Red Hunted_An MFM Ménage Romance Read online

  “You give the camera a much cooler goodbye than you do a stranger in a hotel room,” Wyatt said, as Parker stashed his baby in its padded carrying case.

  Parker clenched his jaw.

  At least the tension was still present without the booze. Fiona resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and turned to Wyatt. “Are you stopping in Colorado, or flying through?” It seemed a little convenient he’d be on the same flight as them, but if he had to head east, it made sense he’d want to leave early.

  Besides, she and Parker were the only people here not wearing business suits, so they were the ones who would seem more out of place on the painfully early commuter flight.

  “Flying through.” Wyatt patted the seat next to him. “Heading to Indianapolis.”

  Too bad he’d probably be gone by the time she and Parker got there. “That’s wh—”

  “One hell of a city.” Parker talked over her.

  She stared at him. What was his problem?

  WYATT KNEW FIONA WAS going to say That’s where we’ll be in a few days. He might not be Chuck’s favorite guy right now, due to Grammie’s contract’s being up in the air, but it only took a five-minute call to Tony, who worked reception for Grammie’s, to get a copy of Parker and Fiona’s schedule for the next month. A little flirting on Wyatt’s part, accompanied by the assurance they were telling the internet anyway, and he had what he needed.

  He handed Fiona a card with his name and number scribbled on it. Not an official business card. The last thing he needed was them figuring out he worked for the competition. “If you’re in Indianapolis in the next couple of weeks or Atlanta after that, look me up,” he told her. “I promise no more Big Bad Wolf lines.”

  “Don’t extend the offer to be polite.” Parker’s retort had a bite to it.

  Wyatt apparently had rubbed Parker the wrong way in more ways than one.

  Fiona took the card and gave Wyatt a warm smile. “Ignore him. He’s not a morning person. Maybe we’ll run into each other again.” She was almost like a different person this morning. Still reserved, but not as shy. He liked that.

  “I hope so,” Wyatt said. He figured things would go one of two ways—either Parker and Fiona wouldn’t make it past Week One, which meant Wyatt didn’t have to worry about them, or he’d find a way to become a part of their adventure by the time they left Indianapolis. He was hoping for the second. There was a lot of potential with these two, and he wanted to have some fun before it all came crashing down.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” The airline employee’s greeting over the loudspeaker cut into the conversation. “We have a short flight to Colorado this morning, with continuing service to Indianapolis. At this time, we’d like to invite all platinum members to board.”

  Wyatt gave Fiona and Parker one final smile, stood, and slung the strap of his laptop bag over his shoulder. “Enjoy your flight, and good luck with the competition.”

  “Thanks.” Parker’s reply was flat. He and Fiona fell into step behind Wyatt, to join the platinum members’ line.

  Wyatt glanced at Parker’s camera bag. He should have noticed the conspicuous silver tag earlier. The guy traveled a lot, based on his videos. Of course he’d have things like frequent-flier miles racked up.

  Wyatt kept half an ear on their conversation as they drifted from one topic to the next.

  “...looking forward to Tampa...” That was Fiona, excitement lining her words.

  “...roller coaster you’ll love...” Parker’s voice held as much enthusiasm, but with a hint of adoration. “...the gulf, but from the Texas side...”

  Wyatt tuned them out. He already had their schedule, and the ease and affection of their conversation gnawed at a part of him he needed to keep dead—the pit inside that tried to remind him not everyone was out to screw someone over. That pit lied and got him in trouble every time he listened to it.

  A few minutes later he boarded, stashed his laptop in the overhead bin, and settled in his seat. One of the best things about flying this early was the lack of other passengers. A plane this small didn’t have a true business class section, but at six in the morning, there weren’t so many people squeezed in here that it was difficult to move.

  When Parker and Fiona took the seats across the aisle, Wyatt hid his smirk. This should give him the chance to get better acquainted with one of them during the flight. He’d put money on Fiona sitting by the window, after the awe in her voice at the idea of seeing Tampa Bay and Disney World for the first time. She’d probably read when she wasn’t watching the scenery below. Parker struck him as being the chatty guy who would want company, which gave Wyatt a chance to break past that defensive barrier.

