“Me too. But that’s not getting my stats up, and it doesn’t pay the bills.” He dropped his face into his hands. “That came out wrong. I’m sorry.”
“I get it.” She struggled to keep the irritation from leaking into her voice. “You’re trying hard to balance the Grammie’s contract with the status-quo, and it’s not as carefree as you’re used to.”
He scrubbed his face. “You don’t get it. Every time you say shit like that, I can tell you don’t even come close to getting it.”
The venom in his voice caught her off-guard. “I’m trying.”
“That’s part of the problem.” He looked at her, gaze boring into her. “What you’re trying to do is make this lifestyle fit in with the one you’ve built up as the Parker doesn’t care about anything world in your head. I know you don’t have a lot of respect for what I do, and for some reason, even though you know me, you think the person on camera is the same as the person in real life. And none of that is helping right now.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, anger and hurt warring inside. She wasn’t interested in a repeat of the argument they had before she agreed to this, and snapping at him when he was in this mood wouldn’t solve anything. “What can I do?” That should be a safe question.
He worked his jaw up and down, his frown deepening. “I don’t know. We’re locked into this contract. If it all crashes and burns, we can keep going within the rules of the competition, without having to do this dull-as-fuck Grammie’s bullshit. Unless my ratings kill my chances before then.”
“This was your idea.” She struggled to keep a grasp on sympathy.
“I know. God damn it, I know that.”
She wouldn’t shout back. She wouldn’t let this escalate. “Maybe do some brainstorming before tomorrow’s deliveries? Ask your viewers what they want to see. You’ve done that before.”
“I’ve given them multiple-choice options, like sushi or barbecue for dinner. I’m not stupid enough to open up the forum and let them just toss ideas out. What good is that going to do me?”
She let out a long, slow breath between clenched teeth, and glared at him. “I’ll call Nick now and tell him to cancel the contract with Grammie’s. This isn’t supposed to make you miserable.” That meant she and Nick would lose the contract as well, and it gnawed at her that Parker might be selfish enough about his drive to escape the world that he’d do that to them.
She reached for her phone.
Parker groaned, pushed to his feet, and came to sit next to her. When he covered her hand and took her phone away, a shock of heat seared from his palm and up her arm. “Don’t.” The frustration had bled from his voice, leaving tiredness in its place. “We’ll figure something out. You and me. Please?”
“All right.” The agreement didn’t take the sharp edges off her mood, but she wasn’t ready to give up and go home, and she hated fighting with Parker.
He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into him. “There’s an art museum in town. I’ll leave the camera at home, and we’ll go see Omaha.”
“Sounds fun.” She forced happiness she didn’t feel into her response.
PARKER HAD A LOT OF practice wearing a mask for his channel. He rarely missed a day of posting, regardless of how he felt. Today, as he knocked on the door for their final delivery, he hated that mask. Wanted to rip it off and never pick it up again.
Fiona was trying to be nice. Which made things worse. If she’d listen to him, rather than shut him out for the sake of getting along, he might be able to make her see.
Scratch that. She might never understand. Sure, this was a lot of fun, and he was one of those lucky few people who got to do what they loved for a living, but it was still his fucking job.
When the door opened and he found himself face-to-face with Cora Welton, his simmering anger seared through his gut and landed in his shoes.
“Oh.” Fiona’s voice was soft behind him.
Parker was grateful for the mask again. “Hey. It’s been a long time.” What else was he supposed to say to the sister of the girlfriend he lost to a car accident nearly a decade ago?
“Delivery from Grammie’s.” Their driver-de-jour stepped forward and handed Cora the box.
“Thanks.” She never took her attention off Parker, as she set the cookies out of sight. “Wow. It’s really you. I had to see it for myself to believe it. I just... I can’t.” She looked past him, at Fiona, and he followed her gaze, jerking his head back at the last second, so he wouldn’t catch her in the shot. “I always knew he was an asshole, but not only is he still running, you’re with him,” Cora said to Fiona.
Bile burned up Parker’s throat at the accusation that he was running, and he fumbled for a retort. An apology. Something.
“We all miss Gretchen.” Fiona stepped up next to him. Her voice was kind but didn’t leave any room for argument. “But it’s been ten years. Moving on doesn’t mean he didn’t—doesn’t—care.”
Cora sneered. “Which might sound more sincere if the two of you hadn’t moved on while she was still here.”
An invisible fist clenched around Parker’s heart. No one knew he and Fiona were almost a couple back then.
“I’m gonna wait in the car,” the delivery driver said.
“That was the only reason she was out that night,” Cora said. “Drunk. Leaving me tear-filled voicemails. Not paying attention. She found out about the two of you.”
“I’m sorry. If I could take it back, I would.” Fiona’s voice cracked.
No. Bullshit. Parker didn’t like the way that part of his past had unfolded, but he didn’t regret anything that happened with Fiona. “We didn’t do anything.” That was true. He and Fiona agreed he’d break things off with Gretchen first, and then they’d figure out where they stood. “I hate how things turned out. Every day I wonder how it would be if it went differently, and I beat myself up over her death, but we have to go on living.”
