Wanting him was wrong, but it felt so right…

Social worker Quinn Keller sees the best in people…and the worst. When she rescues a prominent businessman’s battered wife, Quinn is targeted by the woman’s violent husband. Her only option is to place her safety in the hands of Ranger Jace Hyland—tattooed, scarred, incredibly hot…and the brother of Quinn’s deceased fiancé. An entirely different kind of dangerous!

Quinn is the woman Jace has always wanted—and she’s strictly hands-off. But keeping her safe means taking her to his small apartment…and his bed. So for one unforgettable night, Jace will give in to the temptation he can no longer resist. One night of forbidden hunger. One night he prays will be enough to satisfy a lifetime of longing….

Dear Reader,

From the moment I started writing Jace and Quinn’s story I knew it was going to be one of those that grabbed my heart and refused to let go. They’re both dealing with such deep, sometimes heart-wrenching issues. And if their personal demons weren’t enough, I had to throw in another character finally finding the strength to leave a situation involving domestic violence. But I hope all their struggles only make you root for them to find happiness even more—I know that’s what happened for me.

Jace and Quinn have struggled for years against wanting each other and feeling as if they’re betraying the memory of someone they both love. The great thing about love is that it’s fathomless. Loving one person doesn’t mean you can’t love someone else just as much, although maybe a little differently. The heart has such a limitless capacity for compassion.

I hope that’s the message everyone takes away from Testing the Limits—not just because Jace and Quinn finally find a way to accept what they share, but because of the way they both selflessly give of themselves to help others. In this respect, they are amazingly similar and make me want to be a better person.

I’d love to hear from you at www.kirasinclair.com, or come chat with me on Twitter: @KiraSinclair.

Best wishes,

Kira

Testing the Limits

Kira Sinclair

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kira Sinclair is an award-winning author who writes emotional, passionate contemporary romances. Double winner of the National Readers’ Choice Award, her first foray into writing fiction was for a high-school English assignment. Nothing could dampen her enthusiasm…not even being forced to read the love story aloud to the class. However, it definitely made her blush. Writing about striking, sexy heroes and passionate, determined women has always excited her. She lives out her own happily-ever-after with her amazing husband, their two beautiful daughters and a menagerie of animals on a small farm in North Alabama. Kira loves to hear from readers at www.kirasinclair.com.

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I’d like to dedicate this book to anyone who has registered to become an organ and tissue donor. It’s such an important and selfless gift, and your sacrifice can help save someone else’s life. However, it isn’t enough to sign your driver’s license or register online. You have to tell the people closest to you what your wishes are—share your intent to give the gift of life.

For more information on organ donation please visit www.organdonor.gov.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

Extract

1

QUINN KELLER DIDN’T often lose it. She tried hard to keep a rein on her temper. It was something she’d been working on her entire life, not wanting to hurt others with harsh words. Most days she succeeded.

She gritted her teeth, her body quivering with barely suppressed fury. Today wasn’t one of those days.

Luckily, the object of her rage deserved every last speck of it, and she wouldn’t lose one wink of sleep over anything she said.

Slick and condescending, Everett Warren thought he was above the rules. It had taken everything she had not to slam her fist into his smug face. Fortunately, her brain was working faster than her instincts for once, because if she’d given in to the urge she probably would have lost her job.

And then how would she be able to help Caroline Warren, the asshole’s wife?

“There’s been a grave misunderstanding, Ms. Keller,” Warren had said, in that deep, solemn voice that was probably supposed to indicate just how important and trustworthy a man he was.

Unfortunately for him, Quinn had seen the evidence of the opposite with her own eyes.

An image of Caroline’s body, marked and bruised, flashed across Quinn’s mind. Not twelve hours ago she’d held the woman’s hand while a doctor and nurse had taken care of her injuries. She’d been there as Caroline had stripped naked so they could take pictures of the damage for evidence. And the marks hadn’t all been from last night. Several of the bruises were days and weeks old. All purposely positioned so they could be well covered.

And then Quinn had hidden Caroline in a safe house on a small farm on the outskirts of town.

Somehow, despite Warren’s false concern, Quinn managed to bite her tongue, keeping the snide comments to herself. Misunderstanding, her ass. She hated men who felt putting a ring on a woman’s finger equaled the right to dictate, intimidate and hit.

What made Warren worse than most was the smooth exterior he presented to the world. Most of the abusers she’d met over the years didn’t bother pretending they were anything else. They didn’t care enough to hide the truth.

Warren did. In fact, he worked hard at the perfect facade. He was a major donor to several high-profile charities in town. He’d won service awards and been hailed as a town hero for years. Hell, even she’d been sucked in by the pretense. How could she not be? He’d funded several of the programs for the people she assisted on a daily basis.

Although, according to Caroline, the money he’d been liberally spreading around town for years wasn’t exactly clean. Certainly, he had legitimate business interests. But also ties with “families” that were well known for their ruthless behavior.

To put it bluntly, he laundered money.

The minute Caroline had told her that, Quinn had tried to call in the cops. But Caroline had flipped at the idea of talking to them. She was scared—not just of Warren, but also the men he worked for. Considering the evidence Quinn had seen, Caroline had good reason for that fear.

So Quinn had planned on giving Caroline a few days to settle in and begin to feel safe before pressing the issue again.

They had to proceed with caution, anyway.

Warren had money, a sense of entitlement and played poker at least once a month with a judge, several lawyers, two city councilmen and most of the financial heavy hitters in Barnhart, their small town just outside Fort Benning, Georgia. He’d built a network of friends and associates who’d back him first and ask questions later.

And Quinn didn’t want Caroline to be their target.

She’d known Warren would be pissed. What she hadn’t expected was a personal visit from the man.

“At least let me speak to her. I need to know she’s okay.”

His words held so much sincerity and concern Quinn almost wanted to believe him. And maybe she would have, if she hadn’t seen the truth lurking deep beneath the surface.

He’d smiled at her pleasantly, even as his eyes had glinted hard and promised retribution. A silent shiver of apprehension shot down Quinn’s spine.

Working as a counselor for a nonprofit assistance center that handled everything from court ordered drug programs and referrals from local shelters, to those who came in off the street looking for help, she’d seen some pretty shitty stuff. It shouldn’t amaze her just how unfeeling the human race could be. Unfortunately, the moment she thought she’d seen the worst, someone like Warren came along and proved her wrong.

