The Truth (Butler Ranch Book 5)

by Heather Slade

  Quinn relaxed in the comfortable seat of the Jaguar, shifting her focus from the man next to her to the warm summer breeze on her face.

  “Cold?” he asked, once he picked up speed on the highway.

  “It feels good. Although…maybe a little.”

  Mercer reached behind her seat and pulled out a blanket. “Mind if I leave the top down?”

  Quinn snuggled under it. “No. It’s fine. What about you? Do you have a jacket?”

  “I don’t get cold,” he answered.

  “Ever?”

  “Not in the summer.”

  “Hmm.”

  Mercer turned and looked at her when she didn’t continue. “Yeah?”

  “Nothing.”

  He smiled. It was the first time she’d seen him do anything but frown. “You have a nice smile.”

  He looked away, as though he wasn’t used to the compliment. “You do too,” she heard him murmur.

  She studied him longer than she should have. He probably felt her lingering gaze, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Who was this man? And how did someone who looked as though he was under thirty, and had probably served in some branch of the military, afford a two-million-dollar apartment in the heart of Manhattan? Quinn supposed he could be a trust-fund kid, like she was, but he didn’t appear to fit that bill either.

  2

  When Quinn dozed off, Mercer let out the breath it felt like he’d been holding since they got in the car.

  His preoccupation with what he’d done earlier in the day made him sloppy. And tonight, instead of finding her without her knowing he was looking, she’d found him. He was glad she had, though. Otherwise, who knows how she would’ve gotten home. Southampton was a solid two hours from their building, with plenty of desolate areas along the way. He cringed, thinking about the danger she might’ve put herself in.

  He looked over at her several times while she slept. The moonlight shone on her almost-white blonde hair and cast a glow on her flushed cheeks, likely so from too much time in the sun. Every day she grew more beautiful as he watched her change from a teenager to a young woman.

  Mercer shook his head and silently cursed his former boss, the man responsible for the temptation he faced every day.

  Mercer drove into the underground garage and parked in his reserved spot, but Quinn didn’t budge.

  “We’re back,” he said softly, so tempted to stroke his finger down her cheek.

  She sat up with a start. “Oh. I’m so sorry. Did I really sleep all the way back? How inconsiderate of me,” she babbled.

  “You were tired.”

  She stretched her arms above her head, and her t-shirt rode up just a little, exposing the skin on her stomach. When Mercer looked up, her eyes were on him, knowing he’d stolen a peek.

  Her gaze lingered long enough that he couldn’t resist. He leaned forward, pulled her close to him, and brought his lips to hers. Quinn rested her palm on his thigh and opened her sweet mouth to his. He tightened his grip and deepened their kiss, until her groan brought him back to the reality of what he was doing. This wasn’t a fantasy; his lips really were on hers, and the fruit he’d just tasted was forbidden.

  He backed away, not allowing himself to look into her eyes. If he did, he’d lose what little resolve he possessed. Instead, he opened his door, walked around, and opened hers.

  “Thank you,” she whispered as she climbed out, touching her lips with her fingertips.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “You were my savior tonight, Mr. Mercer.” She stepped away from the car so he could close the door.

  “Just Mercer,” he responded absentmindedly.

  She had no idea how hard she’d just hit the nail on the head. Savior might not be the most accurate word. More like protector.

  She waited for him to press the button when they got to the elevator, just like she’d waited for him to open her door. This was a woman who’d been taught that there was nothing wrong with letting a man take the lead. She understood it was about respect, not anyone believing she was incapable. Her manners were impeccable; he’d seen evidence of it often enough. As usual, he was filled with a sense of pride, even though he had nothing to do with her upbringing, no responsibility for her behavior.

  When they reached the eleventh floor, Mercer didn’t walk Quinn to her door. From the rounded corner he leaned against, he could see that she got safely inside her apartment without the possibility of her inviting him in.

  She waved from just inside her door. “Sweet dreams, Mr. Mercer,” she said and blew him a kiss.

  “Just Mercer,” he said to himself after Quinn’s door had closed behind her.

  He entered the keypad code and rested his thumb on the print reader until he heard the click unlocking his door. He stalked inside, slamming it behind him.

  He turned around, rested his head against the wall, and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath as the promise he’d made repeated in his head. He’d vowed to watch over her, protect her, and keep her and the family safe. Talking to her, touching her, kissing her, or dreaming about her weren’t part of that vow. Dreams were out of his control, but the rest of it—he knew better.

  Mercer logged out of his email and shut his laptop computer. He was still too wound up from the drive home to sleep. Instead he paced, thinking about every self-imposed moral and ethical rule he’d broken tonight.

  There’d be no going back to Quinn not knowing who he was now. He’d fought the whole idea of moving into this building, knowing it would be a slippery slope, and he’d been right. It was one thing for him to coincidentally be at the same party tonight. The next time he showed up where she was, it would be weird. And after that, it would be creepy.

  He wasn’t even scratching the surface of that kiss. It was everything he’d fantasized it would be. If she hadn’t made a sound, their lips might still be locked together—in the front seat of a car inside a parking garage. Jesus.