  His theories crumbled when Fiona nudged Parker into the row first. “I’ll take the window next time,” she said. “You know you want to sleep a little longer, and you’ll be more comfortable there.”

  Parker grinned and dropped into his spot. “You’re too good to me. When we get to Denver, we’re going to brunch. Best place this side of the country.”

  “You don’t have to bribe me.” Fiona sat and pulled out her phone. “But I’m not going to turn you down, either. Brunch. Dinner. Mountain hikes. I want to do it all.”

  Wyatt would rather spend the flight working than listen to the two of them in their too-good-to-be-real bubble of glee. He scanned his email while the flight attendants went through their standard demonstration, and then he grabbed the magazine from the seatback in front of him, to flip through while the plane taxied.

  Ads. Articles posing as ads. Hype. Several of them for his employer. They spent millions a year on these stupid promo pieces, but his boss had grumbled at the expense request Wyatt made for this trip.

  But the Grammie’s contract was too important for them to let slip away, so Wyatt talked his way into approval without too much drama.

  He turned at the sound of a frustrated huff. Parker was already asleep, and Fiona stared at her phone with a scowl.

  “Problems?” Wyatt asked.

  She looked up. “Nothing big. I thought I synced my books onto the device, but the one I wanted isn’t here.”

  “What are you reading? Or hoping to read?” Maybe he’d found his conversation after all.

  Pink tinged her cheeks. “Nothing you’ve heard of.”

  He wasn’t sure if that was disdain or discomfort. “Don’t judge.” He winked. “Despite the good looks, I’m also well-read and intelligent.”

  Her raised brows said more about what she thought of that than her lack of response.

  “It’s true.” He chuckled. “I’ve even read the classics, though I was never a fan of Dickens.”

  “Me neither. He’s wordy, pedantic, and dry.”

  Wyatt nodded at the empty window seat next to him. “Join me? And tell me what you’re reading. You’d be surprised what I’ve heard of. Or if you prefer to watch the landscape below...”

  “I can’t impose.”

  “You’d rather stare at the seat in front of you for the next hour, while your buddy sleeps?” Wyatt asked. “Keep me company.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip. He’d seen that a lot in his life—usually a conscious effort at flirting or seduction. Fiona doing it looked unintentional, and that was far more attractive. “All right.” She unsnapped her seatbelt and moved across the aisle.

  He half-rose to let her slip past, and her intoxicating scent—jasmine and soap—drilled into his thoughts.

  They both sat again, and she turned her attention to the window. “The ground always looks fake from this high up.”

  “A bit like a children’s playset.” That was a more appropriate response than a lot of things do if you examine them from the right angle.

  “Exactly.” She continued to stare through the Plexiglas. Seconds ticked away.

  “It was The Siren,” she said. “Told you you’d never heard of it.”

  She meant the book missing from her phone. Sexy, aggressive-but-lost heroine. A not-hero. And the ending.
.. He understood why she’d blushed; the book had its share of hot, explicit sex. It seemed Red had a wicked streak hiding underneath. Electricity rolled over him. He wouldn’t mind uncovering and feeding that streak. “I’ve not only heard of it, it’s one of my favorite books.”

  “You don’t have to say that to make conversation.” She looked at him.

  No, he didn’t. But he did feel obligated to prove he wasn’t an illiterate chest thumper. “Is this your first time through the book, or are you re-reading it?”

  “I’ve been through it a few times.” The corners of her mouth twitched in an unformed smile.

  Given the book’s in-depth exploration of BDSM lifestyles, his dick jumped to about fifty conclusions in half a second, all of them involving ropes or spanking, and none of them making it easy for his big brain to carry on the intelligent side of this conversation. Ask her if she wants to join the mile-high club. No. He needed this relationship to last beyond sex in an airplane bathroom. And he, not his penis, needed to talk to her. “Then the ending, with the gift...”

