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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.”