  He had to make some drastic changes, and soon. Mercer checked the time. It was almost midnight on the West Coast; his call would have to wait until morning. Between now and then, he’d have time to decide how much of what happened tonight he’d come clean about.

  He picked up the tablet that sat next to his bed and opened the book he’d started last night. Nothing like a spy novel written by someone who knew nothing about how things really worked to bore him to sleep.

  —:—

  Quinn breathed in the scent of her birthday roses when she walked past them in the hall. She’d bet Mercer was the kind of man who would send a gift like this to a woman he was involved with.

  She still couldn’t believe she’d slept the entire way home. He must think her so rude, although he hadn’t acted like he minded. “You were tired,” he’d said.

  It wasn’t like her to be so trusting of someone she hardly knew, but she felt inexplicably safe with him, as though he actually cared about her.

  Quinn rolled her eyes as they filled with tears. She was pathetic. She was so desperate for love and attention that she was telling herself her neighbor, who she’d had exactly one conversation with, cared about her.

  She managed not to check her phone until she crawled into bed. There wouldn’t be a message from her mother, Quinn knew that, but she couldn’t stop herself from hoping there would be.

  Sleep came easily, once she closed her eyes, only because she allowed herself to fantasize about Mr. Mercer and the kiss they’d shared.

  The dream she was having, that her phone was buzzing incessantly, seemed too real. Quinn bolted upright and grabbed it from the bedside table. Aine flashed on the screen.

  “Hi,” she answered.

  “Where in the hell are you?” her friend yelled over the noise from the party in the background.

  Shit. She’d forgotten to text that she was leaving. “I’m so sorry. I’m home.”

  “What? I can’t hear you.”

  “I’m home,” she shouted into the phone.

  “You’re where? It
sounded like you said you’re home.”

  “I am home,” she shouted again.

  “What the hell?” Quinn heard the phone rustling in the background and Aine say, “She’s home.” More rustling, and then, “Hang on.”

  Quinn waited while the noise from the party grew more distant.

  “You just disappeared. What the hell, Quinn?”

  Aine sounded drunk, which meant this conversation would continue to loop.

  “Listen,” Quinn began. “I ran into someone I knew who was heading back to the city, and I bummed a ride. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know. Let’s talk tomorrow, okay?”

  “You just disappeared,” Aine said again.

  “Goodnight, sweetie. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Quinn disconnected the call and turned off her phone. Now that her friends knew she was home, there’d be no one else trying to reach her tonight.

  —:—

  Mercer entered the building’s gym at six, like he did every morning, and hit his workout hard. He’d tossed and turned all night, rehashing the time he’d spent with Quinn, and everything he should’ve handled differently.

  He was in the zone—that perfect equilibrium of speed and comfort—when he ran. His legs were loose, and his heart was pumping, so when the door to the gym opened, he only heard it somewhere deep in his subconscious. Most mornings he was the only one here, and never had he ever seen the woman whose eyes met his in the mirror. What the hell was Quinn up to?

  She waved, the same little wave as last night before she’d blown him the kiss, and then approached one of the elliptical machines on the other side of the gym.

  Mercer responded with a nod, and then focused his attention on the television he never watched, attempting to listen to the news he’d never cared about before. So much for his well-managed heart rate. Since the elliptical faced the opposite direction as his treadmill, he could see the mirror’s reflection of her tight ass emphasized in her far-too-short running shorts. The tank top she wore barely covered her almost useless workout bra.

  He wasn’t the only one looking where he shouldn’t. Quinn stared into the mirror in front of the elliptical until their eyes met for the second time. Mercer stopped the treadmill, got off, and scrubbed the sweat from his face with his workout towel. He pulled his phone out of his gym bag, feigned checking it, and then tossed it and his towel back inside.

  “Have a good one,” he said as he opened the door to leave.

  “Wait,” she said, stopping the machine. “You don’t have to leave on my account.”

  “I’m finished,” he grunted as he let the door close behind him. He felt like a shithead for talking to her that way, but he couldn’t afford to let this thing with Quinn spiral.

  The next time Mercer “ran into” her was on the elevator over a week later.

  “Hi,” she said, barely looking at him and making him feel like a huge asshole.

  He nodded, again hesitant to encourage conversation.

  “Nice to see you, Mr. Mercer,” she said when the door opened to the lobby. She walked out, but not quickly enough to hide the hurt etched on her face.

  He knew she was lonely; she had been most of her life. Other than the four girls she’d been close to since their boarding school days, Quinn didn’t socialize much. There were the occasional dates, which sent his blood pressure skyrocketing, but second dates were rare for her.

  The hardest thing, though, was that Quinn had never given up hope that, one day, she’d have a relationship with her mother—something Mercer knew could never be.

  “Hey, Paps,” Mercer answered the call that came in later that night from one of his partners.

  “We need you here. Make the necessary arrangements, and fly out in the morning.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Razor and I will fill you in when you get here.”

  Less than five minutes later, when another call came in, Mercer wasn’t surprised to see “Barbie,” Lena Hess’s code name, show up on the caller ID.

