The Truth (Butler Ranch Book 5)

by Heather Slade

  —:—

  They talked about seeing a Shakespeare play in the park, but decided to stay in and make dinner together. They had a lot of food to eat, between what they’d gotten at the deli and the farmers’ market, especially since they were leaving for Fire Island in the morning.

  Quinn had wanted to ask him at least ten times if he was sure he wanted to go, but stopped herself, knowing he’d tell her again to trust him.

  “Turn your phone on,” he said while he made a plate of antipasto.

  She picked it up, not having realized it was off. “Why?”

  “Because they’re going to call you when the wine arrives.”

  “Oh.” He must’ve known then, when he bought the wine, that they’d be coming back to her place. When she looked up, he was watching her. “Yes. I know,” she said. “Trust.”

  After the wine arrived and they’d eaten, they sat in the living room and fell asleep cuddled together on the sofa. Quinn woke before Mercer did, and studied him while he slept.

  His features looked as though he’d been chiseled from stone. And his body? God, she didn’t know where to start. She wanted to run her hands under his t-shirt and take a peek at the tattoo she knew ran across the whole of his chest. She let her mind wander to what he’d look like with no clothes on at all. She closed her eyes and shuddered with the thought of it.

  “I feel the same way about you,” he said, startling her.

  Quinn grasped her chest. “You scared me.”

  He moved her so she stood, and then scooted down so he was flat on the sofa.

  “What?” she asked when he pulled her back toward him.

  “Come here, and lie on top of me.”

  She wasn’t exactly sure how to do what he was asking of her.

  “Give me your hands,” he said. When she did, he supported her arms. “Now, put your right knee there.” He motioned with his head for her to put it in the open space near his hip. “Okay, now put your left knee on the other side of me.”

  Quinn did as he asked, keeping her body off of his by supporting herself on his hands. When he dropped them, she fell onto him, first with a gasp, but then she giggled. “You did that on purpose.”

  “Sure did.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, so their bodies were flush together, and she could feel his hardness.

  “This doesn’t feel slow, Mr. Mercer.”

  He moved his hands from her waist to her cheeks. “Look at me.” Their faces were so close their noses almost touched. “If there is anything that makes you uncomfortable, all you need to do is say so.”

  “I know that.” She tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let her.

  “I won’t rush, but I won’t stop moving this thing between us forward either. We’ll take our time, and that isn’t measured. It’s based on how we’re both feeling.”

  She felt her cheeks flush. “Okay.”

  He smiled. “How are you feeling, Quinn?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Always.”

  “I wish there weren’t any clothes between us.”

  Mercer groaned and grasped her bottom with both of his hands. He moved one and stroked her hair. She rested her head on his chest and sighed.

  “This isn’t hormones, precious. This is real, and it’s right, so long as both of us want it.”

  “It isn’t just that I’ve never felt this way. I’ve never gotten this close to anyone, but you already know that.”

  Mercer ran his tongue over her lower lip, and then nibbled at it. “Kiss me,” he said.

  She looked into his eyes.

  “Go ahead, precious. Kiss me. Any way you want to.”

  Quinn gave in and kissed him the way she’d thought about while she’d watched him sleep. She ran her tongue over his lips, and then inside when he opened his mouth to her. She pressed hard into him, and then backed off and was slow and gentle.

  She trailed her tongue down his neck and over the top of where she knew his tattoo started. “I want your shirt off,” she breathed, and he groaned.

  “Am I hurting you?” she asked.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “Never.”

  Quinn kept scooting her body down his. “I don’t want to wait,” she whispered.

  When she put her hands under it, he pulled his shirt over his head and threw it on the floor.

  Quinn ran her eyes over the ink on his chest, studying the detail of the two wings that flowed out from his sternum. Using her tongue, she traced the outline of the left one from the bottom, where the ends of each feather were jagged, to the smooth, flowing top. When she finished, she started at the top of the right wing, until she’d outlined both.

  “Mercer?”

  “Yes, precious?” he groaned again, as though he couldn’t allow himself to breathe.

  “What does your tattoo mean? Are these angel wings?”

  Her tongue went back to tracing each line, this time on the intricate pattern inside the wing, but Mercer didn’t answer. She stopped and looked up to see he was grimacing. “Are you okay?”

  He took three or four deep breaths and brought his hands down to her sides, pushing her further into him. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?”

  She did. She could feel him so rock hard it almost hurt where her body pressed against him.

  Quinn turned and rested her body between his and the back of the sofa. Her fingers traced over the ink on his chest in the same way her lips had. “Tell me what it means, Mercer.”

  —:—

  Mercer took a deep breath. This question could be the one he’d promised to answer honestly; that’s how deep it was.

  He’d gotten the tattoo shortly after Doc had been reported killed, and he knew that, for the rest of his life, he would be Quinn’s protector. That’s what the wings meant to him; he was a protector of others, but most importantly, of her.

  It wasn’t something he could be glib about, or could give her any answer but an honest one. Not knowing what else to do, he sat up, rested his feet on the floor, and put his head in his hands.

