The Titan Was Tall (Triple Threat Book 1)

by Kristen Casey

  Red studied her and asked, “Why did you do that?”

  “What do you mean? Don’t you like sharing?”

  “I have nothing against sharing. I’m just surprised you bothered about the nuts.”

  “I can’t imagine why—it’s common courtesy. I should know. My little brother is allergic to cashews.”

  “Ah.” He sat back abruptly, but Red’s eyes didn’t leave her face.

  “Besides, it’s been a long day,” Piper sighed. “I’d rather not top it off with my new boss’s death on my hands.”

  “Now you’re being dramatic.”

  “Do you think so? You were the one who said, deathly allergic. All I’m doing is taking you at your word.”

  At her tart tone, Red conceded, “I stand corrected. But can you please stop referring to me as ‘your boss’? I’m not even in your direct hierarchy. There’s got to be ten different layers between my position at PKM, and yours.”

  “How kind of you to point that out.”

  Red smirked at her. “Maybe we ought to change the subject.”

  “If you say so,” Piper agreed. “Tell me how it is that you come here often enough for everyone to know your name, your allergy, and your drink order, yet they’re surprised by you showing up with company.”

  Red finished off the rest of his drink in one large swallow, then reached over to twitch the curtain further closed.

  “I suppose because…it’s been a while since I brought a woman here.” He poured himself another measure of sake. “Usually, I’m by myself, or clearly conducting business.”

  Weren’t they conducting business? How very interesting. “I can’t imagine you are hurting for dates.”

  “Well,” he muttered. “You’d be surprised.”

  Piper’s Singapore Sling spoke for her next. “Oh, come on. You’re telling me the inimitable Padraig MacLellan doesn’t have a devoted person clinging to the hull of his ship like a lovestruck barnacle?” she scoffed. “Whatever.”

  “You know, you really do have a way with words,” Red commented.

  Piper rolled her eyes. Duh.

  He took a deep breath, for the moment more amused than offended. “I can confirm that I have no barnacles—romantic, complicated, or otherwise,” he chuckled. “What about you, Ms. Fulham?”

  Piper smiled back, then let her eyes shift from his face to the delicate porcelain cup beside her plate. She stared into its depths, watching the tiny leaves in the bottom swirl lazily through the faintly green liquid. So, they were laying out romantic statuses, were they? Her heart notched into a higher speed.

  Three years ago, her heart had eventually healed. She’d exorcized Kyle’s demons when she’d written her next book. Piper saddled a bad guy for the ages with Kyle’s name, then killed him off with a particularly grisly duel at dawn. She’d made the fateful bullet miss its mark. The faux Kyle had lingered—and suffered—for days.

  Naturally, the heroine of that tome had found a man who kept her quite happy between the sheets, and that had been an even bigger arrow flung at Kyle. He might have been a prolific lover, but Piper could say with certainty that his competency had suffered for it.

  As far as she was concerned, Kyle could go suck it. Now that she was back to trusting herself, Piper was done with trusting men.

  “I, too, am free of entanglements,” she stated firmly, then immediately wished she’d put it less baldly. Barnacles were significantly wittier than entanglements. At least Piper hadn’t pointed out exactly how long she’d been free of either thing. There was nothing funny about that.

  Red simply said, “I’m delighted to hear it.”

  They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, drinking their beverages. Piper hoped that Red’s sake wasn’t as boozy as her Sling. At least then there might be one person still standing at the end of this.

  He cleared his throat and jerked his movie-star chin in her direction. “I noticed that tattoo on your ankle. Do you have any more?”

  From singlehood to tattoos. Well, well, well.

  “There might be one or two more,” Piper smiled. Right. Mystery—mystery was good.

  “You aren’t sure?”

  “No, I am. But it’s all interconnected, and one part is about ten years older than the rest. So, I guess an argument could be made that there are two more tattoos, rather than one.”

  “I see.” Red did seem to be trying, as his eyes traveled over every exposed inch of her. He refrained from asking where the tattoos in question were, though.

