In Plain Sight by Hope Anika

Chapter Nine

“So here’s the deal:Tex is a no-show, which means I need someone to run the .22. I can do it, but that puts you in the wagon with Lena, which doesn’t work, because you’re both green. You’re too…you to work the duck pond, and Ares will have kittens if I take him out of the balloon joint, so you’re going to get a crash course in how to run the short-range, and tonight, you’re my operator.”

Rye stared down at Fiona from where he stood, leaning against the corner of the trailer that housed the .22 game. It was the perfect spot from which to take in the midway, the long stretch of games and food trailers that led to the white-capped beer tent like a blinking arrow.

The popcorn wagon was only a handful of feet away, Selena’s bright red hair like a flame through the windows. A handful of people lingered here and there; most were hanging prizes, lifting awnings, and getting ready to open. The band was warming up in the beer tent, and the scent of meat grilling wafted through the air. Clouds were a dark, angry line on the horizon, but overhead, the sun was bright and warm.

“As you wish.” He took the money apron she held out, pleased at being made a part of the fold. One of hers. “My dove.”

“Oh, for the love of Pete,” she said. “Just stop.”

Her dark amber hair had been swept into a messy bun; a strand of something bright blue and filmy clung to her cheek. Cotton candy. He reached up and brushed it away with his thumb.

“No touching,” she said and jerked away.

“Candy,” he told her and showed her the delicate strand of blue that clung to his thumb. Then he stuck it in his mouth; the sugar melted instantly, just a tease, a brief, sweet kiss of flavor.

Color flushed her cheeks. “No one is buying your bull. They all know I’m not her.”

He arched a brow. “Her who?”

“The chick whose life is show fodder.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts and glared at him. “I don’t share who I am. So this fabricated tale you’re weaving doesn’t hold any water.”

Rye stepped closer to her. He liked invading her personal space; she was too proud and stubborn to retreat. Which meant he could feel the heat of her skin press against his, and inhale her sweet, delicate scent; he could watch the pulse in the fragile hollow of her throat beat in triple time.

For him.

She didn’t like it, and she wouldn’t admit it, but she wanted him right back.

“Seriously,” she insisted, but her skin was hot and flushed, and when he leaned just a tiny bit closer, she inhaled sharply.

He tucked a strand of her messy hair behind her ear and said nothing.

Something that might have been panic flitted across her face. “Do I need to slap you again? Because I can get on board with that.”

Fighting words, but he could tell she was spooked. He understood.

This thing between them scared the shit out of him, too. He was just too selfish to let the fear stop him.

There would be no backing down.

“Do you hear me?” she demanded, and he could tell she thought about poking him again. “They aren’t going to believe it.”

“I don’t care what they believe,” he told her softly. “I only care what you believe.”

She blinked at him. “What does that mean?”

Another strand of filmy blue candy clung to the curve of her throat. He stroked it away and brought it to his mouth. “I said my piece this morning, baby. I’m all in. The rest is up to you.”

She watched him, her eyes dark, that piercing seriousness stilling her features.

“I don’t understand you,” she said.

“Yes, you do.”

Awareness pulsed between them; he curled his hands into fists so he wouldn’t reach for her. She wasn’t ready for that, not yet.

Time.He needed time. There was no rush, and he had a job to do.

But, hell.

“It’s a lie,” she insisted, her voice hushed.

“Only to you.”

Another blink. “This isn’t a game. This is my life.”

“Yes.” He smiled at her. “Your life, of which I’m now a part.”

“Is this for real?” she growled. “Or is it part of the stupid show you’re putting on?”

“This is as real as it gets,” he said seriously.

“I’m going to smack you again.”

He nodded. “So long as you’re prepared for the consequences.”

She stilled. “Is that a threat?”

“No, honey. Just a warning. You put hands on me…” He leaned down and pressed his mouth to her ear. “And I’m going to put hands on you.”

A violent tremor moved through her, but she didn’t move away.

“I’m not doing this,” she whispered.

“Why not?” And then a thought he hadn’t even considered crashed into him. “Is there someone else?”

She said nothing, and the dark, feral thing that lived within him stirred.

“Fiona,” he said.

She arched a brow. “A little late for that now, don’t you think?”

He pinned her with his gaze. “Answer the question.”

Wariness flickered across her face. “There he is,” she murmured, staring at him.