The problem was that Warren was too damn smart. He knew just what he could and couldn’t say.

He hadn’t actually threatened her or Caroline. He’d intimated that he was willing to pull all his financial support from their programs. When that hadn’t gotten him anywhere, he’d started playing hardball, smoothly suggesting he not only knew exactly where Quinn lived, but could, with little effort, discover things like the name of her third-grade teacher, her credit score and where she liked to buy her gourmet coffee.

Not enough to qualify as an actual threat, but more than enough to give her the heebie-jeebies. And make Daniel, her boss, worry.

Which only pissed her off more. And may have driven her to throw a coffee mug in the break room after Warren left. Something she wasn’t particularly proud of but...the coward couldn’t even threaten her properly. He hadn’t given her enough to file an incident report with the police.

But Quinn refused to let the prick intimidate her.

Unlike his wife, Quinn wasn’t afraid of Warren. His words couldn’t hurt her. It was one thing to beat a woman he had easy access to and thought he could control. Quinn was another matter. It would take effort to get to her and she seriously didn’t think he’d bother. By not giving in to his intimidation she’d proven threatening her wouldn’t work. So now he’d most likely try to find another—easier—way to get what he wanted.

Bullies were usually lazy.

Daniel, however, wasn’t so quick to dismiss him. “I want you to head home. You had a long night and deserve some downtime.”

Quinn saw right through the ruse. But even as it irked her, she couldn’t stop herself from appreciating the sentiment behind the gesture.

“Not necessary,” she’d protested.

Daniel frowned, a tight line pulling between his bushy black eyebrows. “I insist, Quinn. Will you just, for once, not argue?”

She scoffed, a harsh sound scraping through her throat. “We both know how likely that is.”

“Don’t make me revoke your access to the server.”

She sucked in a hard breath. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“Don’t bet on it.” Walking around her desk, he planted his wide hips on the edge and leaned down toward her. The skin at the edges of his eyes pulled tight, doubling the wrinkles that already radiated out into his receding hairline. “Quinn, you need a break. We all need a break. Last night was intense. Warren’s visit only made it worse.”

“But I have a ton of cases that need my attention.” Both of their gazes scraped across the top of Quinn’s desk. It was messy, littered with files piled haphazardly on top of one another. Papers stuck out of several of them. Post-it Notes in all the shades of the rainbow clung to every available surface.

It was ordered chaos, just the way she liked it.

But she didn’t miss Daniel’s wince when he took it all in.

She’d lost the argument.

Unfortunately, not only would her cases still be there waiting in the morning, no doubt more would have been piled on. There were days she wondered why she put herself through the wringer. Kids being beaten and starved. Addicts spiraling out of control, unwilling to accept help. Runaways. Veterans feeling lost and broken. Women being treated like property. Hungry, desperate and emotionally devastated people—that’s what she dealt with all day.

The ones who fell through the cracks or didn’t think they deserved better broke her heart the most. Some days she left the office with a seemingly permanent ache in the center of her chest.

It was hard, seeing that kind of devastation and desperation. It wore on a person. But just when she’d get to the point where she thought she couldn’t take one more, something would always happen to remind her why she could. A runaway was reunited with a parent. A drug addict went into treatment. Or a battered woman discovered the strength to leave.

Those were the days she felt she was making a difference in people’s lives. Just as others had made a difference in her life when she’d needed it most.

So Warren could try his best, but there was no way in hell Quinn was giving him a damn thing. It had taken courage for Caroline to leave, and Quinn wasn’t repaying that by abandoning her.

Pulling up to the house she’d purchased over two years ago, Quinn sat in her car and stared at the sunny yellow siding.

A memory, one she hadn’t thought about in a very long time, swelled up to overwhelm her. The moment Michael had seen the place he’d known it was home. She hadn’t been as convinced.

Pulling her out of the car, he’d coaxed her down the cracked walk. “Come on, baby, you’re gonna love it. Promise.”

He’d tried to butter her up, wrapping his arms around her waist and nibbling on her neck as they’d closed in on the front door.

It had almost worked, although not even his enthusiasm could mask the flaws. “The walk is all cracked. And the paint’s peeling off the door.”

“Easily fixed. That’s cosmetic stuff. What you can’t change is the history of the house or the fantastic school district.”

“School district?” She couldn’t hide the squeak of surprise. Swallowing, she’d tried to force down the knot of anxiety and dread that had threatened to choke her. After three years of dating, she’d just finally agreed to marry him. And he’d instantly had them pushing strollers and walking toddlers to kindergarten.

Always tuned into her reactions, Michael had smoothed his hands down her bare arms and turned her softly to face him. “Not now. I know we’re not ready. But some day, yeah?”

God, what she wouldn’t give to go back to that day and let him get her pregnant right then and there. That way she’d still have a piece of him, one she could kiss and hug and love.

As always, Michael had been able to talk his way into what he wanted. Although, by the time they were finished with the grand tour Quinn hadn’t minded. She’d fallen in love with the house as surely as he had.

They’d bought it together. Michael, ever planning for the future, had insisted on the insurance that would pay off the mortgage should anything happen to either of them. She’d scoffed. Michael was a finance guy, far from living life on the edge. They were both young.

Little did they know that five months later Michael would be gone. It had happened so fast....

With a sigh, Quinn pushed away the sad thoughts. Not for the first time, she wondered if maybe she should sell the place. It had been two years. And the house was big. Too big for one person.

Unlocking the front door, she pushed inside the cool foyer. Dropping her purse onto the antique bench she kept by the entrance, she toed off her ballet flats and nudged them beneath it.

No, she didn’t want to give up the place. It had been hers longer than hers and Michael’s. It was home.

Padding to the back of the house and her bedroom, she was already fantasizing about ditching her bra, putting on yoga pants and curling up with a good book.

But passing by the wide picture window in her den, she froze.

It wasn’t every day she came home to a sweaty man mowing her back lawn. Especially a man with his shirt off, muscles rippling down his back with every shove of her ancient push mower over the grass.

