He googled the friend’s name, to see what he was up against. But deep into the third magazine article, he realized with a sudden, creeping discomfort, that he was acting like a jealous prick. So Red grabbed his keys and left for the gym before he could come up with any other bright, stalkery ideas.
WHEN FELIX DROPPED her off late that afternoon, Piper had no trouble picking up on Red’s foul mood—probably because he was still acting like a spoiled little bitch.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” he drawled, dumping clean laundry onto his couch.
“And look who’s turned sullen,” she fired back, eyeing him. Piper’s eyebrows shot up at the sharp snap of his undershirt when he shook it out and folded it.
God damn it. Red had a housekeeper for this kind of shit. Mrs. Markham was going to think he’d gone around the bend.
Piper didn’t take his bad attitude lying down, thank fuck. She held her own, lobbing a few snippy arrows right back at him. They landed disturbingly close to their marks. Good for her.
Red realized they probably needed to get out of there, though, if they didn’t want to spend the last evening of Piper’s visit slinging testy salvos back and forth like relationship jai alai.
It almost felt like his mother’s hideous décor was infecting them as revenge.
Red scrapped his preparations for homemade enchiladas, made some hasty reservations at a high-end gastropub he knew in the Village, and fled with his woman.
The relief he felt with the change of scenery was palpable. In the car, Red felt like he could breathe again. Piper, empathic as always, immediately began sounding like herself, too. And finally, he was able to stand down and apologize for acting like a prick.
He said exactly that. “I’m sorry I’ve been acting like a prick, little dove. It’s been a crappy day. My mom stopped by again.” Enough said, right?
“I’m sorry I bailed on you for so long. And I happen to like your prick,” she smiled.
True to the day’s theme, though, the hostess’s face blanched when she saw Red come in.
“Mr. MacLellan, I am so sorry. The party before you is running long. We’ll find you another table as soon as we can, I promise.”
“No worries,” he assured her. “Anyone I know?”
She glanced furtively around before whispering, “It’s Senator Hastings. He said it was his 25th anniversary.”
“Hmm. That’s the silver wedding anniversary, isn’t it?” Red arched a brow at Piper. “Good for them.”
She made a slightly-impressed face in return. “Not too shabby,” she murmured, though she sounded as dubious as he felt. Evidently, Miss Piper had read the same newspaper articles about the senator that Red had.
The hostess wanted in on the action, maybe to smooth over her lack of a free table. “You’d never know it,” she confided. She tilted her head across the room, where the jovial senator could be seen schmoozing with a starstruck constituent while his wife poked desultorily at her dessert.
Red scratched the bridge of his nose. Fantastic. All today needed was the visual example of a dirtbag for Piper to focus on and compare him to. That would do wonders for her trust of him.
“Do you see…” Piper began.
“Yup.” Abruptly, he told the hostess, “We’ll be in the bar.”
Red towed Piper behind him into the long narrow space that opened off to the side. The bartender didn’t acknowledge them, even when Red greeted him. He was so focused on one of the cocktail waitresses—or rather, the waitress’s ample tits—that it apparently affected his hearing.
Red got Piper’s drink order, then settled her at a pair of empty stools he found near the front. He trooped over to get the barkeep’s attention. The waitress, seeing his expression, grabbed her tray and took off for the kitchen.
Red barely got three words out before there was a raucous cheer from the other end of the bar—the end where three middle-aged men were putting their hands on Piper, acting like she was their long-lost buddy. Hands on her shoulders. Hands on her arms.
Red bristled, watching those wandering hands. The same hands they raised their pints with, the same hands that fiddled with their cell phones and billfolds. Three gold rings on three married men’s fingers. If they didn’t lay off soon, those rings might be all that was left once Red was done with them.
He hissed out the rest of their order and paced back over. Piper didn’t look comfortable or happy, yet the men kept gazing at her with greedy, covetous eyes. Maybe they didn’t understand that she was with someone.
