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 m
iddle 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.
4
JACE WAS STANDING beneath the stone-cold stream of water, trying to get a handle on his libido, when a loud crash and high-pitched scream ripped through him as surely as any bullet could have. He knew the sound of terror when he heard it.
Chills that had nothing to do with the water rippled across his skin.
Quinn. He never should have left her alone.
Instinct and training kicked in. Slamming off the shower, Jace wrapped a towel haphazardly around his waist and bolted for the door.
Stopping only long enough to grab the gun he’d left in the bag in his room, he crept through the house. His senses strained for some sign or sound. Nothing. There was nothing. What the hell had happened?
It was probably less than ninety seconds before he’d swept the rest of the empty house and found himself in the last room, the den. And what he saw there left his skin clammy and made bile spin up the back of his throat.
The window was shattered, glass littered all across the floor. And the room was empty. Quinn wasn’t anywhere in the house.
Had the bastard broken in and snatched her?
A flash of something off to the side of the house caught his eye. Dashing out the front door, Jace followed it.
The moment he saw her relief washed through him, stealing the strength from his muscles. Although that didn’t stop his dash across the yard toward her.
He still had no idea which direction the threat was coming from and until he did...
“Quinn!” he called out, the single word harsh with warning.
She spun on her heels, eyes widening when she saw him barreling straight for her. Her eyes darted to the gun he pointed at the ground—he wouldn’t raise it until he knew the target.
Testing the Limits Page 4
