6. Quinn
Quinn
Luke lets me in.
Cole watches me.
Neither of them trusts me.
Good.
That makes this cleaner.
“Sit,” Luke says, already pulling out his phone.
I don’t.
“I won’t be here long.”
“That depends,” he replies, typing. “Logan’s on his way.”
Of course he is.
Cole doesn’t move from the doorway. His arms are crossed, his attention fixed on me like he’s waiting for the exact moment I make a move he doesn’t like.
“Whatever this is,” he says, “keep it away from Rose.”
Direct.
Protective.
Expected.
“I’m not here for her,” I say.
“Then you’re here for the ranch.”
Not a question.
I meet his gaze. “Yes.”
The honesty lands.
Not well.
But clearly.
The front door slams.
Logan.
He doesn’t slow down when he walks in—just stops short when he sees me standing in the middle of his house like I belong here.
Every muscle in his body tightens.
“You couldn’t wait,” he says.
“No,” I reply. “I couldn’t.”
Luke steps back. “We’ll be close.”
Not leaving.
Not really.
Cole gives Logan one last look—don’t be stupid—before disappearing down the hall.
We’re alone.
Or as alone as this house allows.
Logan steps toward me.
Slow this time.
Measured.
“Start talking,” he says.
I hold his gaze.
No buildup.
No repetition.
Just the deal.
“You have a problem,” I say. “And so do I.”
His jaw tightens. “Yeah. I’m aware.”
“You look reckless,” I continue. “Your family looks divided. My brother uses that to push harder on your land.”
“And you?” he asks. “What’s your problem?”
“My brother doesn’t stop once he starts,” I say. “And right now, he has momentum.”
That lands.
Different than before.
More direct.
“So your solution is to have a relationship with me after just one night?” Logan asks.
I step closer.
Not slow.
Not hesitant.
Clear.
Shaking my head I clarify, “We change the story.”
His eyes narrow. “How?”
“You and I stop being a mistake,” I say. “And start being a choice.”
Silence.
He doesn’t interrupt.
Good.
“We present this as intentional,” I continue. “Not a scandal. Not a slip. A relationship.”
His head tilts slightly. “You’re serious about making it real.”
“Yes.”
“You think people are going to buy that?”
“I think they already want to,” I say. “It’s cleaner. Easier. And it removes the question of why.”
His gaze sharpens.
“And the real reason?” he asks.
I don’t answer that.
Instead—
I give him what matters.
“You get control,” I say.
That lands.
Hard.
He stills slightly.
“You stop looking like the brother who screwed up,” I continue. “You look like the one who made a move.”
His eyes stay on mine.
Listening now.
Not reacting.
I keep going.
“You protect the ranch’s image. You stabilize your family’s position. You take away my brother’s leverage.”
A beat.
Then—
“And I get access,” I finish.
There it is.
Clean.
No spin.
His mouth curves slightly. “At least you’re honest about that part.”
“It’s the only part that matters.”
He studies me.
Longer this time.
“And what kind of access are we talking about?” he asks.
“To you,” I say. “To the ranch. To anything that tells me what my brother is planning before he makes his next move.”
“And you just expect me to hand that over?”
“No,” I say. “I expect you to take something in return.”
That shifts the dynamic.
Subtly.
But completely.
His gaze drops—
to my mouth.
Then back up.
“And what exactly am I taking?” he asks.
There’s an edge to it now.
Not just strategy.
Memory.
I don’t look away.
“Credibility,” I say.
His brow lifts slightly.
“Standing next to me changes how this looks,” I continue. “It doesn’t hurt that people already saw us together.”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “They did.”
The air shifts.
Just slightly.
He steps closer.
Not accidental.
“And the part where I want you in my bed?” he asks.
Direct.
Again.
I don’t break eye contact.
“That’s not part of the deal.”
His mouth curves. “Feels like you’re already on board with it.”
His hand comes up—
fingers brushing my wrist.
Light.
Testing.
My breath tightens before I can stop it.
His eyes flick down.
He notices.
Of course he does.
“Tell me something,” he says quietly. “That night in Vegas…”
There it is.
The question beneath everything.
“Was that part of your strategy too?”
The world narrows.
Not around him.
Around the question.
Because that’s the line.
The one I don’t cross.
Not yet.
I hold his gaze.
Give him just enough truth.
“No,” I say.
Not the whole answer.
Not the lie he’s expecting either.
His grip tightens slightly.
He doesn’t fully believe me.
Good.
That means he’s thinking.
“That’s awfully convenient,” he says.
“It’s accurate.”
He studies me.
Searching.
Measuring.
Trying to decide if I’m the problem—
or the solution.
“And if I say no to turning our one night into a ‘relationship’?” he asks.
“You don’t,” I say.
His brows lift. “That confident are you?”
“No,” I reply. “That practical.”
I hold his gaze.
“You already look like you chose me,” I say. “This just makes it true in the only way that matters.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Decisive.
This is it.
The moment.
He exhales slowly.
His hand still around my wrist.
Still not letting go.
“And if I say yes,” he says, voice lower now, “we do it my way.”
“Define that.”
“No lies to my brothers,” he says. “They know it’s a fake relationship.”
“Agreed.”
“And you don’t move without telling me first.”
“Also reasonable.”
His gaze drops again.
Slower this time.
More deliberate.
“And we don’t pretend this part doesn’t exist,” he adds grazing his hand along my cheek.
My pulse sharpens.
“What part?”, I whisper.
His thumb shifts slightly against my wrist.
“The heat part.”
The contact.
The awareness.
The memory we haven’t walked away from.
“That’s not part of the strategy,” I say.
“No,” he agrees. “It’s the complication.”
The air tightens.
Close.
Too close.
“This is a bad idea,” he murmurs.
“Yes.”
Neither of us moves.
That’s the problem.
Because we both know—
this works.
Strategically.
And dangerously.
His grip loosens—
but doesn’t disappear.
“Then we sell it,” he says.
The deal locks into place.
Clean.
Simple.
Irreversible.
And for the first time since Vegas—
I feel something shift that has nothing to do with strategy.
Not control.
Not calculation.
Something riskier.
Something I should’ve shut down before it started.
I don’t.