And something hot and needy twisted inside of him. Most didn’t look beyond the easy smile he gave the world; most didn’t see the violence and death that had forged him. Fiona did. And she didn’t look away, didn’t flinch.

“Yes,” he told her.

For a long moment, they stared at one another. Her cheeks were flushed; her lips parted. Her heat and scent and the heady, intense pull of her were like a fist around his cock.

Not touching her was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life.

“Fi,” he said because she hadn’t answered the question.

She stared at him, her eyes dark. “I’m alone. I’ve always been alone. It’s all I know.”

The words told him far more than what he’d asked. He remembered the look on her face when Max had hugged her; her stark rejection of his apology.

Her terror as she’d watched him walk away.

It’s all I know.

Rye knew how that felt. He hated that she knew it, too.

He reached out, pulled her into his arms, and wrapped himself around her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It fucking hurts, I know.”

She froze in his hold as if she wasn’t certain what to do. Soft and lush, so warm he ached with it; she fit against him like she was made for him.

“I don’t need your stinking pity,” she muttered, but her hands curled into his shirt, her knuckles digging into his chest.

“Not pity.” He leaned down and rubbed his jaw gently against her cheek. “Empathy. I’ve been alone since I was nine.”

“Nine?” She reared back to look up at him. “Seriously?”

Outrage flickered in her gaze. Compassion; sympathy.

Anger.

Thiswas why she helped Max, even though he deserved nothing from her. Why she took in Selena, even at the possible expense of her own life.

This was who Fiona was.

Who he saw in the picture; the girl he had always, inexplicably, known her to be.

Everything within him tightened until he felt ready to snap.

“I’ll tell you about it someday,” he muttered.

“Okay,” she whispered, staring at him.

Unable to help himself, he leaned closer. Just a heartbeat away. Another fraction, and he could—

“Are you two going to get a room, or can I sell tickets?”

That amused observation made him stiffen; he turned his head to see a woman standing in front of the balloon joint.

“You must be Romeo,” she said and snickered. Somewhere in her fifties, her hair a brilliant shade of crimson red, she wore tight, leopard print pants and a pink top covered in tiny glass beads. Smoke curled from the long brown cigarette in her hand. She looked him up and down. Then she smiled at Fiona. “Well done, my girl.”

Ares stood behind the woman, glaring at him with open, angry suspicion. The kid had been cold after the confrontation with Max, but Rye didn’t take it personally. He knew he was guilty by association. He wondered what Max had done to earn such animosity.

You don’t go near her, you don’t talk to her, you don’t even think about her. Or I’ll kill you.

A woman, obviously. But who?

Max had rarely spoken of his life with the carnival. On the rare occasions when he did—usually precipitated by a bottle of cheap scotch—there had been an ache of memory in his voice that said far more than the words he used. For the first time, Rye realized there was more to that memory than just Fiona.

A lot more.

Oh, glorious mysteries; he was never going to let Max live it down.

Fiona poked his chest. “Let me go.”

He didn’t move.

“Rye,” she growled.

The woman in the leopard print began to stroll toward them.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” she said. “I just had to see it to believe it.”

Fiona sighed. “Mona, meet Rye. Rye, meet Mona.” She poked him again. Harder. “I mean it, Wilder.”

He didn’t want to; they weren’t done. And she felt too good against him.

But this was her business; these people were her staff.

So he forced himself to let her go.

She stepped out of his reach, and asked Mona briskly, “Is the duck pond ready?”

Mona continued to eye him, her gaze assessing. “Mort’s almost done.”

“Good. Rye is going to fill in for Tex.” Fiona moved over to the .22 and unlocked the awning. “We open in an hour. Can you help Ares inflate stock?”

“Tex bailed again?” Mona snorted. “I know you want to help him, honey, but there has to be a point where he doesn’t get anymore strikes. He ditches us every week.”

“Only on Fridays.” Fiona lifted the metal awning and locked it into place. “Tex has issues.”

“We all have issues. We still come to work.”

Clearly, it wasn’t a new discussion.

“Sweetie, you can’t help someone who won’t help himself,” Mona said, not unkindly. “And letting him get away with it just enables his behavior.”

“Thanks for the news flash,” Fiona told her.

The drama was intriguing.

“Why isn’t he here?” Rye asked.

Three pairs of eyes swung to him.

“Probably because he fell off the wagon,” Mona replied bluntly. “Again.”

Rye looked at Fiona. “Again?”

“Mind your own beeswax,” she retorted.