For a few minutes, she had the luxury of watching him work. Or maybe she was just dumbstruck and unable to move. Her body flushed hot, as if the air conditioning had stopped working and the hot June air had rushed in.

Running her tongue across suddenly parched lips, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. Or the twisting gray, black and red ink down his right arm, a helicopter surrounded by flames and chaos behind a group of shadowy soldiers, two holding one up. That was Jace Hyland to a T, always holding up the people around him, sacrificing and supporting with a silent austerity that mostly intimidated.

Every time she saw it, that tattoo made the center of her chest hurt. It was an amazing piece of art, but it was the emotion behind it that got to her. That, and the silent reminder that Jace was the kind of man who put himself in harm’s way without hesitation.

However, it was the huge angel wings, feathers so detailed Quinn thought they might lift straight off his body and take flight, spread wide across his broad shoulders that always made her throat tighten and close. They were for Michael.

As was the swirl of black ink, a scrolling tribal pattern that snaked up from the band of Jace’s loose gym shorts over his abs, left hip and up his ribs, camouflaging the scars.

Not that either of them would ever forget they existed. Four of them. The biggest one was just below and to the left of his belly button where they’d taken out his kidney. Another smaller one above and two more along his side where the cameras had been inserted.

The only reason she knew they were there was because she’d seen them before the stark black marks had covered up the pink, puckered flesh.

The familiar knot dropped into Quinn’s stomach, dread, grief and something she’d been fighting for a very long time—interest.

She thought about leaving, just walking back out the door and pretending she hadn’t seen him. But before she could move, he reached the end of the row he was mowing, turned and, with the instincts she knew he’d honed over years in hostile territory, zeroed right in on her standing there gawking.

He held her gaze for several moments, too far away for Quinn to really decipher his expression. Then he left the mower and crossed her lawn in sure, powerful strides that ate up ground and left her insides a little shaky.

The sound of the door bouncing against her kitchen wall echoed deep inside her chest, rumbling and rattling and skittering across her skin with a flush of something she really didn’t want to think about. Didn’t want to want.

It had been weeks since they’d seen each other. Jace made a point of checking in with her—usually by arranging to meet for dinner—at least once a month. Those nights were often strained and fraught with things neither of them wanted to say, so Quinn ate quickly and disappeared as fast as possible.

She knew Jace viewed those nights as an obligation. A promise he’d made to his dying brother. Quinn hated feeling like a burden—especially when being around the man made her feel things she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. But the few times she’d told Jace his obligation had been fulfilled, the man had simply stared at her with those crystal-clear eyes, his mouth hard and his jaw set in a way that told her the subject wasn’t up for debate.

So she’d stopped trying to get out of the dinners, instead concentrating on just getting through them. They never talked about Michael or his work. In fact, Jace rarely spoke about anything, but he definitely had no issues interrogating her about her life.

It was a good thing she usually had plenty of stories about cases, otherwise they’d eat in silence. And that wouldn’t help her nerves at all.

But none of that explained what he was doing at her house in the middle of the day.

Well, yeah, it was obvious what he was doing—mowing her lawn. Someone had been doing it for quite a while. And plenty of other things, too, like cutting back her bushes, taking her trash to the street, fixing the squeaky back door, and replacing broken screens and shingles. She’d assumed it was one of her neighbors, although all of them had denied it when she’d asked.

Apparently, they weren’t lying to save her ego.

Jace rounded the corner, pulling a T-shirt over his head to hide those gorgeous abs. Her mouth opened to protest, although her brain was quick enough to cut off the words before they broke free. Instead she asked, “What are you doing here?”

He stopped in the doorway, arms stretching above his head to grip the lintel. Even from several feet away, Quinn could see the fading bruises bleeding across the edge of his hard jaw.

Shaking her head, she took a single step forward, her hand already reaching for him. She needed to get a better look to determine if there was anything she could do for him.

With a quick jerk of his head he stopped her. “You don’t want to do that. I’m all hot and sweaty. I probably smell like a locker room.”

Quinn frowned. “I’m sure I’ve experienced worse.” Stepping close, she placed a soft finger beneath his chin and urged him to turn and let her see. He resisted, the muscles in his neck tightening before finally letting go. With a sigh, he turned.

The pad of her finger scraped down his cheek, energy and a day’s worth of stubble crackling across her skin. “Do I want to know?”

He chuckled, the sound barely more than a soft gust of air. “Probably not.”

Frustration and something more dangerous flooded her. “Jesus, Jace, when are you going to stop punishing yourself? What happened to Michael was not your fault.”

His body stiffened. Every already-hard muscle went even more rock solid. Quinn placed her hands on his shoulders, hoping the contact might ease his pain.

He’d been there for her. Helped her through those first few months when she was close to useless with grief. He’d brought her food. Called in friends. Silently watched over her because she’d been incapable of doing that for herself.

And she’d leaned on him, using everything he gave her without thought or question. Now she regretted those months more than anything she’d ever done.

Blinded by her own grief, she’d missed the signs that Jace was struggling just as surely as she was...maybe more.

Foolishly, he blamed himself for his brother’s death. In reality, he’d been the one trying to save him, selflessly giving Michael a kidney when he’d come back as a match. Jace hadn’t hesitated—no one had expected him to. He did have a bit of a hero complex. But the sacrifice had cost him. With only one kidney, he’d had to give up something he lived for—being deployed with the Rangers.

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 until it was already done.

What his mom didn’t know about, she didn’t have to obsessively worry over.

Quinn tried to close the gap between them, compassion and concern clouding her beautiful eyes. Jace countered her move by taking another step back.

Her mouth flattened, and a deep sigh slipped through her lush lips.

“Never mind.” She turned away, heading down the hall.

A band tightened across his chest. Before he could stop and think he shot after her. Hand wrapped around her arm, he steered her back around to face him.

“Tell me.”

She shook her head. His grip on her arm tightened.

“Fine. Daniel sent me home because the husband of a woman I placed in a safe house last night came by the office and made some threats.”

Jace growled low in the back of his throat. The sound was out before he contemplated making it.

“What kind of threats?”

Placing her hand on his, Quinn gently pried his fingers loose. Jace glanced down and saw the faint pink marks he’d left on her pale skin. He tried to jerk his hand away, but she refused to let go.

