The Titan Was Tall (Triple Threat Book 1)

by Kristen Casey

  “Why?”

  “You don’t seem to stock anything cheaper,” she declared.

  He snorted, “Nice try.”

  Piper huffed in irritation, but finally admitted, “I’m a little on edge.”

  “Again,” Red asked, “Why? Dying to be rid of me already?”

  “No, nothing like that.” She blew out a long, discouraged breath, then went over to slump onto the couch.

  Red grabbed the Macallan and followed. “What’s the matter, little dove?”

  “It’s just—this long-distance thing is tough, you know? I love being together, but it’s hard not to worry about how much time I’m spending away from home. My cats and my parents miss me. I’m completely burying my head about the work I need to do on my house. And…I’m writing, but not as much as I would be if I were home alone. I can’t start blowing deadlines, now. How awkward would that be, if PKM had to fire my ass?”

  Red sighed, feeling guilty. “I’m sorry. It’s selfish of me, dragging you up here and then convincing you to stay longer every time.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. You’ve come to see me, too. But your life is here, and mine is there, and there isn’t a good solution to that. We’re grownups, Red. We can’t just ignore our responsibilities because they’re inconvenient.”

  “That’s true. We can only do the best we can.”

  She turned her pretty caramel-colored eyes on him, and Red hated to see them brimming over.

  “What if our best isn’t enough?”

  “It will be.” He took her hands in his and ran his thumb over the ring he’d given her. It looked like it had been made for her. “What brought this on, anyway? Just worried about the flight, or something else?”

  Piper stared at the floor for a long time. “The neighbor kid found more water downstairs,” she admitted softly. “He couldn’t tell where it was coming from. With all the rain we’ve had, I’m worried it might not be the pipes this time. Maybe a window is leaking, or the roof. I need to get home and find out, though. I should’ve been there already.”

  “Oh God, I’m sorry to hear that. But I promise you—we’ll figure this out. Just trust me, okay? Trust us.”

  “I’m trying.”

  Red wasn’t sure he believed that, but now wasn’t the time to press the point. “I hope so,” he said. He hesitated a long time, but there really wasn’t any getting around it. “Your flight was canceled.”

  Piper dropped her head. “Yeah, I figured. I guess you’re stuck with me another night.”

  “You can stay as long as you like,” he told her. “But don’t worry. I’m sure everything will be fine in the morning. We’ll get you home one way or another.”

  “I know. Thanks.” Piper tried to shake off her gloomy mood and turned a brighter face on him. “We may as well make the best of it. Want to watch another movie? We can try that rice pudding mix you got.”

  “Not…not yet. I want to ask you something first.”

  “What is it?”

  “Have you thought any more about my offer? About me helping with the house?” Red desperately wanted to erase the heavy cloud of discouragement blanketing her, to restore the intimacy and comfort they usually shared.

  “Why do you care so much about this?” Piper sighed. “It’s my house and I’ll deal with it. Now, come on. We have some bonus time together, and after this, we might not get to see each other again for weeks.”

  Red scowled. No way would he let that happen. “I care because you care. Because it’s weighing on you, and I can help.”

  “Red, sometimes you’re too much, you know that?”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  Piper turned away and fussed with a piece of her hair. “And I’m not…” She trailed off. Dropped the hair and waved her hand vaguely around.

  “What? You’re not what?”

  “Not as much. We’re not the same. I don’t understand why I can see it, and you can’t.”

  Red exhaled. He did not like where Piper’s head was tonight, and he couldn’t shake the sense that maybe he was missing something—some vital detail that would make sense of all this. “Hey,” he murmured, “Come here.”

  He repositioned Piper until she was facing him on the couch, then slipped her sweater off her shoulders. Piper looked away while he ran his fingers over her, tracing her outline, etching her shape and feel deeper into his memory.

  After a while, he spoke again. “The thing is, you’re beautiful. That’s the first thought that hits a man over the head when you walk into a room,” he told her. “Punches him in the chest. Grabs hold of his dick and pulls.”

