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Liz had her door open almost before Ian’s SUV stopped rolling, when he pulled up in front of the hotel. Mercy felt like a teenager, and not in a good way, at the quick hug Liz and Ian exchanged. This was a bond Mercy would never come between.
When she slipped into the conversation Liz didn’t approve of anything happening between Mercy and Ian, she tried to fight her disappointment, and failed. Mercy wanted him to say it didn’t matter what Liz thought. She knew better, though. Childish expectations, all over again.
She hopped from the car.
“Mercy.” Ian’s voice made her pulse skip and her heart patter. Damn him. “Can I borrow you for a moment?” He stood next to the driver’s side of the vehicle. “I have a business question.”
Mercy glanced at Liz, who waited near the hotel entrance. “Five minutes,” Mercy said. “I’ll be right up.” She waited until Liz was inside and out of sight, before joining Ian.
Ian grabbed Mercy’s hand and pulled her close, mostly hidden from view of the building, and her heartbeat cranked another notch.
“This is a bad idea.” He settled his hands at her hips.
“Making out in the freezing cold?”
“Hiring Liz.”
Her building blood pressure ratcheted for a new reason. “We—you and I—don’t talk business. Also, this isn’t your call.”
“I don’t mean—” He clenched his teeth and sucked in the air through them. “If you want to keep us a secret, that makes it harder to do. I’m not trying to butt into your business or her life. My hesitation revolves around you and me.”
Mercy had her doubts, but there was no animosity in his words. “What are we going to tell her? That we’re fuck buddies for the next two or three days?”
“Do you really think that?”
She had to. What other option was there? Anything else was unrealistic. An immature fantasy she wouldn’t let distract her if he was anyone else. “I can’t think of it as more.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t make me answer that.” How was she supposed to explain?
He brushed his lips over hers. A feather-light graze that sent pleasant chills over her skin. “I’m not asking you to define anything,” he said. “Just to not write us off yet.”
“I leave for my meeting with KaleidoMation Monday morning.” She stepped back but still held his hand.
He gave her fingers a final squeeze before letting go. “I know. The clock’s ticking in my head, even without the reminder. Good night, Mercy.”
Confusion mingled with irrationality, while she rode the elevator up. When she left home, the theory was there in her head—sex and love could be separate. Not interested in the local guys, she’d never put it into practice, but she knew she could do it. Until she hooked up for the first time. Lost her virginity to a stranger in a bar in Venezuela. She knew she was in love. It didn’t help that he muttered things like, I love you, baby, every time they fucked, for almost a week straight.
When he left, reminding her it was just a fling, she curled in on herself for about half a day, until she remembered that wasn’t her. Now she was inches from making a similar mistake with Ian, because of who he was—tied to a memory and a portion of her past she thought she’d shed years ago.
She reached the room and was surprised to see most of the lights out. The door to the bedroom was closed, no glow spilling from underneath. She knocked.
“Sleepy. Tomorrow?” Liz called back.
“Yeah.” Mercy settled on the couch, not bothering with lamps or changing out of her dress. She tugged her knees to her chest and tried to make sense of the jumble inside. It didn’t matter how many arguments part of her presented, she always ended up at the same end point. Ian was temporary. There were too many reasons for him to never be more.
Which didn’t stop her from hating the way she left things with him. She pulled her phone from her purse, and sent him a text. Good luck with Jonathan tomorrow.
Might as well get some sleep. His answer buzzed through seconds later. Is that all I get?
She smiled, in spite of herself. The only other thing she could think of was, I miss you. Going down that road was dangerous. Instead she settled for, Did you have something else in mind?
I believe there was mention of pictures.
She never should have told him those existed. There were no photos. She hated having her picture taken. Your mention, not mine.
That’s fair. And it’s my mention again, he replied. But I won’t see you until Sunday. Send me something to keep me company.
Her chaotic thoughts twisted another degree toward out of control. His request thrummed through her veins, pulsing with excitement and the wickedness of it all. How did he do this to her? One minute she doubted every aspect of their relationship. The next, with a single request, he made her wonder how much she was comfortable showing him. Hesitation and self-doubt won out. Her text said, Not tonight.
I understand. You’ll be in my dreams anyway.
She stared at the message far longer than she should. What was she doing?
* * * *
“HOW DO YOU DO IT?” Liz picked at the leftover blueberries from her now-gone muffin. They sat at a table outside the hotel coffee shop, watching the afternoon tourists walk by.
Mercy paused her drink, straw halfway to her mouth. “Manage payroll for all of seven people? I think you’ve got the basics down.” They were discussing an accounting timeline and what Liz needed in order to slide into the position. The conversation included Liz looking at the budget and making suggestions on ways to get her salary paid. She might be okay with working for free, but Mercy wasn’t going to allow it.