  “What can I do for you, Lena?”

  “How’s my daughter?”

  What could he say that hadn’t already been said? Having him say out loud what Lena already knew, wouldn’t change anything. “She’s as you would expect her to be.”

  “Did you speak with Paps earlier?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  As much as he wanted to know what was going on, Lena was the last person he’d ask.

  “Is there anything else?” he asked instead.

  “No.”

  “We’ll talk tomorrow, then,” he said before disconnecting the call.

  By the time he’d finished making “the necessary arrangements,” it was one in the morning. He was about to call it a night, when he heard the elevator stop at their floor. He didn’t hear footfalls in the hallway, so he called downstairs. He knew Vinnie was on duty; it had been one of the calls he’d made earlier.

  “Mr. Bryant. I was just dialing your number. Miss Skipper is about to exit the building.”

  “Engage.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Where in the hell did she think she was going in the middle of the night?

  When he exited the elevator, Quinn’s back was to him, and she was deep in conversation with Vinnie. Mercer first disarmed the emergency door, and then exited through it. He took the alley around to the front of the building, where he had two choices. He could wait and follow her, or he could walk through the building’s entrance and engage Miss Skipper himself.

  When he saw the signal from Vinnie, he knew his mind had been made up for him.

  “Good evening, sir,” Vinnie greeted him. “Pleasant night?”

  Mercer nodded, his eyes landing on Quinn as though he was surprised to see her. “Can I walk you up?” He touched her elbow with his fingertips, and she weaved.

  “I was just…headed out, actually,” she stammered.

  If her imbalance hadn’t clued him in, her breath certainly would’ve. She’d been drinking, and not a little.

  He intentionally raised his eyebrows, and she flushed.

  “Early breakfast?” he asked.

  She leaned into him. “Something like that. Are you hungry, Mr. Mercer?”

  Not the slightest bit, but if he agreed to join her, he’d know where she was, and could get her back safely. “Starving.”

  Vinnie was a step ahead of them. “Mmm, mmm. I haven’t had Sarge’s chicken and waffles in months.” He rubbed his belly. “Sounds mighty good, doesn’t it?”

  Sarge’s Diner was a short walk, but they’d take the cab that had miraculously appeared at the front door anyway.

  Mercer steadied her, putting his arm around her waist, and ushered her into the waiting vehicle. When he climbed in after her, Quinn rested her head against his shoulder. “I couldn’t sleep…” she murmured.

  Mercer nodded.

  When she closed her eyes, he motioned with his index finger, and Tom, also part of his regular crew, knew not to bother stopping at the diner. Instead he drove around Manhattan, from Midtown to the Lower East Side and up again.

  “We’re back,” he said softly when Tom pulled up to the entrance of their building, this time unable to resist running his finger down her cheek.

  Like she had before, she woke with a start.

  “Did I fall asleep again?”

  He smiled. “Yes.”

  “I’m always sleeping with you.” Quinn flushed. “That didn’t sound right, did it?”

  Mercer climbed out and offered her his hand. “Let’s get you inside.”

  “We didn’t eat. You were starving.”

  “I’ll make a sandwich.” Mercer guided her to the elevator, nodding at Vinnie’s wink as they passed by.

  When they reached the eleventh floor, he ushered her around the corner, to her door, and waited while she entered her code on the keypad.

  “Do you want to…come in?”

  Mercer pushed the door open and guided her inside.

  “I could make you so
mething to eat.”

  “I’m good,” he murmured, guiding her through the foyer and down the hallway. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  Quinn slipped off her shoes and waited while Mercer pulled back the sheets of her rumpled bed. Like a sleepy child, she crawled in, and he drew the sheet over her.

  “Are you going to stay?” she whispered.

  When her eyes closed, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Not tonight, precious. Get some sleep.”

  “Mmm, you called me precious, Mr. Mercer,” she said before she drifted back to sleep.

  Shit. He had. Would she remember in the morning, or would this all be a hazy recollection that she’d assumed was a dream?

  3

  Mercer slid the note under Quinn’s door before he could change his mind.

  Going out of town for a few days. Breakfast when I get back? —Mercer

  In his head he added, please don’t pull another stunt like last night’s while I’m gone.

  It was only four hours since he’d tucked her into bed. She’d sleep at least another five or six, if not more.

  He wondered, again, how much she’d remember from the night before. Maybe mentioning breakfast in his note hadn’t been such a good idea. It would serve as another prompt to convince her that she hadn’t been dreaming. It was too late now, though. He kissed two fingertips and rested them momentarily on her door, hoping her life would be uneventful while he was away.

  Last night, when he’d kissed her forehead, he felt the shift. It wasn’t just a thought, it was a physical reaction acknowledging that things were changing. While Quinn had been a part of his life for quite some time, now he’d be part of hers too.

  The ramifications of his actions over the course of the last couple of days hit him as hard as the plane landed. He’d crossed a line with Quinn. Several, in fact, and by doing so, a lot would have to change. He closed his eyes and wished, as he did so often, that he could run this situation by his former boss.