Off-Limits (Untouchables #1)

Chapter 1

Mia

My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles ache.

I've been driving for what feels like an eternity, trying to outrun the hollow pit in my stomach that's grown heavier with each mile marker I pass.

The radio has been blaring a generic pop station, but even that hasn't been enough to drown out the thoughts swirling in my head.

How did things go so wrong? When did he change? Was it always him and never me?

I shake my head, trying to dislodge these thoughts. There's no point dwelling on it now. It's over, and I'm better off without him. That's what I keep telling myself, anyway, even if it's not working very well.

Turning into the familiar driveway of my childhood home, a wave of nostalgia washes over me. The house looks just as I left it: a cozy two-story nestled among the tall trees. It feels like a lifetime since I've been here last.

I cut the engine and sit in silence for a moment, gathering my courage before I step out into the cool night air.

The motion sensor light flickers to life as I grab my suitcase from the trunk, casting eerie shadows across the neat lawn.

I drag my luggage up the front steps, each thud echoing through the still neighborhood like a drumbeat announcing my arrival.

The house is quiet when I let myself in, the only sound coming from the hum of the refrigerator down the hall.

I lean against the closed door and sigh, feeling relief and apprehension settle over me.

It's good to be home, but it also means facing the mess my life has become.

I don't want to be here, but I also don't have enough money to go somewhere else.

I toe off my shoes and pad quietly through the house, flipping on lights as I go.

The living room is just as I remember it—Mom's favorite recliner by the window, Dad's old fishing magazines stacked neatly on the coffee table.

A sense of comfort washes over me, and for a moment, everything feels okay.

Then reality hits like a punch to the gut. This isn't my home anymore. Not really. I've traded in my childhood bedroom for a studio apartment in the city, swapped family dinners for late-night takeout, and replaced my parents' laughter with the sound of my own tears echoing off bare walls.

I shake away these thoughts, telling myself that things will get better soon. I just need some time to heal, to figure out what comes next. And maybe, if I'm lucky, this summer back home will help me find my way again.

As I turn to make my way upstairs to bed, a noise stops me in my tracks - the soft click of a door opening down the hall.

My heart leaps into my throat as I strain my ears, listening intently.

Another soft sound, then the creaking of floorboards beneath slow, steady footsteps. Someone else is in this house with me.

I reach for the nearest weapon—Dad's old golf club propped up by the door—and hold it tightly in front of me like a shield. My palms are slick with sweat as I take a deep breath and step forward, ready to confront whoever might be lurking in the shadows.

The figure steps into the light, and I gasp, nearly dropping the golf club in surprise.

It's Jake Morrison—my brother Ryan's best friend since college, and someone who has always been off-limits in more ways than one.

What's he doing here? How did he get inside?

It doesn't make sense to me, and it's a little suspicious, too.

"Mia," he says softly, his eyes widening slightly as they take in the sight of me standing there brandishing a golf club like some sort of crazy person. "What are you doing here?"

I lower the club, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Uh, hi Jake. I could ask you the same thing."

He runs a hand through his messy dark hair, looking every inch the casual, rumpled bachelor he is. "Your parents asked me to house-sit while they're on their cruise," he explains. "Ryan told them I was between places, and they offered up your old room for the next couple of weeks."

"Oh." I swallow hard, trying not to stare at the way his plain white t-shirt clings to his muscles or how his pajama pants hang low on his hips. I shouldn't be staring. "Right. Of course."

A moment passes between us, an electric charge in the air that makes me acutely aware of my own body. I'm still wearing my traveling clothes—a faded band tee and cutoff shorts—but suddenly it feels like there's too much skin exposed, too many places for his eyes to linger.

Jake clears his throat, breaking the tension. "So, how have you been?" He asks, gesturing towards the living room. "Want to sit down?"

I hesitate for a moment before following him, my suitcase thumping along behind me like an awkward companion.

As we settle onto opposite ends of the couch—me tucking one leg beneath me, him slouching back with his arms spread wide across the cushions—I try to remember how to breathe normally around him.