  “What about you?” she wondered. “Does the power suit have any ink under his businessy threads?” Piper found that unlikely and it must have crept into her tone—because Red’s eyes jerked back up to hers, amused once more.

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” He defended himself lightly, calling her bluff, though he also chose not to enlighten her further. Piper had to acknowledge that the mystery thing definitely worked both ways.

  She forced her voice into the same casual tone as his. “Assuming none of them are of the Tasmanian Devil, or a zombie trying to claw its way out of your skin, I believe my opinion of you just improved,” she teased.

  “We’re safe on that count,” Red chuckled. “Though I probably don’t want to know what your original opinion of me was, do I?”

  Piper stared pointedly at the curtain. “Did you see that? I think I saw a ninja out there.”

  “Nice try,” Red laughed again. She grinned back at him, unaccountably giddy. No more Sling for Piper. She obviously couldn’t handle its mischievous charms.

  Under the table, Red’s pant leg brushed her calf, despite her dutiful efforts to stay on her side. Piper shivered. It probably wasn’t his fault—his legs were about a mile long. She wouldn’t let it distract her. Much.

  In a lower voice, Red asked, “Did I just spot two dimples over there?” The corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile. “Woe to the man you unleash the full force of those on.”

  At that, Piper giggled outright. Red gripped his chest, feigning injury.

  “You act like I’m Medusa,” she said.

  Now the other side of his wide, tantalizing mouth ticked up, too. “The one who turns men to stone? How incredibly accurate.” He held her gaze as his meaning gradually became clear.

  Piper felt a hot flush wash over her neck and face. Red was flirting with her. Red was flirting hard with her. What good deeds had she done, that led to her deserving such a thing? She’d obviously forgotten them.

  “And she blushes, too,” he murmured drolly. “Pulling out all the punches, aren’t you, madam? I bow before your mastery of torture.”

  And he did. Red kept his hand on his chest and bent low over his plate like he was dining with a queen.

  Piper frowned. He had her so off-balance that she blurted out a shaky question she very well knew the answer to. “Why on earth should me turning beet-red torture you? I’m the one in agony over here.”

  Red paused while the curtain was drawn back, and the waiter delivered an exquisitely-arranged wooden boat of delicacies. The man topped off their teacups then plunged them into privacy once more.

  “Really?” Red asked her then. “You can’t guess why a man would be fascinated by a woman’s blushes? Come on, Piper—you’re the romance author, here.”

  She shook her head. She was acting like a numbskull, but between the sheer magnetic force of Red MacLellan, and the insidious Singapore Sling, her brain seemed to have taken an untimely vacation.

  What a surprise. It was always easier for Piper to act sophisticated on paper, living vicariously through her characters, than it was in actuality.

  Unfortunately, Red took her silence as leave to explain the obvious. “When a woman’s aroused,” he murmured, “Her flushes in some very interesting places—and I have an excellent imagination, Piper. That’s what’s torturous.”

  “Oh.” Oddly, she noted that Red had managed to go there, without seeming the least bit skeevy. No, he’d gone there and sounded damn hot doing it.
Maybe if she kept still, he’d go into a bit more detail.

  “But,” he intoned, “I suspect you already knew that.”

  Piper did. Oh, she really, really did. And she wanted to blush for Red in all the right places.

  At last, he relented. “Try this. It’s one of my favorites.”

  Piper accepted the piece of deep yellow fish absently, then tried to ignore how he watched her mouth when she bit into it. Under the table, his shoeless foot slid alongside hers.

  “Do you like it?”

  “Very much.”

  “I’ve never seen it anywhere but here and in Japan. I took a business trip there a couple of years ago.” He served her a few more things from the boat between them.

  Piper gazed down at her plate in rapture. “It’s almost too pretty to eat.”

  “Almost.” Red didn’t even glance at his food.

  She wondered how their supposed business dinner had gotten so far off track. This gorgeous, successful man was hitting on her, there was no doubt about that. He wasn’t being cocky about it, though, and that intrigued her.