  He’d hoped to get her attention, and thankfully, it worked. Piper met his eyes and looked surprised.

  “But it’s all your other small sweetnesses that pile up and make it impossible not to worship you,” Red said.

  Piper opened her mouth to refute what she clearly viewed as insanity, so he laid his fingers lightly against her lips and shook his head.

  “Let me,” he whispered, then continued his recitation. “It’s your impossibly soft and fragrant hair. And your skin, too—stunning velvet against mine. It’s the curve of your throat and your delicate ankles, and it’s the veins that I can trace up the inside of your wrists, all the way to your elbows. It’s the tender, vulnerable heat behind your knees,” he explained.

  “Red, stop.”

  “No. Have I told you how much I adore your expressions? So many expressions. Your face is always changing, with a million different ways to smile and frown and weep. And your fingers—I’m crazy about how your fingers are always looking for my skin, and always finding it.”

  Piper went for a half-assed joke, but there was nothing that could dilute what he wanted her to hear. “Well, you’re one to talk,” she said. “Your fingers are pretty magical, too.”

  Red snorted, acknowledging that, but she ought to have known he wouldn’t be deterred. “All the little things,” he murmured, “Layer after layer after layer in an inescapable onslaught—a heady, bewitching net—that’s you, Piper.”

  She rested her hands on his shoulders, and he was surprised by how chilly they felt through his shirt. He pulled her sweater back around her before she could start shivering and wondered if he ought to turn up the heat.

  Piper tried deflection next. “You’re crazy.”

  “Maybe. I can’t for the life of me figure out how you haven’t been snapped up by someone else. But if you think for one moment, now that you’re mine, that I’m not going to do my damnedest to make sure you’re taken care of, then you’re the crazy one.”

  “Red, come on,” she sighed. “If I let you do this, then I’ll be no different than all those other women you so fondly labeled vultures.”

  “You are nothing like them, something I keep telling you. And you aren’t asking—I’m offering. Let me help with the house, Piper.”

  “Honestly? There’s so much to do, I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

  PIPER MIGHT NOT know where to start, but Red had a pretty good idea. Once she had fallen asleep with her head in his lap, while the cooking channel flickered silently on the television, Red dialed Tate’s number and left him a message.

  His buddy finally got back to him early the next morning, before Piper woke up. Red crept downstairs and answered before the call could go to voicemail.

  “Tate?”

  “What’s good, Holmes?” his old friend drawled. He sounded drunk—or exhausted. With Tate, they amounted to about the same thing.

  “Who dis?” Red retorted. “Do I know you?”

  “Better than your right hand, asshole. What’s up? I don’t have a ton of time.”

  “Okay. Didn’t you tell me you knew a dude working construction in the D.C. area one time?”

  “Yeah. Eric Whittier. He got out of the service last year and started his own remodeling business.”

  “He any good?”

  “From what I hear. But I can look into that more, see what I can find out. Can
I get back to you in a couple weeks?”

  “Nope. I need a name as soon as possible. Someone really good, and…” Red paused, then bit the bullet. Tate would find out soon enough, anyway. “No ‘fraternity members.’ You hear me?” It was their old code for ladies’ men, and Tate understood immediately.

  The fucker chuckled, though. “Could this be, perchance, for a lady friend? In the D.C. area?”

  “Maryland suburbs,” Red gritted out. “To be specific.”

  “You have a woman in Maryland, now? How the fuck did you manage that?”

  Red waited silently, wishing he could reach through the phone and throttle him.

  Tate laughed harder, not conceding. “You’re refusing to answer? That’s your strategy? You’re regressing, brother. Big time.”

  Red chuckled, but figured the silent treatment was still working fine. He kept at it.

  “For the love of God, I can picture your expression perfectly right now. Hang on, motherfucker. Lemme ask around for a minute.”

