Riding High: MMF Bisexual Menage Romance

By Kat Logan

Two secret lovers, a reporter who caught them in a kiss, and the photo that could tear their worlds apart.

When sexy motocross rider Hunter Jones comes to town for a big race, Mira Mercer is determined to cover the event for the small town paper. She's going to interview Hunter one way or the other, and she believes scoring a big interview with the hard-partying sex symbol will be her ticket to a prestigious newspaper. But she gets more than she bargains for when she catches Hunter, the dreamboat of crushing fangirls, locked in an embrace with Logan Ewing, the billionaire businessman who happens to own the paper where Mira works. Both men are unaware of what she's seen, but now she has a real headline bombshell on her hands and the sizzling photo to prove it. But when the two gorgeous, irresistible men draw her into their world and make her a part of the passion they share, she's hit with second thoughts. Is this something deeper than a night of scorching-hot passion? Is it worth giving up her dreams forever?

Alex loves three things, winning motocross races, partying hard, and more than anything, Logan, the man trying to save him from the worst of his bad boy traits. But because of his public persona, he doesn't dare reveal that he's been in a relationship with Logan for years. And while Logan owns mansions, companies, jets, and Hunter's racing team, the thing he cares most about is his star rider. But when they meet the curvy and driven Mira, everything changes. They both want her in their bed and their lives, but opening their hearts also opens them to betrayal. And when a secret gets out, there's no going back...

Reader note: contains MMF menage and hot romance elements, curvy heroines, sexy billionaires, and male/male love

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wolf Hill Publishing
• Release date: Mar 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215359181

Book preview

Table of Contents

Cover

Table of Contents

Look for these titles from Kat Logan

Title Page

Copyright Warning

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

About the Author

Also by Kat Logan

More Romance from Etopia Press

Excerpt from Dangerous Obsession by Kat Logan

Excerpt from Fortune's Desire by Zoey Thames

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Now Available

MMF MENAGE ROMANCE

Playing it Out

Striking a Chord

Healing Their Hearts

Rocking the House

Riding High

Her Perfect Mistake

Biker’s Paradise

Dangerous Obsession

Getting Off

Running Hot

Double or Nothing

Moonlight Menage

MAFIA ROMANCE

The MacCarrick Mafia

Vicious Pleasure (Book One)

Riding High

Kat Logan

Etopia Press

Copyright Warning

EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Published By

Etopia Press

1643 Warwick Ave., #124

Warwick, RI 02889

http://www.etopiapress.com

Riding High

Copyright © 2018 by Kat Logan

ISBN: 978-1-947135-99-4

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Etopia Press electronic publication: August 2018

~ Dedication ~

To T.L.R. with love

CHAPTER ONE

Mira

Before you say no, I began, let me give you all the reasons for assigning me to the motocross championship.

Jerry leaned back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest, and rolled his eyes. OK, Mira, dazzle me with your logic.

The small office of Atlanta Now hummed with activity. For a small local paper that didn’t even pay its reporters, it managed to give off an air of importance that had even me begging for a chance to contribute. I forced a smile. Jerry was a good guy, but he took his job as managing editor of what was essentially a free local paper way too seriously. And he was kind of a chauvinist. He seemed to think women only had certain areas of journalistic expertise. Like shopping and restaurant stories. Letting a woman cover a male-oriented event like the motocross championship probably gave him palpitations.

First, I said, slapping my hands down on his desk and leaning in. I’ve grown up around the motocross world. At one time, my father raced, and he would take my sister and me to the track to watch. So, I know everything about the sport, from how it originated in England to its current configuration in the States. I know the difference between supercross and arenacross. I even know most of the judges for the freestyle competition. When I was in school, I covered several AMA competitions for the school paper. In short, I’m easily the best-qualified reporter you have. I won’t have any problems getting statements from the major competitors. I slammed my hand on his desk. He jumped. "I will finally get this paper the recognition it deserves. Not to mention you."

Mira, have you ever even ridden a motorcycle?

What has that got to do with anything?

Jerry pushed his glasses higher on his nose. Scott has ridden a Harley most of his life. He actually understands how motorcycles work.

He rides a hog! Not a light, dangerous dirt bike. He wouldn’t know a mogul if it stepped up and bit him on the ass.

Look, I appreciate your zeal and your need to write something besides a recap of the seventy-fifth wedding anniversary of the mayor’s parents. But this is the championship. Lots of reporters and lots of coverage, even TV. It’s a big deal, Mira, and I don’t want to hand it to someone who might…

His voice trailed off, and he had the decency to look embarrassed when he realized what he’d almost said.

I’m not going to screw it up, Jerry. I know motocross. I lived motocross. This is something I can turn into a story you can feed to the nationals. It would put this paper on the map! And you, too, as managing editor!

I’d give her a shot. It sounds like she’s got a good point.

I didn’t recognize the voice, and I turned to it instinctively. Jerry did too, and he immediately pasted on his fake smile and clambered to his feet.