“She feels sorry for him,” Ares cut in derisively. “No matter how much he takes advantage of her.”

“Get back to work,” she growled.

Rye looked at her. “Why?”

She pulled out a stiff-bristled brush and began to run it over the red velvet that covered the gun rest with long, angry strokes. “He’s a vet. He needs the work.”

Rye’s heart seemed to pause in his chest.

“Iraq?” he asked roughly.

Her gaze slammed into his. “’Nam.”

This. So much this.

Everything she was drew him with an intensity that should have sent him running.

It only made him more determined to stay put.

“Whatever you need,” he told her.

She nodded and put the brush aside. “I’m going to make sure Selena is okay, and then I’ll be back to get you set up.”

She turned to go, but Mona said, “Incoming,” and Rye looked up to see the big, blond brick house from that morning storming toward them, his gaze locked on Fiona.

“Aw, shit biscuits,” she muttered.

Mona took another drag from her cigarette. “I should definitely be selling tickets.”

Blondie bore down on them like a man on a mission; Rye didn’t particularly care for his aggression or his face. He was going straight for Fiona, wearing a look of angry possession that made the predator inside of Rye go quiet and still.

“We need to talk.” Blondie halted several feet away and shot Rye an unfriendly look. “Now.”

Fiona only stared at him, unmoving. “Been there, done that, not going back for the t-shirt.”

His mouth tightened. “Fi.”

“I’m busy, Mick. Spit it out, or go away.”

He shot Rye another antagonistic look. “I told you: I don’t want him on my midway.”

My midway.This jerk owned the show?

Fiona put her hands on her hips and stared at him. “Should I pack up my joints and leave, then?”

Deep red flushed Mick’s face. “Goddamn it.”

“You don’t get to decide who I hire,” she told him. “You don’t get to decide anything at all.”

He looked ready to explode. “We’re going to talk about this.”

“No, we’re not.” In her tone, Rye heard shades of Max. Distant, precise; ice cold. “I’m done, Mick. Done.”

“Fi—”

“No,” she said, cutting him off. “I warned you. I don’t care how you feel, or what you want.I’m done.”

Mick blinked, and the red crept into his hairline. “Fiona—”

“I’m done.”

“Goddamn it,” he said again. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

She only blinked at him. He lurched toward her, and Rye moved.

In a heartbeat, he was between them. He stepped toward Mick and let the predator loose, advancing on the other man with focused, relentless aggression, suddenly hungry to release the tension that had been riding him since he’d stepped foot onto the midway. Mick blinked, the black look on his face faltering.

He was as big as a house; Rye doubted anyone ever challenged him.

Well, today is a new day.

Adrenaline fountained. His hands curled into fists. He stepped close enough to smell the cheap aftershave Mick wore.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Rye told him.

Mick stiffened. He was all muscle, and no doubt he’d busted his fair share of heads. But Rye had grown up fighting to live. He wasn’t posturing or playing.

For him, it was about survival.

“Just settle down,” Fiona ordered from beside him.

Rye angled his body so he was still between them and stared at Mick, waiting.

“This is my fucking show,” Mick snarled.

“Thenwe’ll go,” Fiona told him.

Before he could say more, a shout reached them. “Mick!”

One of the ride jocks hurried toward them.

“Something’s wrong with the tilt,” he said. “You need to come see.”

Mick swore softly. He looked at Fiona. “You’re not going anywhere. Just keep this asshole on a leash…or I won’t be responsible for what happens to him.”

Rye laughed.

“Knock it off,” Fiona growled at him.

“This isn’t over,” Mick warned.

Rye smiled coldly. “I’ll be waiting.”

Mick blinked.

Fiona slapped a palm against her forehead and said, “Put it away already.”

“Mick!” the kid insisted.

And with an irate, frustrated look, Mick turned and strode away.

“Awesome,” Fiona said. “Just frigging perfect.” She glared at Rye. “I was handling that.”

“He’s mine.”

She snorted. “You’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

Which wasn’t untrue. But Mick clearly considered Fiona his. And there were a lot of things Rye could and would overlook—but that wasn’t one of them.

“Mine,” he repeated, his gaze pinning her in place.

Mona began to laugh softly.

Fiona turned and glared at her. “Oh, put a cork in it, woman. Don’t you have work to do?”

Then she turned and stomped away.

“Finally, some excitement!” Mona clapped her hands together in delight and grinned at Rye. “Welcome to the show, Romeo.”