How did Piper know them? Between the fake smile plastered on her face and her rigid posture, Red could tell they weren’t real friends.
Right on cue, she glanced around, searching for him. Time to stake his claim.
The bartender advanced and slid their cocktails across the polished wood, at exactly the moment Red pushed through the scrum and parked himself next to Piper.
“Oh, good,” she breathed, her shoulders loosening up a little. “Red, this is Jim Denton. And—” She floundered on the other names.
“Mitch.”
“Bill.”
Red leaned in. “Red. How do you do?” No need to remind Denton who Red was just yet, since the man hadn’t shown the slightest bit of recognition.
Red shook each of their hands in turn, with Denton trying to go hardass on him by squeezing too tight. Red gripped him back even tighter.
Denton balked first, covering his discomfort with some florid bluster. “Who’s this bastard think he is, trying to wine and dine our Toni?” he demanded of the others.
Bill muttered, “Lucky prick probably doesn’t even know he won the chick lottery.”
“Right?” said the third stooge. That one deigned to address Red directly, “If you knew Toni like we do, you’d understand how freaking crazy this is. She doesn’t get with anybody.”
Piper blinked rapidly at Red, mortified.
Red mouthed, Toni?
Her eyes squeezed shut in evident pain before she leaned close and put her lips to his ear. “My pen name, remember? Antoinette. Toni.”
And then the pieces slid into place. He’d known Denton’s name since he was the only son of Trident’s former owners. That meant the others must be William Hodges and Mitchell Fleck, two of the bottom-feeder hacks from Trident’s thriller division.
The three men watched Piper’s every move with calculating eyes, but she and Red were saved from further conversation by the hostess clicking briskly over.
“Mr. MacLellan? Your table is ready now. I’m very sorry about the delay.”
Red took Piper’s hand and helped her off her stool, drinking in her grateful look. They picked up their untouched cocktails to bring them to their table.
“Gentlemen,” he nodded. Denton had grown wan at the announcement of Red’s name, but not the others. Idiots. Red dearly hoped they were on Rob’s pink-slip list.
“Don’t stay out too late, Toni,” Fleck drawled.
“Yeah,” Hodges chuckled boozily. “You’re like our hot kid sister. If you miss curfew, we’ll probably have to kick this guy’s ass.”
Red muttered, “I invite you to try,” as Piper pulled him away, her hand small and pretty—but determined—in his.
They passed the celebratory senator and his wife—still not enjoying themselves in the center of the dining room—and made their way to a quiet table in the corner. The first thing out of Piper’s mouth once the hostess seated them was an apology.
“I am so sorry,” she said. “I have no idea why those guys were being such boneheads.”
That infuriated Red even more than the jerks themselves. “Sweetheart, you have nothing to be sorry for—it’s those asshole pseudo-writers who do.”
“Even so,” she insisted. “I don’t want them to ruin our dinner.”
Piper had positioned herself with her back to the room, and she tried to put a good face on things. But her movements were robotic, like she could still sense the men’s stares on her. Every gesture was sti
lted and calculated for effect. Or rather, lack of effect.
“Are they always like that?” Red wondered. The men had acted awfully familiar, considering how little interaction they’d likely had with her. Piper lived in a different state, several hours away, and couldn’t have been up here too often.
“Mostly,” she admitted.
“Is that why they don’t even use your real name?”
“Yes. It seemed better that way. Kept some distance, you know?”
The men in question had moved close to the entrance of the bar, so they could keep Red and Piper in their sights. Every time Red glanced over Piper’s shoulder and spotted their lazy smirks and assessing gazes, he tensed a bit more.
None of this day was going the way he wanted. Red hated it. He hated how all the forces outside his control seemed to be lining up at once to defy his wishes. He hated the way other irritating people kept invading his last few hours with Piper. And he especially despised the fact that he hadn’t been able to do a damn thing to protect her from those dickhead colleagues of hers.