“Why? Gretchen didn’t get to. You lied to her. You broke her heart. And in return, her name was smeared across local papers for being an irresponsible killer, while you’re seeing the world, pretending the past doesn’t exist.” Hate spilled from Cora.
Parker forced ice through his veins. It was the only way to keep himself from saying something he’d regret. He shut off the camera. “I’m sorry. I can’t say that enough, but it won’t change things.” It took more strength than he thought he had to get the words out without choking on the past.
“Fuck you.” Cora slammed the door.
“We’re done.” He couldn’t look at Fiona. Didn’t dare see the pity or fury or grief in her eyes. He turned and stared at the delivery driver instead, surprised the guy was still here. “You’ll have to finish the rest of the route alone.”
“Yeah, no. It’s cool. I mean, obviously the whole thing isn’t, but... Do you need a lift somewhere?”
“No, thanks. Our hotel is only a few blocks away.” It was actually a mile or two, but he needed to collect his thoughts.
Neither he nor Fiona spoke on the walk back.
His guilt and anger hadn’t faded, when they reached their room. He flung the door open, and cringed at the bang when it bounced off the wall.
“I didn’t realize.” Fiona’s voice was soft behind him.
“What?” He forced himself to look at her. “That Gretchen knew you and I lov—cared about each other? She wasn’t blind. Or that I still feel guilty about how she reacted?” If they kept talking, he’d push Fiona’s buttons, and he didn’t know if he had the power to care. The hurt in Fiona’s gaze—the way it reflected his own—was worse than anything else she could have thrown at him.
“I figured you still cared. Still felt bad about it. Or you wouldn’t be running.”
He was so fucking sick of people accusing him of hiding from this. “For the last God damned time, I’m not fucking running from anything, except—” He snapped his jaw shut before he could say what he was thinking. There was no way this was the right
time for admitting he still harbored a ten-year-old crush to go with that ten-year-old guilt.
“Except what?” Fiona asked.
“Forget it. I’m sorry. About what happened back there, about... Forget it.”
“No.” She squared her shoulders. “We’ve got at least three more weeks together—longer if this goes well—but you’ve been hiding something from me since you asked me to come with you on this trip. What do you want from me, Parker? Why am I here? Why are you making yourself miserable, to do this? What’s the point?”
“We’re not having this conversation. Not now.” Not while emotions raged and wounds were fresh and he wasn’t thinking straight.
“And if I push the issue, then what? You’ll send me home? Because you twisted and manipulated things to get me here, and I want to enjoy it. It’s taking some adjusting, but I’m willing to admit this might be good for me. And what happened back there with Cora? That hurts. Believe me, it’s gnawing me from the inside out. But it’s an old scar, and I cried myself out ten years ago. And nine. And eight. And now I want to know why you’re shutting me out. Is it about what Cora said? Because I have a feeling there’s more.”
“Fine.” If things were going to hurt, might as well reopen every wound associated with the past. “I didn’t leave because of Gretchen. I’m sorry, and I hate that it happened, and everything I’ve already said, but I left because of you.”
“I... What?” Fiona frowned.
And Parker’s resolve faltered. He steeled himself. “I can’t stand the way you push me to arm’s length. All. The. Fucking. Time. You go out of your way to convince everyone we’re just friends. Each time you say that, you might as well knife me in the heart.” He stepped closer, gaze locked on hers, as he searched for any reaction to his words. He didn’t know how to interpret the flicker he saw.
She moved back as he advanced, watching him, her brow furrowed and her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Fuck, why did she have to do that? She stopped when she collided with the counter in the kitchenette. “What am I supposed to say instead?”
“I don’t want you to say anything you don’t mean. If that’s what we are, it’s fine. But I want to know what happened to the almost-more we had back then. I wanted you here because I want to see if that still exists. This trip, this invitation—all of it is about you. How much I want you and how much I need you to start seeing me. Not the guy in front of the camera, but me.” He didn’t mean to let that much slip out. Hell, he’d never put it all into words in his own head before. It left him raw and exposed.
“Okay.”
He didn’t know what she meant by that, and he didn’t have the brainpower left to interpret it, so he let instinct drive his actions. He tangled his fingers in her hair and crushed his lips to hers, needing to feel something besides pain.
For a blink, when she froze at his touch, he swore his heart stopped. When she kissed him back, molding her body to his and digging her fingers into his chest, a wave crashed over him, muffling everything bad.
He gripped Fiona’s hips, lifted her to sit on the counter, and slid between her legs. He needed to be closer. To lose himself in the moment. A tiny voice in the back of his head whispered this was the wrong way to do things, and he silenced it. Fuck propriety and consequences and tomorrow morning. He needed this now, and the way she clung to him said she did too.
Chapter Nine
Fiona groaned against Parker’s mouth and dove into need—his, hers, all of it. Logic tried to point out she wasn’t doing this for the right reasons. It was the same logic that almost talked her into passing up this trip and that picked fights with Parker, and she was sick of listening to it.
She could vanish in this—his grip in her hair and the way it tugged at her scalp, his legs against the inside of her thighs, and the soft fabric of his T-shirt against her fingertips.