  It was like Red was flirting with her despite himself. Like he was trying not to but couldn’t help it.

  Piper couldn’t imagine what had gotten into him, and she had to figure out a way to regain some semblance of control. After all, she was her, not one of her characters. Although maybe that was the explanation—maybe Red was confusing Piper with one of her heroines.

  It wouldn’t last long. Eventually, men always figured it out, and she went back to being plain, disappointing Piper. She watched Red finish off a mouthful of yellowtail, then take a long swallow of tea.

  That little pottery cup was dwarfed in his hand. He had large, graceful hands and slim, elegant fingers. They looked strong and capable. She’d bet they were talented, too.

  Piper bit her lip. Red had been teasing her, but there was something else under the surface—like he truly cared about her answers. She forced herself to really look at him, but nothing she expected to see was there—no arrogance or self-absorption, no sense of entitlement, no pretension. None of it.

  Red was confident and self-possessed, that was true. He was sexy as hell and nice, to boot. His obvious interest should be a good thing, but right now it made Piper about as nervous as a turkey in November.

  FOUR

  “HEY,” RED SAID, watching Piper gnaw on that lush lower lip of hers. “Tell me something about yourself. Besides the usual work stuff.”

  “Me?”

  Like the concept was so hard to fathom. Red shot her a look.

  Piper inhaled and stared slightly over his left shoulder for a beat or two, then met his eyes once more. “You mean, like, hobbies? Or…”

  “Sure. What do you like to do?”

  “Well,” she hesitated. “I like to knit, but I haven’t had much time for it lately. And I read a lot. Romance, obviously. And…” she faltered and peeked at his face again. It seemed to be a more difficult question than he’d intended. Red raised his eyebrows, urging her on.

  “And I like taking long walks. In the…woods.” Piper trailed off and winced, managing to look self-deprecating, pained, and adorable all at once. She clearly understood that she sounded like an escort service ad.

  He couldn’t resist poking at her. “Let me guess—in the gentle rain?”

  “Yeah, no,” Piper grimaced. “That would get really wet.”

  Red fought back a grin. “Muddy too, I imagine.”

  “Okay, wise guy,” she balked, mounting a less-than-valiant defense. “What about you?”

  He shrugged.

  “Rock climbing? Space exploration? What?” she demanded testily.

  Red thought about it. “I like rowing,” he offered mildly.

  “On the river?”

  “Mostly. And…” Huh. As it turned out, answering the hobbies question was, in fact, a bit challenging when you were a grown-up who worked all the time.

  “I like playing cards.” At least, he’d enjoyed it in college, back when he’d still lived with Tate and Luca.

  “Cards? What, like poker, you mean?”

  Evidently, Red was not supplying Piper’s inquisitive brain with enough detail. “No,” he laughed. “Just, you know, gin rummy. That kind of thing. Oh, and I like backgammon. That’s good, too.”

  Aside from the rowing—which, strictly speaking, should be classified as exercise rather than a hobby—the things he was listing all required other people. He did not hang out with other people much.

  Red gazed into space, then added, “I did a puzzle once when I was visiting my grandmother. That was pretty cool, too.”

  “Once,” Piper huffed. “You did a puzzle one time, and that makes it a hobby?”

  He laughed again—he had to. His sudden social ineptitude was turning this conversation into a fucking train wreck. “No, I know,” he acknowledged. “But if the opportunity ever presented itself, I would totally do one again.”

  Piper snorted. Actually snorted. God.

  Red wanted to kiss that incredulous expression right off her pretty face. Maybe she wouldn’t think he was such a tool if he banged her on his antique backgammon board. Hell, Piper could even wear her sexy leopard heels to round things out. Just the sight of those things, sitting innocently next to his own shoes on the restaurant’s bamboo floor, was enough to drive him mad.

  Saying any of that out loud would not be strictly polite, however. Red roused himself from his reverie and cast around for a topic, eventually coming up with, “Tell me something else. What about your family?”