  “And the leaving and the getting back together.” She grinned. “Such a good story.” Reservation faded from her voice, leaving excitement and joy in its place.

  “I completely agree.”

  She twisted her mouth.

  He didn’t know what to make of it. “What?” Now that he had her talking, he wasn’t ready to let the conversation lapse.

  “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a romance guy.”

  He couldn’t hide his disgust. Romance—the concept in general—was for suckers and idiots. No reason to say that out loud. “Romance is for suckers and idiots.” Oops. “I used to like the illusion of happily-ever after, but it’s one of those things that reads as so fake to me now, I can’t do it. The Siren is literary. It’s erotic. It’s not romance.”

  “Does it hurt to be so jaded?” A current of seriousness marred her teasing question.

  “Hurts a lot less than the alternative.” He clenched his jaw. He shouldn’t be skimming the surface of this part of himself with a stranger. Then again, she was smart. She’d see through his bullshit if there wasn’t at least a hint of truth to it. The best lies were based on reality.

  She studied him, green eyes seeming to reach past his surface, for secrets he didn’t even show himself. “Almost all stories have romance in them. What are you reading instead?” she asked.

  “You tell me.” He wanted to steer this back to superficial. Twice now they’d talked, and twice now she’d nudged him toward an intensity he didn’t like. He needed to watch himself with her, going forward. “Are you thinking I’m more of a Stephen King kind of guy? Or John Grisham?”

  “Honestly? I’m having a hard time thinking past the image of you, reading a Harlequin paperback with some shirtless cowboy in the front, and not caring who saw you in some random airport terminal.”

  “Never cowboys.” His disgust was more playful this time. “Grew up around the not-quite-real thing. They’re not for me.”

  She wrinkled her nose and searched his face. It was a cute look on her. “Hmm... Not CEOs or Sheiks. That would be too close to your reality. Firefighters, maybe.”

  He wanted to ask what too close to your reality meant but was concerned it might take them down that serious path again. “The books have heroines too. Maybe I don’t care what he’s like, as long as she’s the perfect combination of intelligent, reserved, and loyal.” Not that anyone was actually loyal.

  “Sounds very specific.” Amusement danced in her eyes. “Policemen, then?”

  He chuckled. “I’m a sucker for uniforms of any kind. Or I was. These days, I prefer high fantasy.”

  “Because romance is too unrealistic.” She rolled her eyes, but her smile never faded.

  “Yup. Give me dragons over love any day.”

  “In that case, back to your question. I would have pegged you as a suspense guy,” Fiona said.

  Stalkers and psychopaths? No, thank you. He didn’t know if it was worse when the authors got it right or when they got it wrong. “Too much like reality for my taste.”

  A whisper of a frown crossed her face, and he was grateful when she didn’t push for details. The conversation drifted from books to how different the mountains looked from twenty-five thousand feet, to her work.

  He was looking for an excuse to not give her more details about his job, when the attendant announced they were beginning their final approach.

  “I should get back to my seat before we land.” Fiona stood as much as was possible under the overhead bin.

  Wyatt shifted to let her pass, but grabbed her wrist when she stepped into the aisle. “Wait.”

  She watched him with expectation. He rested a hand at the base of her neck and brushed his lips over hers. The light contact sparked over his nerves and stole his breath. A silly kiss shouldn’t do that to him.

  She blushed. “What was that?”

  “I had to know what it was like when I had my wits about me,” he said smoothly.

  “And?”

  “Worth it.” He dipped his head to her ear. “Look me up when you get to Indiana.”

  She looked surprised when he pulled back. “How did you...?”

  “Anyone could have guessed that was what you were going to say in the airport. I’ll be there for a week. Bring your friend, or not. It’s up to you.”

  “All right.” She gave him a shy smile and returned to her spot next to Parker.

