Page 71 of The Butterfly Killer

“I haven’t told you the backstory I gave.” Mercer finally pulled his hands away.

Burns could only breathe a little better. “So tell me then.”

He straightened out his clothes, avoiding the tie. He knew that if he did it would end up in a horrible mess again. He’d had enough of Mercer’s hands on him as it was.

“I told them we were married.”

Burns started to nod. “That’s—wait. You did what?”

His eyes bugged out and he almost choked. He silently pleaded with Mercer to tell him this was a joke. Except when he looked at Mercer to be reconciled that it was a prank, he was met with a wall of seriousness that only meant one thing: Mercer wasn’t pulling his leg.

Burns’s shock melted away and turned into anger. “Are you serious? Why the fuck would you do that?”

Mercer didn’t look at all bothered or seem to care that he’d made Burns angry. It was a slap in Burns’s face and it only made him more mad at the other man.

He should have figured that Mercer wouldn’t give a shit about his feelings. He did what he wanted and screw what other people had to go through to get it.

Mercer had the audacity to look down at him like he was a child throwing a fit. Burns let out a growl and turned on his heels. There was nowhere he could go. He wasn’t going to risk making a scene before they even got into the building, but Mercer’s stupid face was going to send him into a blind rage if he didn’t start explaining.

“How do you know Cortez isn’t a raging homophobe?”

Mercer smoothed down the lapel of Burns’s suit jacket. Burns recoiled. Mercer didn’t react.

“He has many business partners who divulge in such proclivities. Whether he personally cares doesn’t seem to effect his business choices.”

Burns snorted. “Great. A man with even less morals than I thought.”

“We would be questioned if we were highly social men without beautiful dates. The best solution was to assume a monogamous relationship.”

Burns nodded with a slight eyeroll. “Yes because pretending we’re fucking is going to work out so well.”

Mercer’s eyes darkened. His jaw clenched. “Do you perhaps have a personal problem with this?”

Burns was confused at first, but when he realized what Mercer was asking, his eyes widened even wider than before. “Do you thinkI’mhomophobic?”

Mercer didn’t say anything.

Burns gave a laugh that lacked any kind of humor. “I’m not. I just don’t think anyone would believe someone like you would be married to me.”

“Oh?” Mercer’s calm exterior cracked a little. He raised a brow. “Why not?”

The question caught him off guard. He frowned as he started to think of all the excuses he could say, but all of them didn’t sound good enough. The look Mercer gave him now was bordering disappointment—like an owner looking at a dog who was pretending to be hurt to not go to the vet.

Burns rethought what he was going to blurt out.

“I…well…neither of us give off the committed type.” He tried to put it nicely that Mercer didn’t look like the type to be with anyone. Mercer and sex wasn’t something Burns thought about at all, but he almost didn’t think Mercer was capable of it.

However, now that he thought about it and couldn’t stop thinking about it, he imagined Mercer to be a cold lover. He’d fuck someone with their face shoved in the covers, get off, and shove them out of the room before they could even think about asking for his number.

Mercer slid his hands back up so they cradled Burns’s face. He tried to step back and get away from the strange touch, but Mercer’s fingers dug firmly into his jaw, holding him still if he didn’t want to risk hurting himself.

“Is that all? Who would care if we’re committed to each other or not? I doubt adultery is something foreign to them.”

Burns snorted. “Yeah. Mistresses are a given in their culture.”

Mercer’s gaze narrowed. He pulled Burns’s attention back to him with a firm press of his thumb to the corner of Burns’s mouth.

Burns’s eyes widened. His lips parted in surprise before he could stop them.

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