“Nothing concrete. He threatened to pull funding for some of our programs.”

“Does he have that kind of influence?”

She frowned, a tiny pucker pulling at the space between her eyes. “Unfortunately.”

“But why would Daniel send you home over something like that?”

Quinn’s gaze dropped to the floor between them. Heat slowly crept up her skin. She directed her words down, as if she could bury them there. “I may have lost my temper and thrown a coffee mug.”

He made a choked sound, biting back a response that was equal parts shock, exasperation and laughter.

Only Quinn.

“Please tell me it wasn’t aimed at his head.”

“Nope, he was already gone.”

Thank God for small favors. Jace didn’t want to think what the guy’s reaction might have been if she’d hit a man who was clearly comfortable with beating his own wife.

“So he didn’t send you home because he was worried?”

“No, Daniel was plenty worried. Everett Warren is ruthless and cold.”

“Everett Warren?” Jace asked, his voice grim. Everyone in town knew the man, although not everyone realized just how crooked he really was.

The only reason Jace knew was because some of the guys he trained with worked for Warren, and not in his fancy office building.

While he didn’t have details, he knew enough to be wary.

And now Quinn was on the guy’s radar. Not just that, but she was standing between him and his wife.

An uncomfortable knot tightened in his belly.

“I don’t like this, Quinn.”

“Yeah, I’m not exactly thrilled with it myself. Caroline’s told me enough, but until I can convince her to talk to the police there’s not much I can do. Except make sure he can’t get to her.”

That wasn’t what he meant.

“You need to be careful. Warren isn’t the kind of man you mess with.”

“I’m not afraid of him.”

“Maybe you should be. He obviously hurt his wife so he’s more than capable of hurting you.”

Quinn shrugged, dismissing the threat as if it didn’t even exist. That only made Jace’s teeth clench harder. God, she was stubborn.

“Caroline was a convenient target. I’m not.”

Apparently, they had different definitions for convenient. It wasn’t as if Quinn was hiding. She’d be easy enough to find, especially for someone with Warren’s network of connections.

Over the years, Jace had seen his fair share of just how nasty the world could be. Hell, he had the reminder tattooed on his skin, the image of a burning helicopter crashing behind them as he and a buddy pulled another soldier out. He’d gone to bed plenty of nights with grisly memories invading his brain and dreams. War was hell, and there were a plethora of monsters in the world, not just confined to children’s stories.

Apparently sensing his agitation, Quinn moved closer. Laying a hand on his arm, she tipped her head back and looked up at him. Those pale brown eyes were so sincere. So open and trusting.

Too trusting.

“Warren is too intelligent to come after me. Right now his wife is reluctant to press charges, but I won’t hesitate and he knows that. He has too much to lose.”

He hated to burst her naive little bubble, but someone had to do it. “That’s assuming he leaves you in a condition where charges are an option.”

The dismissive sound through Quinn’s throat did little to dispel his concern.

“He’s mean, not stupid. Coldblooded murder is a far cry from backhanding his wife.”

“Not that far,” Jace muttered.

“Besides, at the moment his public image is safe, but it doesn’t have to stay that way. He strikes me as the kind all wrapped up in appearances. He’s worked hard to project the idea of an affluent, influential, clean business man.”

Something dark crossed her face, a combination of anger and loathing. “He made damn sure to mark Caroline only where no one else would see.” Her soft eyes rose to his, churning and resolute. “The bruises are bad enough. But she has burn scars across her stomach. And faint lines I’m almost sure are from him cutting her.”

Spinning away, Jace shoved a hand through his hair. It was either that or slam it into the wall and he didn’t want to have to repair the drywall. “You aren’t helping me feel better here, Quinn.”

“No, he’s methodical and calculating. Polished and perfect. Yes, he’s angry he lost his toy—”

“You took her and know exactly where he can find her.”

“—but coming after me will only make matters worse. He isn’t going to do that. He was throwing his weight around this afternoon because he could. Bluffing in the hope that I’d cave. That’s all. If anything, I expect him to call in favors from some well-placed friends to put pressure on Daniel.”

“Daniel won’t give in.” It wasn’t a question. He’d been listening to Quinn talk about her job—and her boss—for two years. He’d gleaned several things, including that Daniel was a decent, upstanding guy who cared a great deal about the work they did and the people they helped.

But that didn’t make this any less of a clusterfuck. He’d always worried about Quinn’s job. She dealt with terrible things all day long—the emotionally draining, permanently scarring kind—and he didn’t want that for her.

Unfortunately, she had a soft heart and a will of steel and wouldn’t listen to anyone suggesting she find another way to make a living.

Her parents had fostered kids...at least, until the car accident that had killed them both. She’d grown up dealing with these kinds of horror stories. It was natural that she’d want to continue their work. And she was good at it.

Tomorrow he was going to pay Daniel a little visit, find out what he was doing to protect her.

Although, he was smart enough to keep that plan to himself. Quinn would just try to talk him out of it and there was no reason to fight her on it...yet.

* * *

“THIS IS ABSURD.” Quinn blew a frustrated breath out of her mouth.

“You’re the only one who thinks so,” Daniel said.

Behind him, Jace had his arms crossed over that damn ripped chest. He tried to hide the smug smile teasing the corners of his mouth, but he couldn’t quite pull it off.

She wanted to be angry with him for interfering, and she was pretty irked, but she knew he was only doing this because he was worried about her.

What pissed her off more was that he’d done an end run around her, going to Daniel behind her back. She could fight Jace, but not him and her boss.

Frustration and irritation buzzed through her brain. She felt the familiar rise of emotions, like a relentless high tide trying to erode her better intentions. Sure, she could let loose and spew anger all over Daniel and Jace, but that would just make her feel like a jerk.

“I don’t have time to deal with this, Daniel, and you know it. My caseload is towering over me as it is.”

“No one is asking you to ignore your work, Quinn. There are enough people in the office that you should be fine. We’re more concerned with you being home alone at night.”

She could see their point. The problem was that their solution was more likely to cause problems than the man they were afraid of.

“I will not be chased out of my own home. Especially not without a creditable threat.”

Jace grunted, calling into question her statement with very little effort. She glared at him. He simply stared back, his clear blue eyes unwavering, until she couldn’t take the direct connection and had to look away.