Piper wasn’t oblivious, of course. She could tell Red was unhappy again. When the waitress inquired about dessert, Piper politely insisted she didn’t want any.
Red didn’t even bother tossing out a double entendre about treats he might have for her at home. He doubted Piper was too eager to be alone with him again, not after his snit before. Yet another thing Asshole and Company had wrecked.
Still, when they slid into the car waiting out front for them, Piper laid her hand on the seat and didn’t balk when Red covered it with his. His fingers slid easily into the spaces between hers.
Touching her ignited something possessive within him, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for hours already. Red’s fingers stroked hers, Piper held her breath and didn’t move a muscle—and neither of them could seem to look away from their joined hands.
Too close to home, Red finally broke and hauled her close for an incendiary clash of lips and tongues. In moments, though, the car glided to a stop outside his building and Felix got out. His driver stepped rapidly around to open Piper’s door and hold it wide.
A little dazed, Red staggered across the antiseptic lobby with her and straight into the industrial cage of the elevator. Once he pulled the gate shut again and the elevator began climbing, they turned back to each other. Inhaling. Devouring. Holding too tight to even get much groping accomplished.
Red was panting like he’d been running sprints by the time they exited in the little hallway on the top floor, with its unassuming door leading into his loft. He wasn’t even aware of dragging Piper inside, only of the overwhelming relief once he had her alone, behind a closed and locked door where no one could bother them.
He knew he was losing it, and he knew none of it was Piper’s fault. Still, Red was hungry, and he wanted it rough—wanted to expunge every last frustrating moment of his day in a torrent of sensation with Piper at its crux.
He hoped she wasn’t feeling too sensitive after what went down with Denton and his buddies. She was certainly acting as desperate as he felt. Red backed her toward the couch and owned the hell out of her tantalizing mouth. His. All his.
Red turned her and bent her over the arm of the couch, hiked up Piper’s dress and pushed her panties down. It was the work of a moment to drop his zipper and sheath himself in a condom from his wallet.
And then, gloriously, Red was sinking into Piper’s body and thrusting into her blazing heat. He wrapped his hand around her lush inked hip to help keep her steady and reveled in the frenzied sounds she made.
She was so wet for him, and he was so riled up, that it didn’t take long. After that elevator ride, they were probably both halfway home anyway. Red loved that Piper was with him like that. That she got him, on a level no one ever had.
He pulled her up and spun her around, then bent to kiss her nose. Red’s earlier stress and frustration had ebbed away like smoke. Piper smiled seductively up at him, and he was grateful they had this intimacy with each other. This understanding.
He thrilled at being able to have her here, all to himself. Red loved that he could finally be himself, with Piper. He dropped the condom in the kitchen trash, and she giggled and pulled him in the direction of the stairs.
They managed to get rid of most of their clothes stumbling across the living room. They were giddy and tripping on dropped shoes, trying to keep forward momentum while still kissing each other.
Rapidly, the tension cranked hot again. Impatient and determined to have Piper in his bed instead of on the red geometric rug at the base of the stairs, Red picked her up in a big bear hug and carried her the rest of the way.
At the top, he dumped her on his mattress and leaned over. Red plundered Piper’s mouth, then backed off so he could kiss her the same way between her thighs. God, she was sweet.
The surprised, breathy little cry she let out when his whiskers chafed against her skin nearly undid him entirely. Caught up in it—in her—and not considering for even a minute what he was doing, Red flipped her onto her stomach.
He planted a fervent kiss between her shoulder blades and pressed himself against her glorious, rounded ass, then straightened up and spanked her.
Piper burst out with a sharper sound at that, but it wasn’t a bad one. He spanked her again on the other side, and the way her ivory skin flushed had him even harder than he’d been in the elevator. Piper said something, but it was muffled by the mattress. She squirmed a little too, but she stayed put.
“You want more?” Red growled.
