Authors: Michelle Love
Billionaire’s Quarry: A Billionaire, Bad Boy, Romance (An Alpha Billionaire Romance Boxed Set) (5 page)
Description
Lust. Passion. Confusion.
Mercy accepts a breakfast date with Jude and gets a babysitter for her niece and nephew for the first part of the day.
Jude has a plan to keep her with him all day and hopefully all night too.
The way she acts about needing to go back home has him calming her down as they take a little ride on his boat.
They find each other’s company very comfortable and Jude tells her how he wants to spend as much time as possible with her. He wants the date to continue at her place and she has to draw the line.
With no intention of involving him in the children’s lives, Mercy finds it hard to get Jude to just take her word about her tight schedule. He gets very insistent about wanting to know why she needs to be home so much.
In the second book of ‘The Billionaire’s Quarry’ things start to get steamy, but will Jude be able to take not having Mercy the way he wants her? He’s a man used to having what he wants after all and Mercy seems intent on not letting him have that.
MERCY
The phone sits on the bed next to me as I watch television with the sound low so I don’t wake the kids who climbed into my bed after their baths and fell asleep after their long day.
It’s been thirty minutes since I got a text from Jude Hurst, asking me to call him. I haven’t responded at all. I hope he gets the hint.
I don’t want to get into the specifics with him about why I’m not a viable candidate for his harem of women I’m sure he has. The kids make it a bit problematic.
He surely will move on and stop this nonsense with me soon. He has to. I don’t know how long I can hold out.
His voice, alone, makes me wet. Add in his gorgeous face, hot body, and that charm. Well, let’s just say, I am only human. A human who has other humans to think about now.
I foresee an office full of flowers when I go back to work on Monday. Perhaps a few boxes of expensive chocolates and maybe a bottle of wine to inebriate me into giving into him. He underestimates my resolve in keeping men at a distance for the foreseeable future.
I suppose when the kids get grown, I can date. That’s merely sixteen years away. I’ll only be forty-two then. Whoa! No way!
I can’t wait until I’m forty-two to start dating! That’s just crazy!
Now I’m back to looking at the damn phone and wondering what the hell I’m doing. How do single moms know when they can have a life again? How old do the kids need to be before introducing a new person into their little family pack?
I wish there was a solid plan all single parents could follow. That would be so helpful. But there isn’t and I’m not prone to following advice since our situation is fairly unique.
There are plenty of nights when the kids sleep in their own beds. But there are also plenty of nights when one of us needs the support and comfort of the others. Even me from time to time.
Thinking about my lost family is a thing I try not to do. It always brings me heartache and pain. And not in that cathartic way our therapist talks about.
It’s in a way that leaves me weak. It leaves me on edge and wondering if I can really do all that I need to do.
My niece and nephew have no one else. Their father was an only child and his parents had him when they were older. Both of his parents died before he married my sister. There are no other relatives that we have who are near the age where they could care for the kids.
I am it for them. If I don’t keep myself on the straight and narrow, then they’ll have no one. No one to hold them when they miss their parents and grandparents who they were very close to as well. No one to know what kinds of little things make them happy. No one to love them the way only a family member can.
Gazing at my phone, I know I’d be all over that man if I was still a single woman with no kids. But I am, so I can’t be. I suppose I could talk to him and let him know what my problem is.
I have a feeling he wouldn’t care. It’s not that I think kids would scare a man off. I’ve seen plenty of men take on women with their own kids. It’s not unheard of.
It’s just that I think a man would complicate our lives at this point. We’re still kind of a mess. There are still nightmares all three of us have on occasion. There are still odd times when one of us bursts into tears for reasons others would never understand.
I try very hard never to fall apart in front of the kids. I do fall apart, though. Mostly after they’ve fallen asleep and I’m in the shower to drown out my cries. I do have my weak moments. What man would understand that? What man would want to be a part of this mess?
Not the ultra-wealthy, Jude Hurst. I know it. He might not, but I do. If I let him, he’ll take what he wants from me and that’s it. And that man could completely steal my heart. I know he could.
My heart has pounded with only a few words from him. What would happen if I got an actual taste of him? If I felt his hands all over my body, what would happen then?
The light from my cell phone screen shines. I have the phone on vibrate so any incoming calls won’t wake the kids. And I see it’s him calling. I guess he decided not to leave it up to me.