  Piper gave him a questioning look. “What do you mean?”

  “Seems like everyone has a family story. I’m curious about yours.”

  “Not much to tell, I’m afraid. Irish on my dad’s side, Italian on my mom’s.”

  “How long have they been in the U.S.?”

  Her nose scrunched up as she thought about it. “Maybe…early 1800’s for the Fulhams. But my maternal grandparents didn’t come over until the Forties.”

  Red considered that. “You’ve got the Irish coloring, but the Italian bone structure, don’t you? Your eyes are very Italian, too. The effect is very…” Seductive. “Fetching.”

  “Is it?” Piper was nonplussed by that. She did something Red was coming to realize was a nervous tic—she deflected with a question of her own.

  “What about you? At least part Scottish, I imagine, what with that name of yours.”

  “All, actually. The whole crew came from the mountains right outside Inverness.”

  Piper couldn’t hide her amazement. “The Highlands? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  He nodded, not understanding at first.

  “Just to be clear: you’re a very successful man, who looks like…” She gestured wildly in his direction with her chopsticks, “…that. And you’re a Highlander, to boot? That’s quite the trifecta.” Piper added, “The leering kilt jokes alone must be horrendous. However do you endure it?”

  Comprehension dawned. In Red’s research, he’d read a handful of books about Scottish Highlanders, each raunchier than the last. He had absolutely preened at finding himself part of such illustrious company. And now his star romance author had been kind enough to acknowledge it, too.

  He grinned and dropped the register of his voice. “Quite nicely, thank you very much.”

  Piper turned pink again, but at least she smiled. “No need to be smug about it.”

  “Those dimples,” he couldn’t help mentioning again. He shook his head and gazed heavenward. Much more of those and he’d be in need of some divine intervention.

  “Hooligans, all of you,” she retorted. “You don’t have to be charming on top of it—give the other guys a chance, why don’t you.”

  As if. “You’ve never done a Scottish book, have you? No pirates, no cowboys, either…why not?”

  Piper sighed. “I get seasick, so pirates are out. And the whole cowboy thing—I dunno. Seems kinda dusty, I guess.”

  Re
d laughed. She was a trip. “And the Highlanders?”

  Another sly grin from across the table. “I may have to tackle the Highlanders.”

  Maybe just one in particular.

  TOWARD THE END of the meal, Red finally found an opening to ask Piper something he’d been wondering about for weeks.

  The PKM board had nearly rejected the Trident proposition out of hand when they’d learned how prominently romances figured in the publisher’s portfolio. He and Wayne had worked more than a few late nights, putting together the numbers that finally convinced them.

  There’d been significant snark from his friends, too, when Red mentioned what he’d come to think of as “The Trident Surprise.” Interestingly, the most derision hadn’t come from Luca—a native Italian and probably the most traditionally macho man Red knew.

  Instead, it had come from Tate, and that probably figured. The third member of their little fraternity was mostly-evolved but had been wallowing in the testosterone-heavy confines of the Army since graduation. Red knew it was hardly a “woke” atmosphere.

  Now that Red had gotten a feel for Piper’s personality, though, he was dying to know how she’d respond to critics who alleged that romances, with their steamy interludes, were basically porn for women. He ought to have known she would have a lot to say.

  “I’d argue that romances are, in fact, the antithesis of porn,” Piper mused.

  “Why is that?”

  She took a deep breath. “Think about it this way. Pornography is sex, absent emotional intimacy, right? It’s fornication that is completely divorced from the concept of love, existing solely for the purpose of titillation. Which is fine.”

  “Okay.” Red was thoroughly enamored with the matter-of-fact way she explained herself. Unlike before, there wasn’t a single blush or stammer, while Piper expounded on a topic that others might find uncomfortable.

  Red wondered what else he might get her talking about. What else she’d be sanguine over.

  “Whereas romance novels use sex as a means to illustrate the growing emotional intimacy between a couple. Romances use sex as an expression of love. In my opinion, it’s the complete opposite end of the spectrum from pornography.”