“Doesn’t matter. If he comes back just point it at him and fire. Hitting anything will slow him down and probably have him scrambling for cover, at least long enough for me to get back to you. I won’t be far.”
She nodded, her lips pale and bloodless, but beneath the telltale signs of stress there was a resolve he admired. Quinn was tough and always had been. He’d seen it time and again as she’d stood at Michael’s side, his rock through everything.
Quinn had nerves of steel. She tackled problems head-on, including this.
Leaving her sitting there was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do, but logically he realized securing the perimeter was more important. Better late than never.
The thought had his stomach filling with the heavy weight of regret. There’d be time enough for self-recriminations when this was finished.
Jace slipped into the night. Now he taught others how to blend into the darkness and assess surroundings for evidence of a threat. He’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a small part of him that relished the rush of adrenaline pouring into his system.
If the source of that were anything besides danger to Quinn he’d have been in seventh heaven. But since it did involve her...
He didn’t bother turning on the outside lights, preferring the cover darkness provided, although it helped the enemy just as much as it aided him.
In a widening circle, he rounded the house, checking for any sign that Warren was still out here. He didn’t think the man was stupid enough to stick around, but then he’d been half convinced by Quinn’s arguments that Warren wasn’t stupid enough to do anything at all.
After five minutes he’d combed every inch of her yard and the neighbors’ yards on both sides. There was no sign of the man—or anything to indicate how he’d gotten in and out without notice.
Walking in the back door, part of Jace was proud to look up and find Quinn still sitting where he’d left her, but with the barrel of her gun pointed straight at him. It didn’t waver for several seconds before she dropped her arms and let it fall back into her lap.
At least her skin had lost the ghostly pallor.
Striding over to her, Jace eased the gun out of her hands and laid it on the table beside her. Bracing his hands on the arms of the chair, he looked down at her. Her head dropped back against the rounded curve as she watched him.
“Let’s get you packed.”
He’d expected to rehash the same argument they’d had yesterday when she’d refused to leave. It was clear by the quick glitter that shot through her eyes that she wasn’t happy about the situation. But at least she was smart enough to realize the intelligence of leaving, now that they knew Warren could—and would—get to her.
With a tight nod, she moved to stand. Her body brushed against his, sending him straight back to red alert.
Taking several huge steps back, Jace gave her the space to scoot around him. She headed down the hall, hopefully to pack.
He stayed right where he was, hands tightened into fists at his sides.
They’d shared her three-bedroom, two-bath house for less than twenty-four hours and he’d nearly lost his mind, kissed the hell out of her and let his own libido chase him away and leave her vulnerable.
How the hell was he going to handle moving her into his tiny apartment with only one bed? Here they’d had a little space.
There...they’d be crawling over each other.
His rock-hard erection thought that was just a jim-dandy idea. At least his brain realized he was setting himself up for more torture than relief.
6
QUINN CONTACTED A LAWYER and began the process to file a restraining order. Having legal paperwork in the system would increase the chances of being able to do something if Warren messed with her again.
The flip side was that she was publicly tarnishing Warren’s reputation. And he’d pulled the wool over quite a few well-connected eyes. No doubt, he’d know she’d made the request before the ink had dried.
And while that really didn’t bother her, she had enough experience with men like him to realize it would only make him angrier and more dangerous.
But she’d have to take that chance. The man would not intimidate her.
That just left settling into her temporary home.
In all the years she’d known Jace, she had never been to his apartment. Quinn wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t the cat that greeted them at the door.
The fluffy, flat-faced cat bolted toward them, winding around Jace’s legs and meowing loudly. She looked up at him, love and adoration clear in her bright blue buggy eyes.
She was absolutely adorable. The kind of cat any self-respecting five-year-old little girl would go goo-goo over. The only thing she was missing was a pink satin ribbon tied around her neck.
Not exactly army-badass material.
“I, uh, never took you for a cat guy,” Quinn said, trying to suppress the laughter choking her.
Jace eyed the cat for several moments and then transferred his glare of disgust to Quinn.
“I’m not. Bacon broke into my apartment. Hid under my bed, the couch, above the kitchen cabinets. I put her out again, but for weeks every time I opened the door she slipped back inside. I got tired of chasing her around the apartment and just...let her stay.”
Quinn didn’t know which part of his statement to tackle first, the part where a tiny fluff ball of a cat had outsmarted him, or that he’d named her after cured meat. Better not to point out the hit to his masculinity.
“Bacon?”
“Yeah. I haven’t eaten a piece since she moved in six months ago. Somehow she manages to snatch it right off my plate. Apparently, it’s her favorite.”
Smothering a snort, Quinn walked away. It was either that or laugh hysterically in his face, and she didn’t think that would be good for anyone.
Her gaze ran over his apartment. Yes, the space was small, but it was...cozy. Comfortable. On random surfaces she noticed photographs—several of his parents and Michael. A couple of him and Bacon. She wondered if a girlfriend had taken them and tried not to care.