At least she managed not to blush. Her pale, freckle-ridden skin was a curse.

This was stupid and pointless. But she’d already said that once, and they’d responded with the verbal equivalent of a pat on the head. Frustrating.

“I’ll be staying with Quinn.”

“You’ll be what?” Quinn squeaked. “Don’t you have, I don’t know, a job?” she asked, her voice full of sarcasm.

Jace’s mouth, already austere on a good day, pulled down into a frown. The dark line of his brows slammed together over a glare. No doubt the intimidating look was exactly what he used to keep the soldiers he trained in line.

Quinn had a feeling those men, given that expression, would jump to do whatever Jace Hyland wanted...right after wetting themselves. And it wasn’t like Jace trained wussies. He had the best of the best, the strongest of the strong and the most masculine of the masculine under his command.

“I’ve taken some leave.”

Okay, before she’d been miffed. Now she was royally pissed. “Because of this? Because of me?” God, she was going to hurt Warren—and then possibly Jace. This was getting blown out of proportion. Big time.

“No. I had this time off scheduled already for another reason.”

Well, wasn’t that just great. Why didn’t that make her feel any better?

The man was on vacation—probably the first one he’d taken in two years—and he was sitting here preparing to babysit her as if she was a shaky-legged toddler.

“Why the hell aren’t you on a sandy beach somewhere, then?”

He sucked in a breath. Quinn watched his chest expand and hold. She counted in her head, up to almost ninety before he let the breath go with a quiet rush that she felt deep inside.

“Not much on sand these days,” he said quietly.

And Quinn immediately regretted her outburst. Who was she to tell the man how to relax? Her problem was, she wasn’t sure Jace understood the definition of the word.

And if anyone deserved a chance to unwind and shed responsibilities, it was Jace. But that was a discussion for another time.

What she had to deal with right now was the threat of him moving into her home. It was hard enough to keep her mind where it belonged when he was in the middle of her office. Running into him in the hallway late at night? Quinn wasn’t sure she’d survive the experience.

Not without embarrassing them both.

“There’s nothing more important than this. I made a promise, one I intend to keep. Michael would never forgive me if something happened to you.”

How was she supposed to counter that? Especially when his personal crusade was championed by a ghost. If she refused and, God forbid, something did happen to her, Jace would carry that guilt around with him for the rest of his life. He was weighed down with too much of that as it was.

This situation was spiraling out of control so quickly Quinn couldn’t find a single slippery thread to grab so she could try to hold it all together.

Jace pinned her with his gaze. Her heart fluttered and a pressure settled right in the middle of her chest. He held her eyes for several seconds before saying in a low, fluid voice, “Humor me.”

It wasn’t a request, but he waited for her response anyway. And for some reason, her ability to argue simply fled. She couldn’t deny him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Realizing her mouth had gone dry, Quinn simply nodded.

Aw, hell, what had she just gotten herself into?

3

“I COULD JUST stay here,” Quinn suggested, despite knowing it wasn’t going to happen.

Jace didn’t even bother answering. He flashed her a cutting look and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting. Not very patiently.

A black bag sat on the floor beside him. His foot tapped, a staccato against the cool tile.

She’d discovered the reason he’d had leave scheduled. And she didn’t like it. And really didn’t want to go. Attending an MMA fight was more her idea of torture than entertainment. She’d never understood the draw, for men or women.

Brutality was something she fought against. And these men—Jace included—were embracing it. Training for it. Seeking it out.

She didn’t understand and really didn’t want to.

They’d been arguing for the past twenty minutes, though. It had taken her under five to realize Jace wasn’t budging. She’d continued in the hope that eventually she’d make him late enough that he’d either leave her behind or, preferably, skip the thing entirely.

“In about thirty seconds I’m going to put you in the car myself. Stop stalling.”

Or not.

With a resigned sigh, Quinn grabbed her purse and slung it diagonally across her chest.

The drive out was silent. A part of her was grateful for the residual irritation oozing between them and the distraction it provided. Inside her own head, she continued the argument, knowing it was about as productive as actually speaking the words out loud. But maybe her mental rant would drain the emotion away.

They pulled into a dark parking lot filled with cars and trucks of every make, model and price point. Jace’s fingers brushed against her hip as he reached down and clicked open her seat belt.

Smacking his hands away, she snapped, “I can take care of myself, Jace.”

Or maybe the brooding was just feeding into her already crappy mood.

He blew out a grim breath. Exiting, he went to stand at the hood of the car. Bag slung over one shoulder, his wide, hard back to her, he waited. Even in the early summer, it was already late enough to be full dark. Harsh light from a car in the spot three spaces over slashed across his forbidding body.

His silence said more than any words could have. And for some reason, Quinn had the urge to reach out and run a soothing hand over his tense shoulders.

Grinding her teeth, she fought back the instinct. Touching him always seemed to backfire on her, sending an unwanted tingle of awareness rushing through her body. Better to keep her hands to herself.

So, instead, she walked past him toward the rectangle of light spilling out into the night from the two huge doors propped wide open. Noise poured out, along with shouting, laughter and music. Apparently the fighting had started and there was already a match going.

She’d barely gotten through the doors when Jace’s hand wrapped around her upper arm. Urging her forward, he directed her through the crowd, oblivious to the dirty stares that followed in their wake.

The dull roar of noise was a constant assault on her eardrums. Pulling her to a halt off to the left of the huge circular cage sitting in the middle of the room, Jace leaned down to speak into a guy’s ear. The man, several inches shorter than Jace, flicked a quick gaze over his shoulder at her and nodded.

The man’s eyes roamed up and down her body, not in a sexual way, but assessing. As if he was finally getting a look at a piece of artwork he’d been hearing about for years and was trying to decide if the hype was warranted.

Stepping away from the other man, Jace bent down to yell into her ear. She tried to ignore the soft puff of air against her skin and the tingle that chased behind it.

“Stay here. If you need anything tell Axe.” He threw a glance over his shoulder at the guy still watching them. What kind of name was Axe? “Do not wander off, Quinn.”

She huffed out a breath. Where the hell was she going to go?

“I’m serious.”