But I won’t answer. I can’t answer. I shouldn’t answer.
The light fades as he’s hung up. And now I find my heart really pounding. What if he needed something? What if he’s in trouble?
I shake my head with the stupid thoughts. I’m nothing to him. He’d never call me in the event of an actual emergency. I’m being stupid and making shit up to make an excuse for why I need to call him back and make sure he’s alright.
The screen lights up again and it seems he’s sent me a text. I pick the phone up and see he’s sent, -Pick the phone up when I call you back in five minutes, please.-
Okay, so now I know he’s fine and I can stop lying to myself that he needs anything other than a booty call. So I text back, -I’m asleep. Don’t call.-
Not even a second passes by then he’s texted back, -Bullshit! Answer your damn phone when I call you in four minutes.-
Well, now he’s cussing at me!
I can’t accept being treated that way, anyway. Thank goodness he’s making this easy for me. So I text back, -No.-
There’s nothing coming back. I thought there would be something coming right back. A vague threat of him showing up at my door. Or the promise of a special night with him. Something to tell me he is not giving up. But nothing is coming back.
Maybe he has given up. Maybe he understands now that I am a woman who means what she says. No matter how ludicrous it might be that I do not want to go have drinks with a man who is gorgeous and loaded as well as completely charming in his own right.
No, I’m a woman who has her reasons for her actions. All the things I do are calculated for the risks involved. And Jude Hurst is a risk. A huge risk. A risk that is so not worth taking.
What am I saying? He is completely worth the risks involved but I don’t have the freedom to take that risk. Not any freedom at all. I’m held accountable for two little lives after all.
Why did he have to look at me the way he did? Why did he have to touch my cheek with the back of his soft hand? Why did he have to look into my eyes with those mischievous eyes of his?
I swear the man has little secrets that must be wonderful because his eyes dance when he looks at you. When he looked at me, anyway. When he took that picture earlier today and posted it to his profile he had that look.
I wonder why he did that.
Quickly, I open up Facebook and stalk his page again. And I find another interesting thing there. Before, when I checked his relationship status, it said single. Now it says, it’s complicated and guess whose name is under that status?
Mine!
I cannot believe he’s added me to his social media profile. So I do a friend request.
It’s not because I want anything to do with him. It’s simply because he’s seen fit to put my name up there with his and we’ve yet to even have a simple discussion. He’s so presumptuous!
An instant later he has accepted my friend request and has sent me a direct message full of kissy-faces.
Then my phone starts vibrating as he’s calling me.
Well, now what do I do?
JUDE
After three rings I’m feeling a bit tempted to hang up and send her a barrage of direct messages. But then something happens.
“Hello,” she says in a whisper.
“Hey,” I say as I’m kind of caught off guard. “Why are you whispering? Is someone there with you? Because that guy, Dave, said you didn’t have any man in your life.”
“Um, no. No one’s here. I just don’t want to talk loud and bother the neighbors who may be sleeping is why I’m whispering.” I hear a shuffling sound then she says in a normal tone of voice, “So why did you think it would be okay to put my name on your Facebook profile, Mr. Hurst?”
“Why were you stalking me, Miss Noland?” I wait to see how she’ll take that because I think she might take it kind of badly.
“I make it my business to know as much as I can about men who want to go out with me. So I use the resources society affords me to do that,” comes her viable answer.
“Oh,” I say as I was preparing myself to get bitched out. “That’s smart of you, Mercy. Very smart. You seem like a smart woman.”
“I am,” she says with not one word after that.
She just states a fact and stops, so I ask, “Are you always so professional?”
“Of course not,” she says, sounding very professional. “I know how to act appropriately in many kinds of ways. Our relationship is a business one so I will remain on a professional level with you, Mr. Hurst.”
“I am never going to your spa as a client again, Mercy. So you can lose that tone with me.”
“Look, I know you’re probably a very nice man. I’m just not available right now. It’s nothing about you. I’m not trying to play hard to get in order to entice you. I’m merely unavailable. Can you understand that, Jude?”
She called me by my name! Now this is progress!
“Why don’t you tell me why you are unavailable, and I will tell you if I can understand that or not. And thank you for finally saying my name. It sounds sweet coming out of your mouth,” I say and lay back on my pillows.