He yanked her head back, to suck along her neck, and she gasped at the sharp sting. Her head was a mess, her heart wasn’t doing any better, and he felt so good. She’d wondered for ages what it would be like to have more with Parker, and damn it, she was going to find out. This was better than thinking.
She wanted to experience more. She pulled he bottom of his shirt, and he took the hint and broke away long to yank it over his head and toss it aside. Parker’s scent, musk and deodorant, drilled into her senses and helped shove all thought further to the back of her mind.
She raked her nails up his back, drawing him closer, and he hissed against her neck.
“I don’t have any condoms.” His lips vibrated on her skin.
One more thing she didn’t want to think about it. “I’m on birth control. Anything I should be worried about?”
“No.” He unhooked her bra, and stripped that and her top off. When he lowered his head to one nipple and trailed his tongue along the swollen skin, any response she had evaporated.
He alternated between sucking and nibbling, sending a rhythm of pleasure and desire dancing through her. The sensations focused in her belly, as if yanking a cord, and then traveled lower. Every time he ground against her, his erection digging into her mound, she felt the dampness between her legs.
Every touch from Parker, no matter where, was a new spark of need. It was as if her entire body was an erogenous zone. She dropped one hand, to cup his shaft through his jeans. He pressed into her palm with a moan, pumping his hips in response to her stroking.
“God. I need you, Red.” His voice was gravelly.
“Me too.” She undid his pants and worked him free. His dick was hot against her skin. Hard and eager. When she dragged her thumb over the head, she smeared a drop of precum.
“Fuck this. I’ve been dreaming about you too long to be patient.”
His words flared white hot inside her, burning away the last of her reserve. He dreamed about her? In a fumble of hands and shifted weight, she helped him tear off her jeans. His hung off his hips, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, to pull him back to her.
When he thrust inside her, fast and slick and without hesitation, it stretched her out. It was an exquisite ache, and she arched her back.
She tried to set the pace, wanting to feel him pound against her, but he gripped her hips tight. “I’m already going to have a hard time lasting,” he said. “You feel incredible. Don’t rush it.”
She pouted, and he nipped at her bottom lip before kissing her hard again. Despite his words, he built to a fast pace, slamming deep. She’d never had sex like this. Not this intense or desperate.
With each thrust of his hips, he hit something inside her that made her clench around him, needing more. She was pushed near climax, but she didn’t think she could come from penetration alone. She’d never even done that with toys.
He lowered his head to her breast again and drew a nipple into his mouth. The hard sucking mingled with the well already brimming in her, and orgasm washed over her. She gripped him tighter with her legs, not wanting him to stop—needing to ride this wave.
“Jesus.” He moved his mouth back to her shoulder, bit hard, and fucked her harder. His groans became short grunts, and he spilled inside her. She didn’t want to let him go. They should be able to stay wrapped in this moment forever.
As the heightened pleasure faded, he slowed, then stopped.
She rested her forehead on his chest, not daring to speak. Not wanting to ruin the invisible shell encasing them. He leaned more of his weight against her and the counter.
If she spoke, she’d have to reach into the part of her brain that could think. The bit that would assault her with logic. She wasn’t ready to deal with that.
WATCHING PARKER’S CHANNEL had become part of Wyatt’s morning routine more quickly than he wanted to admit. The first few days, he told himself it was research for work. He needed to know if Parker and Fiona would make it past Week Οne.
Wyatt settled into the easy chair in the corner of his hotel room, coffee in hand and laptop perched on the edge of the bed, and clicked Play on yester
day’s delivery video. He was at the point where he had to admit he enjoyed Parker’s work, though it took him sifting through a few months of archives to reach that conclusion.
Parker had earned his subscriber count and page views; the guy oozed charm in front of the camera. He was the perfect balance of relatable and confident.
This week, with the Grammie’s shots, something was off. Parker still shone, smile in place and easy-going attitude at the forefront, but it wasn’t genuine anymore. The guy was hiding fifty shades of misery.
Wyatt had a feeling the Grammie’s contract was one yawn away from crashing and burning for the competition. By the time his meeting with Chuck rolled around, he’d have a proposal in hand and no little startup delivery app to contend with.
A shout from his speakers drew his attention, and he watched an argument unfold between Fiona, Parker, and someone who had a lot to say about an ex-girlfriend. Correction—deceased girlfriend. It was beyond awkward to watch, but Wyatt couldn’t tear his gaze away.
Parker was quick to defend the past and just as diligent in keeping Fiona off-camera. As he cut the recording, he faltered on both parts before the screen went blank.
He stared at the black rectangle on his laptop, processing what he’d witnessed. Parker and Fiona were almost more once. That explained the spark between them and why they fought against it so hard.
He almost felt guilty, watching that intimate moment unfold. It was worse realizing that a few hundred thousand other people had done the same. He looked at the views. Correction—more than a million. The clip was climbing toward being the top viewed ever on Parker’s channel.
As Wyatt studied the pained look on Fiona’s face at the end, the anguish in Parker’s voice... There was definitely a bit of feeling bad for them going on.
A look at the comments told him the audience wasn’t as sympathetic.
It’s about time this show got good.
Red Hunted_An MFM Ménage Romance Page 6