She didn’t reply. She didn’t move. Last time, she’d wanted more.
“Yeah, I think some more.” Red spanked Piper a few more times, fascinated by the lines of her back and legs, enamored with the curve of her spine and her ass, drunk on all that she was, and all that they could be together.
He stopped and smoothed his palms lightly down the lower arc of her rear, down the tops of her thighs, feeling the heat under that velvety-soft skin. It must have tickled—Piper jumped and gripped the edges of his pillow tightly.
Red trailed his fingertips between her legs, longing for her to be ready for him again. His balls drew up tight at the slickness he found, but…something in the air had shifted. Something felt wrong.
He urged Piper onto her back and examined her face, but her expression was hard to decipher. Slowly, so slowly, he levered himself over her and dropped a kiss on her lips. And another.
Only when she began responding again, wrapping her arms around his waist and spreading her legs wide so he could settle between them, did Red release her mouth and move lower. He dwelled on her beautiful breasts, working his way out of his boxer briefs while he sucked and nibbled at her.
When she whimpered, he reached down and carefully stroked her cleft. Now—now Piper was ready again, gripping Red’s head and shoulders, digging her nails into his skin. He scrabbled for a condom in the bedside drawer, hissing as he tried to work it over himself.
Finally, though, he was arching back and entering her in one smooth thrust. “Okay, sweetheart?” he asked, holding steady even though it felt like it might kill him.
“Yes. Please, just—”
He watched Piper’s face for any sign of discomfort, but she pressed her head back into his pillow, squeezing her eyes shut against his gaze. Her lovely, plush mouth dropped open on a silent inhale.
God, she was a vision. So sweet and soft, Red wished he could kiss Piper everywhere at once. After only a few more delectable thrusts, he needed to get closer. So, he dropped onto his forearms and pressed his chest against hers, then slid into her tight heat again. Piper whimpered like she was getting close. Her legs locked around his hips and her arms clung to his ribcage.
Red tried to capture her mouth with his, but their pace was too rushed to maintain the contact. Before long, all he could do was bury his face in her fragrant hair and cling to the sound of Piper’s cries as they spent themselves once more.
THEY L
AID LIKE that for a long time afterward, frozen in a tangle of hot, heavy limbs. When he could bear to move again, Red reached toward the lamp. He wanted to appreciate every inch of Piper, spread out next to him like a decadent gift from some underworld god.
Instead, he was taken aback to see the flat look in her eyes, and not the soaring happiness he was feeling. It was resignation, perhaps, but not bliss. Fuck.
He’d been certain Piper was enjoying herself as much as he was. All the signs were there. But as Red well knew, sometimes a body and a brain weren’t exactly in sync. Add in a heart, and you had the makings of one hell of a wreck.
He brushed a tendril of hair off her cheek. “What’s wrong, little dove? What happened?”
Piper’s eyes slid away, and she opened her lips to speak.
Red had a very bad feeling about what she was about to say. “I swear to God, honey—don’t even try to tell me nothing.”
She stayed quiet for several excruciating minutes, during which Red attempted to remain calm and review what they’d done. He hadn’t hurt her, had he? He’d been slightly wild, but they’d both been that.
Right?
Or was Red inexpressibly clueless? Had his lack of restraint just deep-sixed the first promising relationship he’d had in years—if ever?
Piper spoke up, “Do you think you might be this way because of the peanut allergy? Or is it something else?”
Red paused, confused by her direction. “What way?”
“You know. Kind of…controlling.”
“Kind of?” Red snorted.
Piper shrugged. “I was just thinking that maybe because you can’t really control what other people do regarding the food thing, maybe it makes you want to control other things more.”
“I really don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t think so, but I suppose I’ve never really thought about it that way.”
“Except, on some level, you’re thinking about it every day. Every time you put something in your mouth.”
The Titan Was Tall (Triple Threat Book 1) Page 18