Talking to her as I lay in bed reminds me of my high school days. Talking to a girl on the phone before I was old enough to simply bring them home with me or stay at their place or take them to a hotel room. It takes me back to simpler times.
“I just am. I don’t like to talk about myself. You can understand that, can’t you?” she asks with a sweet lilt to her slight southern accent.
“Did you grow up here in Dallas?” I ask her as I just have to put a place to that accent she has.
“No, I grew up in a tiny town called Utopia. It’s in the southern part of central Texas. Have you ever heard of it?” she asks.
I settle into the pillows and reach over to pick up the beer I’ve been nursing as I’ve been waiting for her to call me. To be honest I had to give up and call her. Not a thing I usually do once I’ve put out a text to call me.
I have a lot of pride after all!
“I have heard of it. So when did you move to Dallas?” I ask and take a sip of the beer, finding it warm now and get up to go get me a cold one from the mini-fridge in my bedroom.
“My parents and I moved here a little over four years ago. My older sister had gotten married and moved here with her husband. They met in college. They both went to The University of Texas. She was a cheerleader and he was a football player and they fell in love very quickly. Anyway, they got married after they graduated and when she became pregnant, we all felt like we wanted to be closer to them. To enjoy the baby, you know.”
“I do,” I say. “Who doesn’t want to enjoy the new baby in the family? So that brought you here to our fair city then. And how long do you plan to live here?”
“I’m not sure. I suppose for at least the next sixteen years. I do like my job. It pays well and I should stay in one place,” she says.
“Why do you need to stay in one place for sixteen years?” I ask as that sounds odd to me.
“Um, oh.” She’s quiet for a moment and I find myself freezing in front of the little fridge in a panic.
Shit! I’ve hit a soft spot with her. “Not that it’s any of my business. So let’s go on to another subject. When I accepted your friend request I went to your page and noticed you haven’t used it in a long time. Why not take a selfie and put it up there so I can see your gorgeous face?”
“I’ll think about it. I’m too busy to get on it. I think it was a little over two years ago when I was on it last. I use the site for the spa now. I post a lot on that site,” she says.
“Nothing personal, though,” I say as I pull out a beer and pop the top open and go back to my bed.
“No,” she says. “Personal things aren’t meant to go on that site.”
“So who does know you, personally?” I ask then take a drink of the cold beer.
“Not many. I’m just so busy with work and…” she just stops talking.
“And?” I ask.
“Work, that’s all. I’m very busy with that,” she says. “What do you do?”
“When?” I ask then feel stupid. “I mean I don’t have to work. I do things like travel, hunt on occasion, and stuff like that.”
“How rewarding,” comes her sarcastic reply.
I’d love to get offended but she’s not wrong. “I know. I’ve been kind of consumed with trivial things. Like drinking, carousing for wild women, and wasting money. I need a positive influence in my life, Mercy. Do you know anyone who might be of help to me?”
She laughs and I love the sound. It’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh. It’s sweet, sexy, and fucking honest. Not premeditated to enchant me. Not rehearsed to sound exactly on pitch like I’ve heard so many times from the pretentious women I now know.
“Are you talking about me being a positive influence on you, Jude? I assure you I have very little influence over anyone,” she says then I hear her sigh and wonder why that is.
“Mercy, do you ever eat breakfast on Saturday mornings?” I ask her. “Because I know you don’t do drinks after work on Friday nights. So I was thinking a little coffee, a few pancakes, maybe a donut or two and a little conversation would be a thing you might like to do.”
“Really?” she asks me as if she doesn’t believe me at all.
“Really,” I say then put my beer down. “I don’t want to merely get in your pants the way I know you’re thinking I want. I want to get to know you.”
“That’s like the one thing I can’t allow, Jude. I really am sorry. It’s just so complicated,” she says.
“See, the thing about that, is it’s alright with me. Didn’t you see our relationship status, Mercy? It says those actual words. So I’m cool with complicated. And I’m only talking about an hour or two for breakfast in the morning. I’m kind of aching to see you again.”
“Aching?” she asks.
“Um, hm.”
“I tell you what. Can you let me call you around nine or ten to let you know if I can make it?”
The only answer I have for her is a quick, “Yes.”
Wow, we may have a date!