  “If it’s too personal, I understand,” she said from behind him.

  “It isn’t that.”

  Quinn scooted around him and went into the kitchen.

  “Come here,” he said, following her, but she pulled away from him when he tried to put his hand on her arm.

  “It’s hard to remember sometimes that we really don’t know each other,” she said. “I feel like you know me so well, and I want to get to know you, too. I’m sorry I was intrusive. I won’t be again.”

  “Quinn…” Every time he tried to get close, she moved farther away.

  “I think we should call it a night,” she said, turning to look out the window.

  “You sure about that?”

  She nodded.

  He knew he’d hurt her feelings, but he wasn’t ready to tell her the story behind his tattoo, which meant he had no way to soothe her uneasiness.

  “What time would you like to leave in the morning?” he asked.

  “It was nice of Penelope to extend the invitation, but…”

  “You’d rather not go…correction, you’d rather I didn’t go.”

  She shrugged and he nodded. Quinn was putting the bricks back in her wall and retreating to a place where she wasn’t as vulnerable, with her four best friends. He had no choice but to let her.

  “Goodnight, Mercer,” she said, holding the door open for him.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He tried to stroke his finger down her cheek, but she backed away.

  “No one ever does,” he heard her say before she closed the door after him.

  Back in his apartment, Mercer thought long and hard about what he was doing.

  His first move, giving her flowers on her birthday, had opened a door he never should have. Kissing her was number two, and leaving her a note saying he was going out of town was his third mistake.

  For the last several months, sinc
e receiving the news of Doc’s death, he’d done his best to ignore his deep attraction to the woman he was responsible for protecting. At first he tried to tell himself she was too young for him, but she wasn’t. She was a twenty-one-year-old woman, not a child or a teenager. It wasn’t possible to turn such powerful feelings off, and her visceral response had only encouraged him.

  Quinn wasn’t a puppet he could manipulate, though, and sometimes that’s what he felt like he was doing. He was keeping secrets from her, and there’d be no getting around that fact. Once she found out how their “relationship” began, she’d feel betrayed. Coming clean with her now wasn’t an option either.

  If she did go to Fire Island, Mercer would excuse himself from her detail and bring in someone else from the K19 team. It was the only way they could continue. For the time being, he couldn’t be the lead on her surveillance.

  “I need backup,” Mercer said when he called Razor.

  He laughed. “Yeah? Skipper gettin’ under your skin?”

  This wasn’t a joke to him.

  “Hey, I get it, okay?” Razor said, reading his silence. “It’s not the same as fallin’ for the source, and it definitely isn’t the same as fallin’ for the target, but fallin’ for the asset can sometimes feel just as wrong.”

  Razor was right. He’d failed the mission, the team, the asset, Doc, and himself. He’d broken every rule, except sleeping with her, and he’d come damn close earlier tonight. If an employee had done what he had, they’d be terminated.

  Mercer took a deep breath. “I get it. I fucked up. The only solution, now, is putting someone else in charge of her detail. Permanently.”

  “You’re being way too hard on yourself, Eighty-eight.”

  “Doc picked me, Razor. He trusted me to keep her safe, not to fall in love with her.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “History has an interesting way of repeating itself.”

  He wasn’t in the mood for riddles—not now, or ever. He was the kind of person who said what the hell he meant, unless he couldn’t say anything at all.

  Razor spoke again before he did. “Meet me at Paddy Murphy’s in fifteen.”

  Mercer couldn’t decline. They were brothers more than partners. He, Paps, Razor, and Doc had gone through hell and back together. If one asked another to meet, saying no wasn’t an option.

  They were almost through their second round of beer and Razor was about to tell him what he’d meant earlier, about history repeating itself. Instead, he laughed.

  “Who’s on whose detail?”

  “Shit,” Mercer said, following Razor’s line of sight in time to see Quinn coming in the revolving door.

  “At least you were here first. Wait. Shit.”

  Their only option was for one of them to try to duck out before she saw them. There’d be no way to explain why Mercer was having a beer with the CEO of the historical preservation group she’d be working for.

  “You or me?” Razor asked.

  “You.”

  “That’s what I figured.” Razor turned his ball cap around and managed to get out the door without Quinn noticing him, mainly because her eyes were glued to Mercer’s as she walked up to the bar.

  —:—

  Quinn heard Mercer’s door close, and then the elevator—things she’d never noticed before.

  She’d been hoping he’d knock on her door and refuse to let her back away from him. But he’d done the adult thing instead. He’d left when she asked him to, and he didn’t come back.

  Where are you? Headed to the island? she texted Aine.

  Nope. Tomorrow. Going to Paddy Murphy’s now for a couple with the tribe.

  I’ll meet you.

  What about your hot date?

  Cooled off early.

  Sorry, honey. See ya soon.

  Paddy Murphy’s was one of the tribe’s favorite hangouts, especially hers. Unlike other bars, there seemed to be an unspoken rule that if a woman didn’t express interest first, guys left her alone. If a man didn’t follow that rule, they were quickly shown the door. Given the mood she was in, she’d appreciate not having to worry about someone hitting on her.

