Testing the Limits

by Kira Sinclair

  He was hard, and this time there was no doubt, it was for her. She could feel the long ridge of him pressed into the softness of her belly.

  His large palm cupped the back of her head. He urged her to move with him as he devoured her.

  There was nothing soft about the kiss, but then, that wasn’t Jace. He was hard and honorable, driven and all male. His tongue danced with hers, coaxing at the same time as he demanded.

  Quinn whimpered, letting her neck fall back and her body arch into his hold. She was suspended above the ground, but she knew there was no way he’d let her fall. Ever.

  Until he did. Although, technically, what he did probably couldn’t be classified as dropping her. But it sure as hell felt as if he’d dumped her on her ass.

  One minute he was kissing her senseless, the next his arms were gone and she was swaying on unsteady feet, blinking like a mole person being thrust into the light for the first time.

  What the hell?

  Taking several huge steps away from her, he ran his hands over his face. His fingers tunneled into his hair, tugging hard enough that Quinn winced and her own scalp tingled in sympathy.

  Her chest rose and fell, her own breath whistling in and out of her lungs. Her brain and body desperately tried to catch up, but they were both sluggish, swamped with desire. It was like trying to turn a tanker on a dime—not going to happen.

  She watched his eyes scrunch up tight and his entire face screw into an unhappy frown. Her stomach clenched at his expression, unease flooding through her. Not quite the reaction she’d been hoping for.

  But what had her stumbling back, gripping the edge of the counter for support, was the expression in Jace’s eyes when he finally dropped his hands and looked at her.

  Guilt. Regret. Disappointment. Agony.

  Definitely not the bliss still storming her own body.

  God, what had she done? She’d started this, and instead of sharing something good with Jace, she’d caused him pain. More pain. Just what the man didn’t need.

  Her stomach turned, leaving a sour taste in the back of her mouth. Tears collected in her throat, a tight ball that burned.

  But he beat her to the apology trembling on her lips. “I’m sorry, Quinn. That won’t happen again.”

  He didn’t give her the chance to accept or deny it. To promise him that this was all her fault and she was the one that wouldn’t let it happen again. He didn’t wait for her reaction at all, just spun away and left her there alone, clinging to the counter for support.

  The entire house quivered with the impact as the front door slammed. Quinn whimpered.

  Uncertainty and need mixed inside her.

  Jace was obviously not happy about the kiss. She could see the regret stamped all over his face.

  And she started to wonder if she should be feeling it, too. He was Michael’s brother. Shouldn’t she be feeling...terrible about touching him?

  Guilty. She should feel guilty.

  But she didn’t.

  And that, that, was what finally had the emotion surfacing.

  5

  SHE STOOD THERE, paralyzed with indecision. Run after him? Leave him alone?

  After several moments her uncertainty became a decision all its own. Nothing. She was going to do nothing, the way she always did where Jace was concerned.

  Turning back to the double sink, she filled one side with warm, soapy water and shoved in the pots and pans from dinner. Her mind whirled while her body got lost in the mundane task.

  Until she glanced up at the darkened window that usually gave her a view of her backyard. With the glare of the light from the kitchen, it showed her only the black night...and a wavy reflection.

  For a moment she thought Jace had come back inside. But her body didn’t respond like normal. Instead of heat flooding her, a bone-chilling foreboding engulfed her.

  The scream she wanted to let free strangled in her throat. Plunging her hand into the murky water, she searched blindly for the hilt of the dirty knife she knew was still hidden beneath the surface.

  Relief burst through her when her palm closed around the hefty weight of it. Sending an avalanche of grimy water surging with her, Quinn spun to face the man standing idly behind her.

  Everett Warren.

  He was entirely out of place, and not just because he didn’t belong in her kitchen. His suit had probably cost thousands of dollars and was perfectly pressed, not a wrinkle in sight. She could practically see her reflection in the surface of his black, glossy shoes.

  Warren’s narrow mouth twitched into a sickly smile. Nodding at the knife, he said, “I’ve been standing here for several moments. If I wanted to hurt you I would have done it already.”

  His statement didn’t stop the frantic pounding inside her chest. Her heart squeezed painfully. Even as adrenaline flooded her body, Quinn realized she needed to stay calm and rational. Think.

  She scanned him as she tried to slow her racing thoughts enough to form a plan. His body language was relaxed, hands hanging at his sides. Empty. No weapon clenched in either fist.

  Although, that didn’t mean he didn’t have one. Just not immediately trained on her.

  Okay. Okay.

  Forcing her lungs to expand, Quinn pulled in a deep, calming breath. Oxygen flooded her body and brain.

  “How did you get in here?”

  His mouth ticked higher into a twisted smile that held no humor. “I waited until your little bulldog slipped his chain. That was an unexpected development. Honestly, Ms. Keller, you didn’t need to hire a bodyguard.”

  The smile dropping from his expression, Warren took a single step forward. Quinn thrust the tip of the knife in his direction in warning. He got it, stopping midstride and raising his empty hands in a gesture that was probably meant to be friendly, but didn’t do anything to settle her nerves.