Oh, she had no doubt he was. Having had just about enough of his overbearing, big-brother act, Quinn reached up, snagged the delicate edge of his ear and twisted until he brought it close to her mouth.

She didn’t miss the way his lips twitched with suppressed humor. Or the wide grin stretching Axe’s face. That did not help her mood. Okay, so maybe she pinched a little harder than she needed to. Part of her relished Jace’s sudden intake of breath. The rest of her just regretted losing her patience and letting her emotions rule her actions.

“I doubt Warren decided to attend a local MMA fight on the off chance my self-appointed bodyguard—who he knows nothing about—was on the ticket tonight. I’ll be fine.”

She just wanted this to be over.

“Warren isn’t the only threat, not here. There are plenty of dangerous men walking around tonight.”

As if to punctuate his point, the heavy thud of bodies bounced against the metal of the cage a few feet away.

Quinn winced, recoiling out of instinct. Jace stood his ground, his only reaction a puckered frown.

The sickening sound of flesh connecting with flesh rang out, along with low male grunts. Quinn’s gaze found the two men, tied together in a pretzel of arms and legs against the matted floor, as they tried to rip each other apart and force a submission.

Her stomach roiled. Blood trickled down the left side of one man’s face. One guy squirmed uselessly against the hold of the other, his expression contorted with a combination of pain and resolve.

She had to look away from the spectacle, and was just in time to see Jace slip through a door several feet away. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized he’d walked away. For some reason, it bothered her that he hadn’t said anything before leaving her here, in the middle of all the bloodlust.

A hand slid down her arm. Her eyes wide, Quinn spun to find Axe standing behind her, pointing to an empty chair a few feet to the left.

Great. Maybe she could spend the next God only knew how many hours, surfing the internet and playing games on Facebook. She settled, angled her body as far away from the cage as possible, and pulled out her smartphone. But found she couldn’t concentrate on anything except the sounds of combat ringing out around her.

It was like watching a train wreck. After a few minutes, she’d always find her eyes being dragged to the match. Better to see and know what was happening than let her imagination string together the grunts and smacks into some massive horror.

So far, none of the guys seemed overly injured by the time the matches ended. Sure they were bruised, and a few sported oozing cuts. But for the most part they all seemed happy to be involved.

By the third match, Quinn gave up the pretense that she was doing anything else. This wouldn’t be her first choice for a Friday night, but since she had to be here...

That is, until Jace was announced. Suddenly, her heart was thumping like a speedboat motor. Something that closely resembled dread settled into the pit of her belly, churning and bubbling uncomfortably.

Sitting straight, Quinn gripped the edge of her chair. Lights flashed. Music played. And from the other side of the room, Jace entered the cage. His opponent made a show of his entrance, jumping up and grabbing onto the mesh. Rattling it, he yelled and the audience ate up his show of aggression.

Jace ignored him, calmly sauntering over to his corner and the men clinging to the cage on the other side. One of them spoke to him, although Quinn wasn’t close enough to hear. Jace gave a single, sharp nod of agreement and then stared down at the floor.

She thought she saw him reach around and run his fingers along the tattoo covering his scars, but he was facing away from her so she couldn’t be sure. A heavy band constricted her throat, making it hard to breathe.

Fear crawled up her spine, making her restless enough to stand for the first time all night.

Beside her, Axe shifted on his feet and eyed her, as if he expected her to do something stupid...like run. For a brief moment, she considered it, unsure she could stand there and watch Jace go through what she’d already seen.

But before she could do anything, the match started. Quinn held her breath, but that didn’t last long. Especially when the first few seconds passed by relatively uneventfully.

The two men were fairly evenly matched, close in height and weight. They both had broad shoulders and defined arms. Thighs heavy with muscle flexed and contracted as they danced around the center of the ring. Every few seconds a fist would flash out like lightning, there and gone almost before she could blink.

Several minutes into the fight, Quinn’s pulse finally started to settle. Her stuttered breathing evened. Her body relaxed, the grip she had on the back of her chair easing.

And that’s when it happened.

Suddenly, his opponent slammed Jace up against the cage a few feet away from her. She watched the metal bow out under the weight of his body. Jace brought his arms up to defend his face, but that left the rest of him wide open. His opponent started whaling on him, landing body shot after body shot.

Jace fought back, connecting a few punches of his own. He writhed, trying to get out from under the weight of the body holding him in place. But he struggled as the other man’s fists kept finding their mark.

She’d tried to block out the sounds of the fights all night, but suddenly Jace’s grunts seemed like gunshots funneled straight into her ears. Each sound of pain lanced through her.

Panic seized her. Adrenaline shot into her system. She took a step forward, to do what she wasn’t sure, but a heavy arm clamped around her waist, holding her in place. Someone screamed. It took her several moments to realize the frenzied words were tumbling from her own mouth.

She struggled, pushing against whatever was holding her in place. Someone had to stop this. She had to stop this. Stop it before he got hurt.

Dammit! The man only had one kidney. What if something happened? What if those body shots did permanent damage? What the hell had he been thinking?

What had his doctors been thinking, clearing him for this?

Quinn growled low in her throat. Of course, that assumed he’d bothered to ask.

Somehow Jace managed to force his way out from beneath his opponent and get back into the clear space at the center of the ring. Her body sagged with relief into the band still holding her.

A soft voice rumbled in her ear. “He’s fine, cielito. The ref will stop the fight if he’s in real trouble.”

She shook her head, her lungs heaving hard. Held in place, she watched Jace take another hard shot to the face. His head snapped backward.

Quinn’s eyes snapped closed. She couldn’t watch. Pushing at the arm holding her she chanted, “Let me go. Let me go. Let me go.”

Suddenly, the restraint was gone and she was free. For a second she stood there, suspended, unsure just exactly what she needed to do.

In the end she fled, putting the cage and Jace at her back and pushing through the crowd. She knew Axe followed her, could hear the complaints of the crowd behind her, but she didn’t care. Couldn’t care.

She needed air.

* * *

JACE BRACED HIS arms on his knees, his head hanging heavily between them. God, his body ached, especially his ribs. Although, the cut above his right eye also throbbed like a bitch.

He pulled a deep breath into his lungs, trying not to wince when his ribs protested.

