caught her chin. "People always think the broody bastards like Bren are the broken ones, but being tough is how you survive in the sectors. It's the easygoing ones you have to watch out for, because they're the ones so scarred up on the inside that they can't feel, or they're so far past broken they just don't care."
Rachel exhaled on a shaky sigh and reached for him. "Mad..."
He'd revealed too much. He'd only meant to reassure her, but now she was giving him that look , the one he was so desperate to avoid that he'd sworn Dallas and his cousin and every damn person who knew his history to secrecy.
"Uh-uh," he said lightly, intercepting her hands. "You've already got one busted old sector bastard on your plate. Don't get greedy, love. I'm someone else's project."
"It's not funny."
It was for him. It had to be. "I know, but laughing at inappropriate things is what I do."
She relented with a soft smile that quickly turned wicked. "Is that why Trix kicked you out of her bed early?"
"Who says I ever got there?" Relieved that they'd skirted dangerous territory, he threw her a rakish wink before turning to gather up stray liquor bottles. "You're not the only one who likes to put on a show."
"Tease."
"Always."
She laughed, and Mad relaxed, safe in the knowledge that maybe he'd helped a little, and he'd only lied once.
Ace might still have a chance, but Mad had promised himself long ago not to let any woman make him her project. Some scars were too deep for another person to heal, no matter how much they loved you.
He was an O'Kane. That was enough.
Chapter Four
Sparring usually went better when she wanted to hit Bren.
It wasn't fair. She'd known that at the start of her restless, uneasy night. She'd known her invitation hadn't been enthusiastic or seductive, so who could blame Bren for not taking her up on it? But her sense of fairness warped in on itself as those tense moments in front of her door replayed themselves over and over, building embarrassment on self-consciousness until she was half convinced she'd thrown herself at him only to be met with disgusted rejection.
It had felt that way, anyway, leaning against her closed door with her body aching for a release she was too tangled up to find. A few futile minutes with her fingers between her legs had made that clear. She'd met people who got off on humiliation, but she sure as fuck wasn't one of them, so now she was frustrated on top of everything else.
It made for great motivation. Unfortunately, it didn't make her faster. Or smarter.
Her back hit the mat hard enough to drive a grunt out of her as Bren circled, as light on his feet as ever.
"Pay attention," he snapped.
She shook off the shock of the impact and rose, staying on the balls of her feet as she pivoted to keep him in front of her. No wasting her breath on excuses or retorts, because she needed every scrap of focus to watch for the tiny signals that would indicate his next attack. But he just stood there, with not a single twitch to indicate which way he'd move.
Until he did.
He lunged for her midsection. This time, she twisted out of his path, jamming him in the side with her elbow to give her more time. She'd drilled enough men in the ribs to know most of them hesitated, but he followed through, pushing into the pain to hook an arm around her waist and drag her clear off the floor.
He followed her down to the mat and pinned both of her arms behind her. "You can't always be stronger, so you have to be faster."
She slammed her head back but only managed to knock him in the chin, and frustration lent her snarl a rough edge. "Nothing stops you. Another man would have flinched or winced or something ."
"You're the one who wanted to learn."
No, he wasn't tolerating excuses or whining today. It only pissed her off more, because she shouldn't want to whine, but there was a new significance to every touch now. A second meaning. His grip on her wrists wasn't simply an obstacle to overcome, it
Rachel exhaled on a shaky sigh and reached for him. "Mad..."
He'd revealed too much. He'd only meant to reassure her, but now she was giving him that look , the one he was so desperate to avoid that he'd sworn Dallas and his cousin and every damn person who knew his history to secrecy.
"Uh-uh," he said lightly, intercepting her hands. "You've already got one busted old sector bastard on your plate. Don't get greedy, love. I'm someone else's project."
"It's not funny."
It was for him. It had to be. "I know, but laughing at inappropriate things is what I do."
She relented with a soft smile that quickly turned wicked. "Is that why Trix kicked you out of her bed early?"
"Who says I ever got there?" Relieved that they'd skirted dangerous territory, he threw her a rakish wink before turning to gather up stray liquor bottles. "You're not the only one who likes to put on a show."
"Tease."
"Always."
She laughed, and Mad relaxed, safe in the knowledge that maybe he'd helped a little, and he'd only lied once.
Ace might still have a chance, but Mad had promised himself long ago not to let any woman make him her project. Some scars were too deep for another person to heal, no matter how much they loved you.
He was an O'Kane. That was enough.
Chapter Four
Sparring usually went better when she wanted to hit Bren.
It wasn't fair. She'd known that at the start of her restless, uneasy night. She'd known her invitation hadn't been enthusiastic or seductive, so who could blame Bren for not taking her up on it? But her sense of fairness warped in on itself as those tense moments in front of her door replayed themselves over and over, building embarrassment on self-consciousness until she was half convinced she'd thrown herself at him only to be met with disgusted rejection.
It had felt that way, anyway, leaning against her closed door with her body aching for a release she was too tangled up to find. A few futile minutes with her fingers between her legs had made that clear. She'd met people who got off on humiliation, but she sure as fuck wasn't one of them, so now she was frustrated on top of everything else.
It made for great motivation. Unfortunately, it didn't make her faster. Or smarter.
Her back hit the mat hard enough to drive a grunt out of her as Bren circled, as light on his feet as ever.
"Pay attention," he snapped.
She shook off the shock of the impact and rose, staying on the balls of her feet as she pivoted to keep him in front of her. No wasting her breath on excuses or retorts, because she needed every scrap of focus to watch for the tiny signals that would indicate his next attack. But he just stood there, with not a single twitch to indicate which way he'd move.
Until he did.
He lunged for her midsection. This time, she twisted out of his path, jamming him in the side with her elbow to give her more time. She'd drilled enough men in the ribs to know most of them hesitated, but he followed through, pushing into the pain to hook an arm around her waist and drag her clear off the floor.
He followed her down to the mat and pinned both of her arms behind her. "You can't always be stronger, so you have to be faster."
She slammed her head back but only managed to knock him in the chin, and frustration lent her snarl a rough edge. "Nothing stops you. Another man would have flinched or winced or something ."
"You're the one who wanted to learn."
No, he wasn't tolerating excuses or whining today. It only pissed her off more, because she shouldn't want to whine, but there was a new significance to every touch now. A second meaning. His grip on her wrists wasn't simply an obstacle to overcome, it
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