  “I’m not here to hurt you, Quinn. I’d never do something like that. To you, Caroline or any other woman. I just wanted to talk to you. Try and get you to understand.”

  A bitter sound escaped through her tightened throat. “Oh, I understand.” Anger was quickly replacing the fear that had settled over her skin like a nasty film. “I saw her, Warren. Not just the damage from the other night, but the scars. The ones you were so careful to only put in places she could keep hidden.”

  “Caroline’s had a rough life. Yes, she was abused, but not by me. Never by me. I love her.”

  The sick thing was that Quinn believed him. It was there, shining out of his dark green eyes. He loved his wife, maybe a little too much if there was such a thing. But she could read the pain and desperation intertwined with the softer emotion.

  Being without his wife was hurting him. The problem was, Quinn hadn’t done that to him, he’d done it to himself.

  “Even if that were true, that doesn’t explain her new injuries.”

  Warren’s head bowed, his gaze dropping to the tile beneath his feet. His entire body sagged. Reaching up, he ran his hands through his hair, and for a moment, Quinn’s brain flashed to Jace giving her almost the exact same gesture not ten minutes ago.

  His chest rose and fell on a defeated sigh, the sound so broken. Something twisted inside Quinn’s chest, the empathy for anyone in pain that was inherent in her personality.

  She took a step forward, ready to lay a hand on his slumped shoulder, and offer support and help.

  Just in time, she caught herself.

  Warren looked so crushed and mournful that Quinn found herself swallowing back a rise of answering emotion. But her training, and intuition honed on the job, told her to keep her distance.

  “She’s sick. Caroline’s struggled with manic depression for years. Sometimes she stops taking her medication, especially when things are going well. Then she hurts herself. Maybe it’s
some twisted way to relive her past. Maybe she needs the pain. I don’t know. The episodes have been getting worse and worse.”

  Tears glistened at the edges of his eyes. As she watched, several slipped free, trailing quietly down his cheeks.

  “I just want to help her, Ms. Keller. I’m afraid of what she might do without the proper care and her medication.”

  He was good. The tears were a brilliant touch. And if she hadn’t spent hours talking with Caroline, she might have believed his story. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. She’d dealt with mental illness and the fallout before.

  Which is also how she knew Everett Warren was full of shit. Caroline was as sane as anyone, which, considering what her husband had put her through, was actually a miracle.

  Tightening her grip on the knife, Quinn said, “I won’t tell you where she is.”

  As she watched, his expression morphed, a switch flipped. The heartbroken husband disappeared, leaving behind a hard-eyed, shrewd and calculating monster.

  This was the man she’d expected to see. The one who’d systematically abused and tortured the woman he claimed to love.

  “We’ll see about that,” he growled. “I tried to do this the easy way, but you just won’t give.” A sickly smile twisted his mouth, glee flashed through his eyes before he managed to clamp it down. “So I’ll make you.”

  Quinn was already scrambling backward before he’d taken a single step forward. Maybe if she could reach the back door she could escape into the night. Find Jace.

  Find Jace.

  The words pounded through her brain over and over again.

  Her breath was harsh in her lungs. Labored. She needed to get a grip on herself or she wouldn’t be able to run ten yards, let alone outrun this maniac.

  For every step she took, he managed two. The gap between them was closing, but so was the space between her and the door.

  Until he seemed to realize what she was intending and changed directions, cutting off her escape.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he said, waving a single finger in her direction. “You don’t like to play nice, do you, Ms. Keller? Simply tell me where Caroline is and this ends right now.”

  “Not a chance in hell.”

  “Why would you put yourself in danger to protect someone you don’t know?”

  “Because she deserves a chance to escape from you, you monster.”

  He shook his head, genuine confusion beetling the space right between his eyes. He really didn’t understand how someone could be willing to sacrifice themselves to help someone else.

  Complete narcissism. Quinn shouldn’t be surprised, but she was. Because she really did believe that more than simple frustration at losing his toy was driving him.

  The emotion when he spoke of Caroline was real...or as real as it could be for him.

  Her avenue of escape cut off, Quinn had switched directions, trying to keep the bubble of space between them. Not until her back hit the edge of the island in the middle of the kitchen did she realize where she was. She’d been too preoccupied with keeping her focus on Warren.

  Now she was trapped. Before she could scoot sideways, he was there, in front of her, blocking her way.

  But he didn’t touch her.

  Maybe it was the knife she still held.

  He simply stood there, staring at her, his head cocked to the side as if she was some oddity on display.

  Her breath wheezed in and out, harsh to her own ears. Her fingers cramped, her grip on the knife handle was so tight.

  It shook as she raised it into the space between them, pointed directly at the soft middle of his belly.

  “Don’t come any closer.”

  His gaze flicked down to the gleaming blade and then back to her, dismissing the threat in a way that sent chills racing across her skin. Why wasn’t he worried?

  Quinn stood there, poised on the precipice, realizing these could be her last moments on earth. Or at least, the last few without unbearable pain. She’d seen the evidence of just what kind of physical damage Everett Warren could inflict.