“Spend time with a guy—any guy—sleep with him, talk to him, enjoy his company, and then walk away when it’s all done, like nothing happened.”
“Sometimes it’s harder than others. Depends on the guy.” Mercy whispered a short prayer that this wasn’t heading toward a very specific conclusion.
“How difficult will it be with Ian?” Liz looked up, eyes wide and innocent, the rest of her expression blank.
And there it was. More difficult than it should be. “I don’t know. How long have you...?”
“I had a feeling after the whole I-spent-the-night-and-we-have-dinner-plans thing. Your lipstick was smudged last night when you came back to the table. And on his collar.”
That actually happened? Mercy didn’t notice before. She also had no idea what to say.
“Do me a favor?” Liz said.
“Always.”
“Please don’t let him break you this time.” Liz crumpled her empty wrapper and napkin into a tiny ball and stood.
What the hell? Irritation and curiosity spilled through Mercy. She grabbed Liz’s wrist and rose, as her friend walked by. “You don’t walk away after a statement like that. I’ve got this.”
Liz’s shoulders rose and fell, and she turned back to Mercy. “I was there the first time. I watched you swoon over him and worship him, and withdraw when he left. For a long time, I thought I lost you. After you left, you started to come back around. I watched you change through the emails and the phone calls, and who you were shone through again.”
“Are you sure that’s what your problem is?” Mercy should have let it go, but every time Liz had slipped in something passive aggressive over the past few days flitted back to taunt her. “Not that I’m not good enough for your brother?” Forcing the question out scraped her throat raw. She didn’t want to believe it or even think it, but now she’d said it, she realized it had lingered in the back of her mind since the morning after the failed wedding.
Was that really only five or six days ago?
“No. Heavens no.” Liz twisted her hand until she was holding Mercy’s instead of being her captive. “I meant what I said at the bar. I don’t know how you let the world rush around and over you, while you stand unflinching in the middle. I worship you. I adore you.”
Mercy struggled to process the confession. “I don’t—”
“I’m not done. You built your business from the ground up. You’re strong. You’re independent, and before Ian dug into your head as a teenager, you took the world at face value. Ian will destroy that. Again.” There was no venom in her words. Only sadness and surrender.
“God, Liz. He’s your brother.”
“He is. And I love him dearly. I trust him with my life and with everything else in the world. Except you. Because I love you more.” Liz rose on her toes and kissed Mercy on the lips. Tentatively and softly, but then with more power.
Shock pushed everything else out of Mercy’s head. The kiss was good. On a physical level, it sang to her senses and shoved the rest of the world aside. The spark wasn’t there, though. And holy fuck, what had Liz just said? Mercy assembled enough sense to break the contact and gently push Liz back. “Where did this come from?”
“You’ve been with women before.”
Mercy shook her head spinning her thoughts up. Making sense of the situation. Realizing she’d have to tell Liz she wasn’t interested. How had she not seen this coming? “That’s not what I asked.”
“I’ve thought about it before; it’s not new.” Liz furrowed her brow and twisted a strand of hair around her finger—a nervous habit she’d had forever. “But I never wanted to accept I might like more than just men. This crap with George, though, and having you here... We’ve been there for each other since we met. You love me too. You’ve said so.”
“I do, but not like that, hon.”
“So you love Ian instead?”
“I don’t know. No. Probably not.” Mercy struggled to find the words to make things right. “What happened with George has to be hard. You haven’t mourned yet. I know you’ve let yourself cry a couple of times, but not really.”
“Damn it.” Liz’s tone drew glances from nearby patrons. Pink flooded her cheeks. “Don’t talk down to me like I don’t get it.” Her voice was softer again.
“I’m not. I’m just...” Mercy was going to have to be blunt and keep pushing until Liz got it. Please let us recover. “I don’t feel that way about you. I’m sorry. You’re still my best friend, and you mean the world to me. There’s nothing romantic there, though.”
“Then, the kiss?”
Mercy shook her head. “You’re a good kisser.”
“Fuck.” Liz stared at her feet. “I guess that’s something. Are you going to fire me now?”
“No. You’re welcome to resign, but I hope you don’t. What we accomplished today? More than I’ve gotten done in a month. And I mean that. I also won’t pretend this didn’t happen.”
Liz stepped back, still studying the ground. “I think I need to go.”
It wasn’t a resolution, but Mercy didn’t know what else to say.
“Is this the part where I run up to the room and you go spend the night with Ian?” Liz’s question was so soft, Mercy had to strain to hear.
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought past hoping this doesn’t cost me your friendship.”
Liz glanced up. “I need some time. I’ll email you if I have work questions.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Mercy sank into her chair as Liz strode away at high speed. What now?