Léo nodded.

  “I don’t think there will be any problems,” he said. “I know you have funding covered, but you may want to consider external fundraising anyway. More money can never hurt a program like this.”

  “Yes,” Si said. “I was thinking about publicity of some sort, but hadn’t quite gotten to any details yet.”

  “Are you planning to begin sponsoring for next season?” Malik asked. “Maybe you can tie the selection process in with the publicity.”

  “No,” Ben said firmly, and they all looked at him in surprise. “Remember that the main qualifications for this program are talent and lack of money. How would you feel if someone put a spotlight on you—and your family—that essentially highlighted your financial situation?”

  “Good point,” Malik conceded. “But that also makes ongoing promotion of the program difficult. You can’t hold it up as a success and have incumbents encourage other families to apply if nobody is willing to admit to being a part of it.”

  “Some people will,” Léo said, putting down his fork and picking up his glass. He raised it toward Si. “They’ll just have to be volunteers, which means you’ll have to wait until the program is running.”

  “And that brings us back to the question of publicity prior to next season.” Lucien narrowed his eyes, seemingly seeing something nobody else could. “The program covers funding for recipients to attend summer training camps, doesn’t it?”

  “Of course,” Si said, wondering where he was going with this. “Off-season camps are essential for development, and the best ones are bloody expensive. I think it would be too ambitious to plan to get any of our kids into camps for this summer, though, since we haven’t even opened for applications yet.”

  “No….” Lucien appeared to be deep in thought. Léo and Malik exchanged glances.

  “He has that look,” Malik said.

  “Yes,” Léo agreed.

  “What look?” Ben asked. Si glanced at them, then returned his attention to Lucien’s face. That expression of intense concentration was so bloody sexy.

  “His diabolical plan look,” Malik answered Ben.

  “Diabolical plan?” The patent disbelief in Léo’s voice dragged Si’s gaze away from Lucien.

  “Well, what would you call it? E
very time he got that look in school, we’d end up doing something we shouldn’t, and most times got suspended. And ever since then, whenever he gets that look, it costs us a fortune.”

  Léo sighed. “It is an expensive look,” he conceded.

  “I can hear you, you know,” Lucien said dryly, now staring at his plate, pushing food around with his fork.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Ben demanded, and Si only just refrained from cheering. What the bloody hell were they nattering on about?

  Léo took Ben’s hand, kissed it, and explained, “That’s the look Lucien gets when he’s had a brilliant idea. Sometimes even he will agree that it’s not a viable idea, but mostly he just decides to put as much money behind it as necessary to make it happen.”

  “Right now,” Malik interjected, waving a hand at Lucien, “he’s thinking about the details, calculating how it could all be managed—whatever it is.”

  Si turned back to Lucien, his breakfast abandoned, heart pounding. Lucien had had a brilliant idea about the program? “What’s the idea?” he asked, suddenly desperate to know. Lucien just made a shooing gesture with one hand, the other still moving food in random patterns on his plate.

  “He won’t talk about it until he’s done thinking it through,” Léo said, and Si heard the sounds of silverware being picked up and the meal resuming. He stared at Lucien for several long seconds more, then forced his attention to the others and picked up his fork.