Testing the Limits. Kira Sinclair
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Oh, he was still in the military, now stationed with the Ranger Training Brigade, but everyone knew it wasn’t the same thing. Jace got off on the danger and adrenaline, but with little more than thirty seconds of contemplation he’d given it all up.
When Michael developed complications after the surgery, for some reason Jace felt he’d failed his brother. Failed her.
And no matter how often she told him he was wrong, he just wouldn’t let the guilt go.
Slowly, he turned to look at her, his blue eyes blazing. “I know it wasn’t my fault.”
Pain and sorrow tightened her chest. Running the pad of her thumb over his skin she whispered, “I don’t think you do.”
Jerking away from her, he fell back into the kitchen, turning away under the guise of grabbing some water.
She’d tried to have this conversation with him enough times to realize she wasn’t getting anywhere. He’d shut down and shut her out. Just as he’d been doing with everyone for the past two years.
Fine. “What are you doing here?” she asked again.
In a tone that implied the question had been silly the first time and downright ignorant the second, he said, “Mowing your lawn.”
“Thanks, smartass. I meant why. While I was at work. Without telling me.”
“Because I know you, Quinn. If I’d asked, you’d have come up with some excuse for me not to.”
“That’s because I’m perfectly capable of handling it myself.”
“Sure, but you don’t have to. Michael asked me to look out for you and that’s what I’m doing.”
“Somehow I don’t think he meant by mowing my lawn and replacing shingles.”
Jace tagged her with a calculating glance from beneath long, inky lashes, no doubt trying to assess just how much she knew—or had figured out.
Her mouth twisted into a grimace. The answer was enough. “Michael’s gone and has been for a while. I’m fine. You don’t have to keep watching over me.”
He couldn’t hide his wince, and she immediately regretted her words. That brief flash of pain across his face made her want to cringe. It was getting harder and harder to be around him. Not because he reminded her of Michael...because he didn’t.
When she looked at Jace Hyland the last thing on her mind was the man she’d lost. Which just made her feel guilty and...overheated. Especially considering Jace had never given her the slightest indication he thought of her as anything except his almost sister-in-law.
Frustration fizzing uncomfortably beneath her skin, she whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
Closing the gap between them, Quinn laid her hand on his arm. A zap of electricity sparked through her fingers, but she ignored it.
“Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but it isn’t necessary.”
In true Jace fashion, he completely ignored what she said. “What are you doing home early?”
2
GOD, HE WANTED to touch her. Pull her into his arms and just bury his face in the soft cloud of brown-blond hair. The scent of her, something so sweet and tempting, filled his lungs.
He’d spent the past two years trying to keep some space between them, honor Michael’s memory and control his damn body whenever Quinn got close.
It killed him, trying to pretend he didn’t want his brother’s fiancée and had since long before Michael died.
That realization just added to the pile of guilt he already carried around with him, a permanent weight settled across his shoulders.
He tried to tell himself it was nothing more than a physical response. What man wouldn’t want Quinn Keller? She was gorgeous in an effortless, understated way. She was real, not bothering with the pretense that other women in their late twenties seemed to need—lots of make-up, flashy clothes, jewelry and heels.
She didn’t waste her time at expensive salons. Why would she when her chestnut hair had natural blond highlights, the kind women spent a fortune to get? Most of the time she kept it up in a bun or a ponytail, but he’d seen it down a few times over the years. And those memories...those were the ones that starred in his midnight fantasies.
Hair tangled in a mess down her naked back. His hands buried deep in the thick strands, holding her still as he claimed her mouth and made them both breathless.
The intriguing caramel color of her eyes. The way they flashed with flecks of gold when she was angry, impassioned...or heartbroken.
But it was her skin that really tormented him. So pale. So soft. And covered with freckles that gave her the illusion of being younger than she actually was.
If it weren’t for her large, pouty mouth she’d probably come off innocent as a nun. That mouth...
Jace stared down at her, unable to do anything but watch as her lips moved. The familiar burn seared across his skin. It settled into his gut, caustic and poisonous.
He couldn’t have her. He couldn’t touch her.
She was not his.
But, God, he wanted her.
When she was this close, it was so damn hard to remember why he needed to keep his distance.
He leaned closer. The warmth of her body slipped out to touch him, as surely as any caress. He was cold. Had been for a very long time. And while he knew the torture that awaited him when this moment was over, he couldn’t stop himself from taking and absorbing whatever he could for now.
The numbing pain and guilt would be back soon enough.
The relief Quinn always gave him was bittersweet. Amazing while he had it. But the crash back into darkness seemed to get exponentially more painful with each encounter.
“Jace, are you listening?”
Her soft voice cut through the fog. Jace curled his hands into fists and forced himself to think about something else. The MMA fight that was coming up tomorrow night. The one he’d been training months for.
He flexed his fingers before curling them tight again. Imagined his knuckles split and bleeding. The relief of a pain he could see, feel, understand and combat...unlike the constant ache he’d been unsuccessfully battling for the past two years.
Taking a step backward, Jace put distance between them. Quinn frowned, her eyes flashing with disappointment and hurt, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that. He could either do this or something they’d both regret.
Quinn was the last connection he had to Michael, outside of his family, and as much as being around her was personal torture, he couldn’t give that up.
He couldn’t give her up.
“I’m sorry, Quinn. It’s been a long day.”
He’d taken a couple weeks’ leave, not because he particularly cared about time off, but so he could prepare for this fight...and recover when it was over. He’d been at the gym at four this morning and spent ten hours punishing his body in preparation.
He needed these nights, for his sanity. Even if his doctors had warned him about the dangers of participating in such a high-contact sport.
He missed the physical tests and mental challenges of combat. The thrill and adrenaline high he got from pushing his body and mind past their limits. Since he couldn’t go into combat anymore, he’d found a substitute—amateur mixed martial arts.
No one in his life was particularly happy that he was doing it—especially his mother. But he craved this outlet. So most of the time he didn’t bother telling anyone about a fight