  She almost wished he’d get on with it so she could at least fight. Despite having the knife, she couldn’t bring herself to make the first move.

  But it didn’t happen.

  Instead, the sound of the front door slamming blasted between them.

  Warren jerked back, as if he’d just been slapped awake from a dream.

  Spinning on his heel, he was halfway across the kitchen before Quinn could blink.

  “We aren’t through, my dear,” he growled and then disappeared.

  Quinn stumbled several steps, needing to feel empty space all around her instead of the hard press of counter closing her in.

  She trembled, staring at where he’d just been, sucking in air.

  * * *

  GOD, HE WANTED to hit something. Preferably his own damn face, but since that was difficult to accomplish Jace settled for the support column holding up Quinn’s front porch.

  His knuckles burned at the impact, and unfortunately the torture didn’t have the desired effect. It couldn’t make him stop wanting her.

  Although, Jace wasn’t certain there was anything in this world that could do that.

  He shouldn’t want her. She was Michael’s and off-limits for him.

  She’d loved his brother. He didn’t need to hear them recite wedding vows in front of friends, family and God to know that. He’d seen it with his own eyes. The way her expression had gentled when she’d looked at Michael. The softness of her touch as she’d moved a sweaty piece of hair off his forehead.

  Her broken grief when Michael had left them all.

  Jace dragged a heavy breath through his nose, trying to clear out the lingering scent of her body. It didn’t help, not when the taste of her still rolled across his tongue.

  It was like ambrosia, a gift from the gods that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to ignore now that he’d gotten a sample.

  No. He was going to have to find a way back to before. Reaffirm his hands-off policy.

  But every time he closed his eyes he could see her. Passion staining her skin pink beneath the dusting of freckles. The way her beautiful brown eyes had gone unfocused even as she’d stared up at him, golden flecks flashing fire.

  She’d started the kiss, but he’d taken something she’d probably meant as soft and easy, friendly, and twisted it with his own heat and need.

  Even then she’d been with him, every step of the way. Which only made what he had to do now harder.

  Quinn was lonely. He’d seen it last night at the fight, recognized the hollow emptiness inside her because he had a matching black hole sucking at his own chest.

  But that didn’t mean she wanted him. He was convenient and comfortable, nothing more. She’d have reached out for anyone.

  He couldn’t be the one to help her move on, not without losing her completely when the physical need had passed. Eventually she’d crash back to reality, take one look at him and see the man she’d lost.

  And he didn’t think he could handle the crushing blow when that happened.

  Pulling in one more steadying breath, Jace paced across the porch. He bounced on the balls of his feet, welcoming the familiar way his muscles warmed beneath the action. He let muscle memory take over, arms flashing out in quick succession, jabbing at blank air and giving his mind something else to concentrate on.

  Ten minutes later, sweat was popping out across his forehead for a very different reason than his body had expected. But he felt more in control. At least enough to go back inside.

  What he didn’t expect to find was Quinn standing in the middle of her kitchen, her face ghostly pale, her freckles popping out from her skin. She was shaking, a fine tremble wracking her from head to toe.

 
“What the hell happened?” Jace asked, searching for the source of her fear even as he bounded across the room to her. Because it was clear from the vacant expression in her eyes that she was scared spitless.

  Slowly, she turned. For the first time he realized she had a death grip on a knife. It clattered to the floor at her feet.

  He didn’t know what to do. What was wrong? A sickening sense of helplessness dropped into the pit of his stomach.

  Without thinking, he reached for her, gathering her into his arms and sheltering her with his body. She buried her head in his neck, sinking in and letting him hold her. And some of that restless energy began to fade. Until her muffled words reached his ears. “Warren. Was here.”

  Every muscle in Jace’s body went rigid. “Here? Just now?”

  Quinn nodded. He swore, long and low, beneath his breath.

  Placing a hand on either side of her face, Jace eased her head back so he could look into her eyes. “You’re fine. You’re safe. Where did he go?”

  She licked her lips, shaking her head. “He left. Out the back door.”

  He hooked the leg of a chair with his foot and pulled it out until it touched the back of her legs. Easing her down, he crouched in front of her, wrapped her hands in his and placed them in her lap. Ducking so he could snag her gaze, he said, “Stay here.”

  He didn’t like leaving Quinn, but he didn’t like being unarmed more. Striding down the hall to his room, he pulled out both of the handguns he’d brought with him. They were loaded and ready to go. Tucking the Glock into the waistband of his jeans, he checked his .22 anyway, flipping off the safety and then putting it back into place.

  Returning to the kitchen, he opened Quinn’s palm and placed the gun in it, wrapping her fingers around the grip.

  She resisted, trying to push him and the weapon away. “No. I don’t want—”

  “Quinn, I have to go outside and check to make sure he’s gone. I don’t want to leave you alone in here unarmed.”

  Quinn’s gaze strayed to the knife sitting several feet away on the floor. Slowly, she nodded. “But I don’t know how to shoot,” she whispered.