He’d won, though a single moment of distraction had almost cost him the match. He’d looked up at one point and seen Quinn standing on the other side of the cage, her eyes wide with apprehension. In that split second, he’d found himself grasped around the waist and pinned to the cage, defenseless against the onslaught of fists and elbows and feet.

Stupid. He knew better than to leave himself open like that.

After that, he’d studiously avoided looking in her direction. He’d channeled all of his focus into the man trying to send him to his knees.

It was over. And for the first time in two years he was starting to think he was too old for this shit. Who would have thought thirty-one would be too old for anything? Certainly not him. But his body couldn’t take the abuse it used to.

He’d found MMA by accident. When Michael had gotten sick and died, he’d needed an outlet. A safe release for all the pent-up anger, aggression and emotion. One of his buddies, a guy he’d growled at one too many times, had suggested he join a training program, not to compete but for the relief.

He’d fallen in love with the sport. The brutality and challenge of it. And maybe the reminder that he was still alive, his body functioning. It was getting harder and harder to remember why he’d needed the pain in order to feel connected to the world.

“Jesus, Jace.” He hadn’t realized Quinn was there until her soft voice touched him. Her words were followed by fingers slipping across his skin.

A sharp breath pulled through his teeth when she touched the cut over his eye—a combination of pain and twisting, unwanted need.

But she wasn’t interested in soothing his hurts. Somehow he knew she wouldn’t be.

Her palm cracked across his shoulder. Compared to the abuse his body had taken tonight, it was the equivalent of a raindrop in a hurricane. But unlike the other blows, he felt the echo of that harsh touch deep in his bones.

It rattled him as nothing else could. Not because it bothered him, but because any contact with Quinn always sent his body spinning out of control. Knowing she was upset with him didn’t change that, although it probably should have.

He was like a starving man, willing to take whatever scraps were available. God, if Michael could see him he’d laugh his ass off. He was pathetic.

“Are you trying to die, too?” Her shrill words cut through him, more painful than his injuries.

“No.” Although, he’d be lying if he said the thought hadn’t crossed his mind.

Danger had been part of his life—his job—for so long, and he’d never hesitated to put himself in the line of fire, especially if it meant protecting someone else.

He’d been playing that role for years. Growing up, his father, a long-haul trucker, had been gone more than he’d been home. How often had he heard the words, “You’re the man of the house”? By eight or nine, the responsibility of looking after his mom and brother was laid at his feet. And he hadn’t minded. He’d liked knowing his father trusted him enough to take on the task. It had made him feel important. Like a man, though he’d been far from it.

But the mantle was difficult to shed, even after his father had retired and finally returned home for good. By then, he and Michael had been grown.

It was still hard to look his father in the eye whenever he dropped by to visit. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he’d failed, miserably, by letting Michael die.

Ultimately, though, it was those same sad, tired green eyes—so similar to Michael’s—that had kept him from doing something stupid. As much as it might have been easier on himself to push the envelope and take the easy way out with stupid risks, he couldn’t do that to his parents.

Losing Michael had devastated them both.

Tonight it was all too much. He was just...tired.

With a sigh, he let his body sag into the physical exhaustion.

Quinn crouched in front of him. Her hands landed on his biceps, bracing her body. Heat he would have thought himself way too tired to feel surged through him. He shifted on the hard bench, trying to ease the sudden ache of having her so close.

Why was that pang so much sharper than all the others?

He tried to pull away, but she wouldn’t let him go, clamping her fingers harder around his quivering arms. Ducking down so she could force him to look at her, she stared right into him. “Jace, you have to stop this.”

He stared into her pale brown eyes. Wide, deep pools that threatened to pull him in and swallow him whole. Pressure suffused his chest, making it difficult to breathe. And suddenly he was angry. Pissed. At her. At himself. At Michael.

Throwing her hands off, Jace bounded up, temper snapping through him.

She rocked backward on her heels, startled by his sudden movement. Without thinking, he reached down and picked her up, steadying her even as he pulled her against his body all in one quick motion.

Her eyes widened, but she stood there, lax in his hold, flush against him.

His labored breaths brushed across her face, reflecting back at him.

“Don’t tell me what I have to do, Quinn. You’re in no position to cast stones. When’s the last time you went on a date? Or even thought about another man?”

To his surprise something hot and sharp flared deep in her eyes, sparking through those golden flecks and flashing fire.

Her mouth opened, a small sound pushing past her lips. God, he wanted to drink it in. Which is why he let her go and took a step back. She stumbled, catching herself this time because he couldn’t trust himself to touch her again.

Jerking her gaze away from him, she swallowed, and in a muted voice said, “That’s different. I’m not hurting anyone.”

“Only yourself.”

Her soft, sad eyes found his again, the impact of them slamming straight into his chest.

Giving him a small shrug, she said, “Maybe, but I won’t die from loneliness. You on the other hand...” Her voice trailed off to barely a whisper. “One wrong move in that ring and it could all be over.”

Without waiting for his response, she walked away.

Sinking back onto the hard bench, Jace hung his head between his arms again. It was at least five minutes before he realized just what she’d revealed.

She was lonely. Alone. Just like him.

* * *

LAST NIGHT HAD been uncomfortable, although she was used to that sensation around Jace Hyland. Just as she had for years, Quinn had brushed it off and instead focused on life’s mundane details. Making up the spare room. Getting him a towel and washcloth.

After she’d prepared everything, she’d retreated to the dark of her own room with the knowledge that Jace was next door—because he’d insisted on taking the closest room to hers in case something happened in the middle of the night. It had taken her several agonizing hours to fall asleep, her body restless and humming.

Although, when sleep had finally come, the relief had been short-lived, her dreams peppered with fantasies of Jace coming to her in the middle of the night. That gorgeous, sweaty, hard body sliding against her, into her, over her.

So she was awake early, groggy, grumpy and in desperate need of caffeine. Popping a pod into the coffee maker, she waited for the sweet, decadent nectar of the gods to flow through and into her cup. Less than sixty seconds later, the bitter scent of coffee laced with cinnamon, vanilla and caramel wafted up to her.