Mr. Ewing. I wasn’t expecting you.

A good manager always works as if the owner might come walking in, Logan Ewing said.

I stared. I had never met Logan Ewing, but I knew all about him. He was a billionaire with more enterprises than I could count. In addition to owning the media company that owned Atlanta Now, he also owned one of the racing teams that was competing at the championship. While I thought he might show up at the track, I’d never expected him to visit the newspaper, especially a Podunk paper like Atlanta Now.

I was hoping you would find the time to visit, Jerry said quickly. I knew Jerry was trying to cover his ass. Would you like a cup of coffee? Mira, can you go make a fresh pot of coffee?

Logan Ewing looked at me and shook his head. I hadn’t intended to go make coffee for Jerry anyway.

So why doesn’t Miss…? He looked at me as if to ask my name.

Mercer. Mira Mercer.

Why doesn’t Miss Mercer qualify as a motocross reporter?

Well, Jerry said. We have an actual motorcycle enthusiast on the staff, and I thought—

Scott, yes, the one who rides the hog.

Jerry just looked at Logan Ewing as if waiting for him to say something.

He didn’t. My journalistic eye noted the wavy black hair and dark blue eyes. I guessed he was six three or four and in terrific shape. I knew from the millions of articles in the gossip rags—yeah, guilty pleasure—that he was thirty-two and had a restless energy that was always ready for something new. He had a nice smile too, although it seemed a bit predatory to me. He looked like a man who knew what he wanted and usually got it.

I think Miss Mercer here has just the right background to connect with the riders, Logan continued. Don’t you?

Of course, Jerry said. No question at all. Got that, Mira? I’m assigning you to the motocross championship this weekend. I expect rider profiles along with a report of the action. Can you give me that?

You know it. I’ll do a blog for the online edition, too. Complete with video. You’ll have Zach on hand to edit the video for me?

He’s on it. Give him some good stuff. You know, crashes and such.

To me, Jerry sounded like an idiot. Only the worst fans hoped for crashes and injuries. People like me went to watch the close competition, not the medical personnel.

I’m sure Miss Mercer will provide everything you need. Logan turned to me with his wide, white smile. I hope to see you there. I’ll be in the Ewing team tent. Oh, wait. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. This is a pass to the tent. I know you’ll have press credentials, but you might scoop up some candid photos and quotes if the people don’t know you’re a reporter.

I accepted the card with a smile. That’s very thoughtful of you. Thank you. I promise not to abuse your trust.

He gave me one of those smiles that the cameras loved. Abuse me all you want. With a wave, he left the office.

Jerry’s smile left with Logan. OK, Mercer, you got what you wanted. I’m going to have to pull Zach away from his stuff to work on this, and he’s already complaining about everything. I hope you’re happy.

Don’t worry, I’ll give you everything you need. I didn’t care about Zach’s constant passive-aggressive complaints or Jerry’s weasel ways. I was on the story I wanted.

You better. My ass is on the line now too.

I stored his words in the recesses of my mind. Front and center was Logan Ewing.

I chuckled out loud. Logan could have any gorgeous model he wanted, and I knew a lot of models would be at the motocross championship because the manufacturers always hired the bustiest, blondest models they could find. Like my dad used to say, nothing upstairs, but what a stairway. I figured that when I walked into the team tent, I would find half a dozen of them feeding Logan grapes and fanning him with their panties. Pathetic.

I had to smile a little at the image though. What a photo that would make.

But there would be no naughty pics of Logan Ewing. Embarrassing the owner of the paper would get me fired in a New York minute, and I needed this job. Even though it didn’t pay, it was valuable experience to add to my resume. I didn’t intend to give it away for free like a common floozie forever. Just until I had enough good stories to get me noticed by a real paper. Like the Atlanta Journal. Or the New York Times. For now, waiting tables for rent money was what kept me fed and my college loans paid more or less on time. If I’d known all my journalism degree would get me was fifty grand in debt, I might’ve been a business major like my father wanted.

That was a lie. I’d wanted to be a journalist since the sixth grade when we’d learned about the Watergate scandal and how it was broken by a couple of reporters no one ever heard of. That was all it took. I was going to uncover the world’s dirt and save the planet.

But first, I had a motocross story to do.

Back in my cubicle, I pulled up my to-do app and started to list the tasks I would have to handle before I headed for the motocross course. I had twenty-four hours to get things done, including research. While I knew a great deal about the sport, I would need background on whoever I interviewed. I looooved research. Yes indeed. I was going to be very busy, and that was a wonderful thing.

* * *

Logan

I felt a certain satisfaction as I left the building that housed Atlanta Now, a tall, beige office building in a sea of tall, beige office buildings in Atlanta’s Peachtree district. The city was humming, as usual, and I was nearly run over by a motorcycle at the corner of Peachtree St. I hoped it wasn’t some kind of cosmic joke, given that my motocross team was