  When she walked in the door, her eyes went straight to the man sitting at the bar. “I’d ask what you’re doing here, but I guess this place is more your style than mine.”

  Mercer raised his glass. “Buy you a beer?”

  “Sure.” Quinn sat on the stool next to him and noticed the empty glass Mercer pushed away. “Am I interrupting?”

  “Nope. Had a beer with a buddy, and then he left. What would you like?”

  “A Harp, please.”

  The bartender asked to see Quinn’s ID when Mercer ordered, so she pulled it out of her purse and handed it to him. He looked at it and then turned around and rang a bell that sat behind him.

  “Sorry,” she apologized. “It’s an Irish thing. The last name Sullivan gets the bell rung every time.”

  Mercer nodded and watched the bartender smile and set a frosty mug in front of her.

  “Thanks for the beer.” Quinn motioned to an empty table. “I’m meeting friends. See you, Mr. Mercer.”

  He put his hand on her arm.“I’m sorry about earlier, Quinn. I wasn’t ready to talk about my ink. It wasn’t personal. I just handled it badly.”

  “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  “What’s this? I didn’t expect to find you two here together,” said Aine, standing between them.

  “Coincidence,” Quinn answered and nodded her head toward the open table. “I’ll be right over.”

  “Gotcha. Nice to see you again, Mercer,” Aine said before walking away.

  “So, like I said, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”

  When he reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear, she leaned into his hand and closed her eyes. His lips brushed hers, and it felt like heaven.

  She sighed when he pulled away. “And then I made it worse.”

  He shook his head and smiled. “You were reacting to me, precious. I’m the one who hurt your feelings.”

  “I’m sorry, but I should go…I told Aine I’d meet her here.”

  “Understood.”

  “Are you leaving?”

  Mercer raised his almost empty glass.

  “Bartender?” she said before he could answer. “I’d like to buy this man another round.”

  Mercer smiled. “Guess not, and thank you.”

  “Give me a little while?”

  When she turned around to look again, Mercer’s bar stool was empty, but there was a coaster over his beer, so he must’ve just stepped away. Quinn hated the momentary panic she felt when she looked up and he wasn’t there.

  She didn’t feel like herself when it came to him, and it pissed her off. She was a damn grown-ass woman, a Barnard graduate, and member of the tribe of five, who never sniveled. And that’s what she’d been doing. Mercer made every one of her nerve endings stand up and take notice, and because of it, she responded to him like the innocent she was. Not anymore, though. She’d never apologize for her lack of experience, not that he was asking her to. She was the one who’d put herself in the slot left open by insecurity, and now she’d take herself out. She turned her back to the bar, squared her shoulders, and looked up at Aine, who was studying her.

  “I don’t even want to ask,” she said.

  “I don’t want to be that girl.”

  Aine nodded and waited for Quinn to continue.

  “I’m like a clingy puppy, and I hate it. I hang on his every word. I don’t want to be away from him for a minute, because I’m so afraid he’ll never come back.”

  “Speaking of coming back, he’s headed this way.”

  Quinn turned around in her chair and waited for him to approach their table.

  “Can I speak with you for a minute?” he asked.

  Quinn was about to say he could tell her whatever it was in front of Aine, but her friend had left the table and
was headed to the ladies’ room. She pulled out the chair next to her, and he sat down.

  “I have to go out of town. I didn’t expect to leave again so soon.”

  “Not a problem. See you when you get back, Mercer.” It took a tremendous amount of restraint to stop herself from asking when that would be.

  “I don’t have to leave until tomorrow morning.”

  She was at a crossroads. Would she do as she’d resolved and stop her sniveling, or would she invite him back to her place? She took a deep breath and bit her lip before she spoke. Mercer, of course, waited.

  “I made other plans, thinking we’d cut our night short.”

  He nodded, and she could swear she saw the flicker of a grin.

  “Good girl,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her forehead before he stood.

  She was about to blast him for his condescension, but stopped herself from doing that, too. No need to swing from one side of the pendulum to the other.

  “Walk me to the door?”

  How could she say no without coming off like a total bitch? “Sure,” she sighed.

  He took her hand when she stood, and led her outside.

  “I’ll be in touch as soon as I can,” he said, and she nodded. “Quinn?”

  She refused to meet his gaze, until he put his fingers on her chin.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say, Mercer.”

  Instead of answering, he leaned forward and covered her mouth with his. Every ounce of resolve she’d thought she had, melted away when his tongue caressed hers. She put her arms around his neck as his encircled her waist.

  “I can’t,” she said, pulling back.

  “Can’t what?”

  “Change my plans with Aine and go back to the apartment with you.”

  “I don’t expect you to.”

  “Oh.” She wanted to kick herself, and knew her face was flaming with embarrassment.

  He cupped her cheek with his palm. “I very much want you to, Quinn, but I don’t expect it. You know the difference.”

  She tried to pull away, but he held her close.

  “I don’t want to feel this way.”

  He smiled. “Which way?”