  Red tried to be patient, listening to the echoes of his old roommate joking and laughing with the guys in his unit. At least if they were happy, if they had time for everyday nonsense like this phone call, then it meant no one was shooting at them. One thing to be grateful for, at least.

  Finally, Tate came back on the line. “All right, Romeo, here you go. Word is, Whittier knows his shit. He’s based in Potomac. I’ll text you his number once we hang up.”

  “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

  “Roger that. And, for the record, Eric is reportedly a man’s man, not a ladies’ man. Happy now?”

  “Very. You staying safe?”

  “Not even a little bit,” Tate told him cheerfully.

  “You’re so predictable.” Red missed him, missed having friends nearby that wouldn’t stand for his shit, and who always had his back. It reverberated, deep in his chest. “When are you coming home?”

  “That, my friend, is classified.”

  Red wandered over to the new photos on his wall and found the one of him, Tate, and Luca at the party they’d thrown after Red took over from his dad at PKM. “Shocker. Okay, well, try not to get your junk shot off before I see you again.” Tate grinned back at him from the old black-and-white, hair as messy as always.

  “Trust me, bro, that’s priority number one. Gotta go.” And the line went dead.

  For the next hour, Red kept watching his phone and worrying, until Tate’s name finally popped up in his text messages. He thumbed it open to find a gif of a soldier, winking and blowing the smoke off the muzzle of his gun. For now, the ‘handsome’ member of their little trio was still alive and well, and Red fervently hoped he’d stay that way.

  Seconds later, a text arrived with a link to Eric Whittier’s webpage. Tate had managed to make himself useful, even from six thousand miles away. That stud.

  His determination solidified, Red went to wake up Piper so she wouldn’t be late for her new flight.

  TWENTY-NINE

  TWO WEEKS LATER, they were right back at it again. Red had found a couple of free days in his schedule and blown into town with a vengeance. Unfortunately for Piper, he’d noticed the two bum windows in her family room within moments of arriving.

  “What’s that all about?” he demanded, a tremendous scowl on his face.

  Piper sighed. This was not going to help her I’ve got it covered defense. “That is where the water was coming in when my flight got canceled. I tried to caulk them once everything dried out, but it didn’t really work. I think the wood is too old and warped.”

  Red strode over to examine what he could through the heavy plastic Piper had taped over the frames. It wasn’t pretty, but at least it let light through, and it kept out the rain.

  “My dad took a look a couple days ago,” she added. “He said he might be able to order some replacement parts or something.”

  Red glanced over his shoulder at her. “Are these the original windows?”

  “Oh no, of course not. My mom and dad had those replaced years ago.”

  “How many years ago?” He poked around the edges, and the crinkling plastic spooked Sonny, dozing in a patch of sun in the corner. The cat jumped up, shook his head, and stalked off into the kitchen.

  “Umm, let me see. I remember getting ready to go to school when the guys came out. That must have been kindergarten, maybe? Or was it first grade?”

  “Piper! That was nearly thirty years ago!” he blurted, giving her the universal, palms-out WTF gesture.

  Like she didn’t realize this was a problem. “So?” she said, knowing it would only rile him up further.

  “So, your dad isn’t going to be able to find parts for these. They probably need to be replaced altogether.”

  Piper bit her lip, thinking back to her dad’s supreme annoyance. He’d stomped around grumbling, muttering under his breath about still having to fix the impossible, despite having finally unloaded the damn place.

  “Yeah, we’re not going to tell him that. Dad is definitely going to sit out that discussion.”

  Red crossed his arms over his broad chest and leaned against the wall. “First the pipes, and now the windows. Jesus, Piper, you don’t mess around, do you?”

  Piper shuffled over to her favorite armchair and dropped into it. “I know. And they’re both so bad. Are the pipes worse than the windows? I don’t know. I don’t know what to do, and I just wish it was someone else’s problem. You know? Just…someone tell me what to do.”