  That went well. Possibly too well. If this was a movie, he’d be half a scene from getting fucked in a very bad way.

  Fortunately, real life wasn’t a movie.

  Chapter Eight

  Fiona shifted against the upholstery of the Ford Fiesta—who drove these anymore?—and tried to find a place to put her knees that didn’t leave them pressed to her chest. She settled on a position with her legs tucked to the side.

  When she got back home in a month, she was adding a feature to the delivery app that required drivers to specify how big the back seat of their car was. She wasn’t sure how she’d justify it, once the Grammie’s marketing push was over and the drivers didn’t need room for three people in order to do their jobs, but she was making the change regardless. Out of some sort of after-the-fact spite or something.

  Parker sat next to the driver, chatting about random topics, camera rolling. He’d offered to let her take shotgun, but he needed to film, and it made more sense for him to do that from the front seat.

  “Why delivery driving?” Parker asked their guest star for the day. “Choice? Convenience? Nothing better to do?”

  The woman—Sally? Sharon? Fiona felt horrible she’d forgotten the name already—wore a pasted-on smile that showed off all her teeth. “I like not being in an office. The tips are nice. I get to meet new people.”

  The next day, their driver said something almost identical. The two might as well have been reading from a script. Driver number two looked more comfortable being filmed. He glanced at Parker. “You know what I mean. About the freedom, that is. You get to see the world.”

  “Are you a fan of my show?” Excitement nipped the edges of Parker’s voice.

  The driver’s smile wilted. “I watched an episode when they told me I had this chance. It’s a cute gig.”

  Fiona winced, grateful no one was looking at her, and Parker sank a few inches in his seat.

  The three days of deliveries in Denver blurred together as much as the conversations with the drivers.

  I can’t believe I’m on TV.

  Parker smiled widely and said “It’s YouTube. Which is the same, but better.”

  Of course. I knew that.

  Or, Sure, those videos for kids. Can I say hi to my mom?

  And, Can I wave to my dad?

  Even, I want to wish my kids a Happy Monday.

  Parker’s smile grew each time, until it looked stretched, but Fiona was certain only she saw that. “Of course,” he said. “Are they fans of my channel?”

  Your wha
t? Oh. No, they’re not.

  Fiona knew Parker didn’t expect everyone to watch the show, but when they checked into their hotel in Omaha, the morning of Day Four, he didn’t stand as straight, and his words were strained during his morning conversation with his viewers.

  Fiona hated seeing him like this. There were days when she’d watch his videos at home and see the circles under his eyes or hear the exhaustion in his voice. She’d always drop him a text or an email when she saw that, to make sure he was all right.

  He’d already assured her several times that he was fine.

  They had today off. With luck, that would help him recharge. They’d agreed they could share a room, since they were taking this trip together and it didn’t make sense to ignore each other at the end of every day. Maybe she could convince him to not film for a few hours, and they could stay in and unwind. Or go see the city through their own eyes.

  Because tomorrow was the last day of their week-long trial run for Grammie’s, and she didn’t want to see it flop.

  She tossed her bag onto her mattress and sat next to it. “What should we do first?”

  “Um... Hang on.” He pulled his laptop from its bag and set it on the desk. “Is there a Wi-Fi password in the hotel directory?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, and he said, “Never mind. Room numbers. I forgot.” His fingers flew across the keyboard, then tapped on the desk’s wood surface while he waited for pages to load. “Come on,” he muttered.

  She flopped onto her back to stare at the ceiling. Of course he had to check his insights first. The plummeting stats made the frown lines on his face deeper every evening.

  “I know your views aren’t as high as normal, but at least we’re doing this together. And having fun. That’s something,” she said.

  He made a sound that was half-growl, half-sigh. “Are you, really? Jammed into the backs of too-small cars, listening to people babble about how amazing cookies are and get offended they won’t see themselves on network TV? Are you really having fun?”

  “I’m enjoying your company.” Rather, she would be, if he’d spend less time pouting. She sat again and fixed a glare at his back.