Taking a deep breath, Quinn closed her eyes and savored it for several seconds before letting the air out on a long, streaming sigh. Contentment settled across her shoulders. Cradling the hot mug in her hands, Quinn brought it close to her mouth but didn’t drink. She’d learned not to sip unless she wanted to fight a burned tongue all day.

She waited, simply standing and staring down into the milky brown mixture in her cup.

This was her favorite time of day. Before the crazy started. Those first few easy moments. They never lasted long enough, so she’d learned to enjoy them when she had them.

Today the peace was shattered by the light shuffle of feet. Just as she had two days ago, she looked up to find Jace framed in the doorway to her kitchen, his arms stretched overhead and fingers curled around the door frame.

Jace’s biceps strained the edge of the dark gray T-shirt with the print so faded she couldn’t quite make out what it once said. The hem, worn so thin it was practically transparent, rode up a couple of inches to show a strip of darkly tanned skin.

He watched her with sleepy, mesmerizing eyes. Quinn took a quick sip of coffee—it was either that or blurt out something inappropriate—but she paid for the cover-up by scalding her tongue.

Yelping, she turned and spit the mouthful into the sink behind her. Jace shook his head and grumbled something about being careful before scooting past her. He didn’t ask where her coffee cups were, just opened the right cupboard and pulled one down. He chose a pod—something bold and dark—and popped it into the machine. Reaching around her, he opened the fridge and pulled out her carton of milk. She never would have taken him for a milk guy.

What also surprised her was how easy he was in her kitchen, as if he’d spent lots of time there. She could probably count on one hand the number of times he’d been inside her home in the past two years. At least, with her here. It was obvious from his stint mowing her lawn the other day, and his helping himself to her kitchen, that this wasn’t a one-time occurrence.

It annoyed her, but it also sent warmth splashing through her body. Which only increased her annoyance—with herself.

His coffee fixed the way he liked, Jace turned to face her, propping his lean hips against the counter. Crossing one bare ankle over the other, he studied her over the rim of his cup, his mouth pursed, a steady stream of air gusting out across the surface of his cup.

Dropping her gaze, Quinn took another tentative sip. One burn was more than enough for today.

They stood there in her kitchen, silently drinking. The air, heavy and oppressive, pushed in on her. It tightened her shoulders and made her skin tingle and itch.

One minute stretched into three and then five. She wanted to fill the silence, but had no idea what to say. So she just kept her mouth filled with swallow after swallow. Every few seconds her eyes would stray to him, not his gaze, but the rest of him. The long pants that clung to his hips and thighs. The curl of dark black hair over his ear. His strong fingers wrapped around the curved handle of his cup. Her cup.

Finally, when she thought she couldn’t handle the tension for one second more, he broke the silence. “What are your plans for today?”

Flitting her eyes up to his, she took in the way he watched her and had to look away again. “Grocery shopping, a spin class. I’d like to run by the home-improvement store. I’ve been wanting to repaint the den for a while and the sink in the powder room has been dripping.”

“Okay, just let me grab a shower and we can go whenever you’re ready.”

Shaking her head, she said, “You don’t have to do that, Jace. It’ll be boring as hell for you.”

“It won’t, but that’s beside the point.”

“Don’t you have something more important to do?”

“Until I’m satisfied you’re not in any danger, you are my number one priority. I’m not going anywhere, Quinn, so you might as well get used to having me around.”

That was the problem. She’d been struggling against inappropriate feelings toward him for a long time. The only thing that had kept the urges in check was the infrequency of their contact...and the certainty he wasn’t interested.

Having him constantly in her personal space, sleeping in her home and drinking her coffee...

She could get used to having him around. Quite easily. And that would be bad.

Jace and his parents were important to her. She didn’t have a family of her own, not really. Her parents were gone. She and her sister weren’t close and never had been. Tabby was seven years older than she was and had been in her freshman year at college when their parents died. Quinn had been raised by her grandmother.

There were other kids of all ages and backgrounds who’d revolved through the early years of Quinn’s life. She’d always loved that her parents took in foster children, sharing their love and kindness with those who needed it most. But it had been years since she’d heard from any of those children.

She hadn’t realized just how lonely she’d become until Michael’s parents had made her part of their family. She didn’t want to lose that simply because she couldn’t control her baser urges.

A cup clattered into the sink, jolting Quinn from the dark turn of her thoughts. “I’m going to shower.” Jace was halfway across the room before his body froze. Slowly, he turned back to her, pinning her in place with those clear blue eyes. He studied her for several seconds, his head cocked to the side. “Do not leave the house without me.”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to her, which made her a little angry with herself. But now that he’d mentioned it....

As if he could read the thoughts flitting across her mind, his voice dropped down into a low rumble. “I’m serious, Quinn. If I have to chase after you neither of us is going to be happy about it.”

Sighing, she nodded. Jace hesitated for a few more seconds, his gaze scouring her until he was apparently satisfied with what he saw. Quinn stood in the kitchen after he’d left, her body electrified and restless and unable to cope. But the sound of water rushing through the pipes galvanized her.

The last thing she needed was to stand here with her mouth open as visions of water flowing over Jace’s naked body filled her mind.

Getting as far away from that end of the house as possible, she darted into the den. Popping open the drapes so sunlight could flood inside, she noticed several of the neighborhood boys in the yard between her house and the neighbor’s, with a baseball and a bat.

A small smile curved her lips. The boys next door were nice, always yelling a hello whenever they saw her outside.

She’d just turned away, planning on filling the next few minutes with a brilliant con artist and his FBI handler on a recorded episode of White Collar when a loud crash startled her.

The scream that erupted from her throat was pure reaction. Glass shattered, tinkling to the floor in a shower of shards. A baseball bounced twice on laminate and then rolled. Loud, apologetic and panicked voices sounded outside her window. “Ms. Keller, we’re so sorry! We’ll pay for the window, promise.”

On the other side of the window a handful of wide-eyed faces appeared. They were obviously alarmed by what had happened. But after the initial kick of apprehension and stutter of her heart, Quinn settled back. There were worse things in the world than a broken window.

“No worries, boys. It was an accident.”

Walking around the broken glass—she’d take care of that after she retrieved a pair of shoes—she picked up the baseball from where it had rolled against the leg of her sofa. Popping it up and snatching it out of the air, she sent the cluster of faces a sly smile and a wink.

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