  Red’s expression changed subtly, but it transformed his face. One minute he was a brooding, grumpy bear, and the next—the next that sexy glint had come into his eyes. His lips had quirked up in a sardonic smirk that told Piper she’d said something dirty without meaning to. He straightened and headed right for her.

  “Tell you what to do, huh?” he growled, low and dangerous.

  Piper’s breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t speak and she couldn’t take her eyes off him, so she nodded, quick and fast.

  “Then get down on your knees, sweetheart,” he barked. “I’ve missed you.” Red advanced on her, his hands dropping to unfasten his belt buckle.

  A small sound escaped Piper’s mouth—a half-snort, half-giggle kind of sound. It wasn’t very accommodating of her. She stifled it as quickly as she could and slid down onto the carpet.

  But Red was staring at her, and he quickly noted the mirth that must be dancing in her eyes. He froze.

  “What?” he demanded.

  Her neck was starting to ache from having to look up that far. Another betraying squeak snuck out. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever asked how tall you are before. You’ve got to be, what? 6’3? 6’4?” Piper was undershooting, and she didn’t care.

  “6’6, actually,” he responded.

  “Holy smokes. It’s kind of hilarious, to be honest, because I’m not sure this position is going to work the way you’re intending. I mean, I’m way down here, and unless things have changed substantially since last I saw you, even your very generous endowments wouldn’t be able to span the—”

  “I’m begging you to stop talking,” Red stated calmly and clearly.

  Piper didn’t. She was getting a kick out of his discomfiture, all of a sudden. She said, “Why are you so freaking serious?”

  Red took a step back and sank onto the couch, looking like serious was kind of the point. Was it?

  “Freaking?” he asked her. “How old are we right now?”

  Piper settled back onto her heels, feeling far more chipper than she had moments before. “I’m 33. You?”

  Red looked like he was trying to get a handle on how his badass sex plan was sliding so far sideways. “36.”

  He eyed her, perched on the floor in front of him. Not tractable, not in the least. And miraculously not depressed anymore, either. Piper had missed him, too.

  “You’re very cute, you know that?” he grumbled.

  She struggled to mask the reflexive flinch that always accompanied that
dumb word, but Red never missed a trick.

  Immediately, a deep divot formed between his eyebrows, and he said, “Come here.”

  When Piper rose and stepped close, he spread his knees and pulled her between them. Red looped his arms loosely around her waist and looked gratified when she rested hers on his shoulders.

  Touch was good. Touch would anchor her through whatever he was about to make her say. Piper lightly brushed the short hairs on his nape with her fingers and watched with interest as a shiver snaked through him.

  She should concentrate, though.

  “Tell me,” he instructed her, “What’s wrong with being cute?”

  “Nothing. On the face of it.” Piper focused on a spot on the wall, avoiding his too-keen eyes.

  Red tried again. “Care to elaborate?”

  Blandly, she intoned, “Cute is exactly the same sort of compliment as nice.” Like that cleared things up—both were insidious curses.

  “Last time I checked, most people like cute and nice things.”

  Piper winced again, just a little. With all her emotional repression going on, Red would be lucky if he got one straight word out of her—but at least she knew he enjoyed challenges.

  “People like white bread, too,” she retorted. “But white bread isn’t exactly out there tilting the world on its axis, is it?” She stood stiff and inflexible in his arms.

  Red’s expression cleared, but in the wake of it came the realization that he was going to make Piper admit what she wasn’t saying out loud. Now that he had uncovered a problem, he’d clearly decided to goad her until she coughed up the goods.

  “I’m not sure I see the problem,” he said silkily.

  “Let me put it this way,” Piper explained. “I doubt very much that someone like…like…Salma Hayek gets called cute regularly. Or, uh…” she gestured loosely, nearly cuffing him on the ear, “Eva Mendes.”

  “Okay, so those actresses play roles. Tempestuous, volatile roles,” Red countered.

  They also had a completely different look than Piper—but she’d leave that alone for the moment. “Yeah but see—you say that with the teensiest bit of admiration in your voice.”