Walking closer, she took in a group scattered across a bookcase shelf. Candid shots, including a few with her, from Christmases, birthdays, Saturdays gathered together to watch football. Seeing them had a bolt of sadness lancing through her.
But it was the photograph tucked behind the others that broke her heart. One she’d never seen before, the edges turning yellow with age even through the protective gleam of glass. Michael, a huge smile stretching his mouth and lighting his eyes, laughed directly into the camera. He was young, probably in high school if she had to guess, but she could see glimpses of the man she’d loved.
Beside him, an arm wrapped tight around Michael’s shoulders, stood Jace. He wasn’t joining in the laughter. Instead his face was intent, his gaze trained solely on his brother. She’d always known Jace looked out for Michael, but this picture illustrated the concept beyond a doubt.
Looking at it made her heart ache, and not for the reasons she’d expected. Michael’s smiling image stirred fond feelings, but she hurt for Jace. For what he’d lost.
And then she felt guilty about it. Not for caring about Jace, but because he was her main concern, not the man she’d lost.
When she looked at the photographs of Michael she no longer thought about the life they should have had.
When had that happened?
Quinn wasn’t entirely certain how to feel about that realization.
What she did know was that the photograph was beautiful. It bothered her that it wasn’t front and center, but tucked out of the way. Reaching in, Quinn shifted the rest of the frames around until it was prominently on display.
She turned to find Jace watching her, that same intense expression fr
om the picture now trained on her. A little older. A little more haunted. But still...the same. His gaze traveled over her shoulder and lingered on the photo for several seconds before returning to her.
His expression was enigmatic. The man was difficult to read on a good day, and this one had been far from good. She waited, mostly for him to say something to her about messing with his stuff. But he didn’t.
Turning on his heel, he headed down the darkened hallway and pushed open one of three doors. “Bathroom’s through here, just clear off whatever space you need. Towels are under the sink.” Passing by another door on the left he pointed. “That’s my office. Not much in there other than a desk, computer and some random junk.”
Pausing outside the last door, Jace pushed it open and stepped out of her way. She got her first glimpse of his bedroom. It was just like him, a little austere but with glimpses of warmth.
The walls were painted a rich, warm brown that, for some reason, reminded her of sitting around a campfire, making s’mores and licking melted chocolate from her fingers. Instead of a spread, a handmade quilt covered the bed. Quinn recognized his grandmother’s work. She wasn’t with them anymore, but the family cherished her talent and passed down the quilts. Quinn had tried to return Michael’s quilt after his death, but his mother had insisted she keep it.
It was sitting on a shelf in her hall closet. At the time she hadn’t been able to look at the beautiful quilt without crying. Now she was regretting tucking it away.
Walking inside the room, she paused to run her hands over the tiny, perfect stitches. It was soft and no doubt warm on chilly winter nights. There was a part of her that loved Jace for actually putting it on his bed.
It wasn’t the kind of thing you’d expect from a big, macho military man. But then, Jace wasn’t your typical anything.
The furniture all matched, a deep cherry wood. The top of the dresser was completely bare, with not a single speck of dust marring the finish. On the far wall a line of shoes and boots marched toward the corner.
It smelled like him. Something smooth with a tang of spice and an edge of pure male.
Slowly, Quinn turned back to where Jace had stopped just outside the door. Once again, he reached overhead holding onto the frame and making the muscles in his arms ripple up and down.
“You take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“No. I’m not kicking you out of your room, Jace.” That’s where she drew the line. He was already disrupting his entire life for her, she’d be damned if she let him do any more.
“I’m not arguing with you about this, Quinn. Take the damn bed.” His eyes flashed a warning.
Emotion bubbled up inside her, hot and hard. Even as the volatile mix churned up the back of her throat, she realized the anger and frustration and fear and guilt and lust and just...everything had little to do with Jace’s hard-line stance on the bed issue.
That didn’t stop the words from spewing out of her mouth.
Stalking across the room, Quinn smacked his chest with her palms. He rocked back to his heels, but didn’t go far. Which didn’t do much to help her writhing temper.
“Jace, stop telling me what to do.” The heat of all that bottled-up emotion burned across her skin. She could feel it, caustic and destructive. “I’m a big girl and I don’t need a keeper.”
His only response was a matching flash of temper that ripped through his annoyingly clear and mesmerizing eyes. However, his words were low and measured when he responded, “Obviously, that isn’t quite true, now, is it?”
Quinn sucked in a hard breath.
“None of this is my damn fault.”
“I don’t remember saying it was.”
His hands slid down the wooden door frame separating them. His knuckles, still a little tattered from the fight, turned white. He was trying to hold on to his temper.
