Her Forbidden Hero by Laura Kaye

was screwing his job of watching over her. But tonight was all about the lesser of two evils.
    Even outside in the night air, her scent still filled his nose, sweet like apples and vanilla. His tongue conjured tastes he imagined were hers, and the beckoning heat in her dark eyes was a picture he couldn’t forget.
    Jesus. When had she become so damn appealing? Of course, she’d always been sweet and kind and loyal to a fault—just like her brother. But now she was…so much more than that. Confident. Outgoing. Beautiful, but down-to-earth.
    He had to stop thinking about her this way because it was so easy to want to lose himself in her. Too easy. Alyssa represented his old life, his old self. She made him remember that person. That must be why she appealed to him now—she made him believe he could be his old self again. But it was just a mirage. That life, that man—they were gone, buried in the ruins of a mud hut thousands of miles away.
    Marco gunned Betty’s engine and tore out of the rear parking lot. A line of traffic waited to exit at the light. Sitting at that damn signal tested the last thread of his patience, and the leather steering wheel creaked under the stranglehold he had on it.
    Green. Fucking finally.
    He turned right before he thought to do it— away from home. Last thing he wanted to face right now was the horrific nightscape of his usual REM pattern, especially on the chance his dreams would be as vivid as last night’s.
    Ten minutes later, Betty came to a halting stop in a space in front of Max’s, the local gym he’d worked at in high school and continued to patronize ever since. His fists were jonesing to make contact with something , and since the jackoff who had pawed his Alyssa was off the menu—for tonight—he’d take option B, thank you very much.
    When had he started thinking of her as his ?
    It was just her easy familiarity. Their shared past. That’s all it was.
    Goddammit.
    From the trunk, he retrieved a gym bag, and then stalked inside, head down, shoulders hunched.
    “Marco,” Max called, affection coloring his voice. “You’re here late. Looking to spar?”
    Marco glanced at Max, who never seemed to change. With salt-and-pepper hair, bushy eyebrows, and a face grooved with deep laugh lines, the man was one of the few things Marco could count on to stay the same. “Hey, Max. Yeah, I am. Anyone around?”
    Max frowned, his gray eyes giving him a once-over, but then he nodded. “Nick?” he called over his shoulder. “Got a match for you.”
    “Thanks,” Marco said, not waiting around long enough to allow a conversation to spring up. Max was almost a father figure, and little got by him. Marco couldn’t handle that kind of perceptivity right now. In the locker room, he changed into a pair of black athletic pants, wrapped his hands in tape, and dug his gloves and a towel from his bag. Next thing he knew, he was standing out on the mat across from a guy who kickboxed competitively—exactly the kind of skilled competition he needed right now. He wanted a workout, after all. “Nick.”
    “Vieri.” They bumped fists. “Two-minute rounds?”
    Marco dropped his towel at the side. “Three.”
    Nick’s eyes went wide. “You up for that, old man?”
    Tugging on his gloves, Marco ignored the comment, let it add to the big pile of pissed-off he needed to exorcise. “You gonna talk all night, or are we gonna box?”
    They started circling, and Nick threw the first punch. Marco bobbed around it easily, then faked with his weaker left hand and hit home with a right hook to his opponent’s ribs. Nick retaliated with a back kick Marco just barely avoided. Facing off again, Nick barreled in with a series of uppercuts. Marco took a few hits but distracted the other man with a parry that allowed him to deliver a sweeping kick that knocked Nick off balance and took him down to one knee. Marco spun on the ball of his foot and delivered a roundhouse aimed at Nick’s head, but the man