What did it say about her that she wanted him to let go? She’d never, not once, seen Jace wild with emotion. Not even when Michael took his last breath. Inside that tiny room where they’d brought him for those last few hours, Quinn had completely lost it.
She’d held it together in front of Michael, but once he was gone she’d become a sobbing, hysterical mess. His mother had been just as distraught. His father had been quieter, but still racked with grief.
Jace had stood silent and stoic. She could still remember the supporting weight of his arms holding her up.
She’d wanted him to scream at her, God, Michael, fate.
But he wouldn’t. Not then. Not now.
It frustrated her. Fueled her anger even more. Made her grit her teeth and just...
Slowly, reality returned, the red haze of her emotions bleeding dry. Quinn realized her breath was coming fast and shallow. She stared up at Jace, guilt and regret settling hard across her shoulders.
They bowed beneath the weight.
God, this whole damn mess was turning her into someone she didn’t like or want to be.
Shaking her head, Quinn took a step back, trying to move away from Jace and her outburst.
“Feel better?” he murmured.
Folding onto the edge of the bed, she dropped her head into her hands, covering her eyes with the heels of her palms.
“Not really,” she replied, her response muffled and full of regret. Sucking in a deep breath, she held on to it for a second before finally letting go.
Suddenly, warm hands covered hers, gently tugging until she had no choice but to let him move her hands away from her eyes.
Crouched at her feet, he stared at her, his gaze more soft and gentle than she’d ever seen it.
That did not help the guilt swirling inside her. It only made her hate herself more that she hadn’t been able to control the outburst.
“Hey, cut yourself some slack, Quinn. You’ve had a crappy couple of days.”
“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I should take it out on you.”
His broad shoulders lifted and then dropped. “Why not? I’m here. I can handle it.”
“Doesn’t make it right.”
Humor tugged at the edges of his lips, pulling them into a lopsided grin. His eyes began to glitter in a way that had her breath catching in the back of her throat.
“Well, if you really feel bad about it, I know exactly how you can make it up to me.”
There was some resemblance between Jace and Michael. They had the same dark hair. The same almond-shaped eyes. The same deep laugh, not that she’d heard Jace’s very often.
But there were more differences than similarities. However, in that moment, Jace’s face stamped with the same impish grin she’d seen so often on Michael, there was no doubt the two men were brothers.
Her fingers tingled with the desire to reach out and touch the curved edge of his mouth. She wanted more than anything to kiss him.
But was that because he was being sweet or because he suddenly reminded her of the man she’d lost?
Somewhere she found the words to keep their conversation going, even if her brain was in meltdown mode. “Oh, yeah, what’s that?”
Pushing up from his crouch, Jace towered above her. She had to crane her neck to look at him, her eyes enjoying the long stretch of masculine perfection on the way up.
“Take the bed.”
Suddenly, she was just...exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally drained. “Oh, whatever. But only if we take turns. Tomorrow I get the couch.”
His mouth twitched, but all he said was, “We’ll see.”
She sat there for several minutes after he walked away, listening to him move around the apartment. The soft pad of his feet over carpet. The clang of something in the kitchen. A door opening and closing. She wondered what he’d sleep in, because he certainly hadn’t taken the time to grab anything from the dresser.
Finally realizing what she was doing—and the effect it was having on her body—Quinn bolted up from the bed and scrambled across to her bag. It took her ten minutes to get changed, wash her face and brush her teeth. And less than that to realize she should have fought harder for the couch.
Cocooned in the darkness, underneath the weight of his covers, the only thought running repeatedly through her brain was that she was in Jace Hyland’s bed.
Alone.
How many times had she entertained illicit fantasies of being right here? More than she cared to admit—even to herself. But none of the scenarios had played out like this. Surrounded by his scent, his things, she was utterly and irrevocably alone.
An ache centered in the middle of her chest. Another twinged hard between her thighs.
Screwing her eyes shut, Quinn started counting sheep. Anything to occupy her brain with something aside from what she wanted and couldn’t have.
She was usually one of those people who dropped right to sleep minutes after her head hit the pillow. Not tonight. She tossed and turned, dozing for a few minutes at a time before jerking awake.
Finally, unable to take anymore, her spent body took over and plunged her into sleep. But the restlessness and the stressful events of the past few days conspired against her.
* * *
THERE WAS NO way he’d have let Quinn take the couch. His mama had raised him better than that. But every time he closed his eyes a vision of her stretched out in his bed tattooed itself on the inside of his lids.
Even after this was over, he’d never be able to look at his bed again without thinking of her there. Maybe he should have taken her to a hotel. The price of a suite with separate bedrooms probably would have been worth it for his long-term sanity.
Jace was used to going without sleep. His body had been trained to withstand harsh conditions and operate on nothing more than a few stolen moments of shut-eye here and there.
Pillowing his head on his arms, he stared up at the ceiling of his den, watching the shifting shadows as outside clouds moved across the moon.
Testing the Limits Page 7