This isn't going to be so bad, I tell myself. It's just two weeks. Surely we can coexist peacefully under the same roof without causing too much trouble. But as Jake turns to face me, a slow smile spreading across his face, I feel like I'm lying to myself for thinking that way.

"Well," he says, his hazel eyes gleaming with amusement, "this is certainly an unexpected turn of events."

I roll my eyes at him, feeling the tension in my shoulders begin to ease. "You're telling me."

The way Jake's looking at me now, with that lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, sends a shiver down my spine.

It's not the first time I've felt this jolt of awareness around him, but it's been a while since we've been alone together like this.

Being back in my childhood homes seems to have stripped away some of the layers that time and distance have built up between us.

I can't help but let my gaze wander over him, taking in the way his hair is slightly disheveled, how his t-shirt clings to his broad chest and muscular arms. I force myself to meet his eyes again, only to find them already on me, a gleam of interest in their warm depths.

He's checking me out too, I realize, and it makes my cheeks flush with heat. I'm still acutely aware of every inch of exposed skin. The air between us feels more charged than ever, like static electricity before a storm.

I clear my throat, breaking the moment. "So," I say, "two weeks, huh? Just you and me in this big old house."

Jake nods, his smirk softening into something more genuine. "Looks that way." He props an ankle on the opposite knee, getting comfortable. "How's life been treating you, Mia?"

The question catches me off guard, mainly because Jake has never shown much interest in my life before now. We've always existed in each other's orbits due to my siblings' friendship, but we've never been close ourselves.

"It's... fine," I say, hedging. "You know. Same old, same old."

He raises an eyebrow. "Come on, Mia. You can do better than that." He leans forward slightly, giving me his full attention. It's unnerving how focused he is suddenly, like he sees right through me.

I sigh, relenting. "Okay, okay. Life has been... a bit of a shit show lately," I admit. "Work's been stressful, and... well, you know about the breakup." I wave my hand dismissively, not wanting to dive into the mess that is my love life with Jake Morrison of all people.

He nods slowly, his expression turning serious. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "Breakups suck."

The genuine sympathy in his voice catches me off guard, and for a moment, I'm tempted to unload everything onto him—the betrayal, the heartache, the humiliating way it all played out. But then I remember who I'm talking to, and I rein myself in.

"Thanks," I say instead, forcing a small smile. "It's just... a lot." I shift my position on the couch, suddenly feeling too exposed under his scrutiny. "What about you? How've you been?"

Jake leans back against the cushions again, running a hand through his hair. "Not much to report here," he says with a shrug. "Work's keeping me busy. You know how it is—protecting the world one corporate executive at a time."

I laugh softly, remembering Jake's security consulting firm. It always seemed like such a cliché—a former military guy running his own personal protection business—but I've seen firsthand how dedicated he is to his clients' safety.

"Sounds exciting," I tease, and he rolls his eyes in response.

"It has its moments," he concedes.

We fall into an easy silence after that, the kind that only comes from years of shared history. It's comforting, almost like old times, except for the undeniable tension crackling between us like a live wire.

Sitting there, watching Jake absently rub at a spot on his pajama pants, I can't help but acknowledge the truth: I'm attracted to him.

I've always been attracted to him, in some distant, off-limits corner of my mind.

But being here with him now, seeing the way he's grown into himself over the years.

.. it's impossible not to feel the pull.

And yet, at the same time, I know this can never happen. Jake is Ryan's best friend—and therefore totally off-limits in my brother's book. Plus, we have completely different lives now; he's still firmly planted here in our small hometown while I've been building a career and a life miles away.

But most importantly, I'm not looking for anything serious right now—not after the wreckage of my last relationship.

I need time to heal, to figure out who I am outside of someone else's expectations.

Getting involved with Jake, no matter how tempting he might be, would only complicate things further.

As much as I try to distract myself from the tension building between us, it's impossible to ignore for long.

Every time Jake shifts on the couch, I can't help but notice the exact way his body moves.

His gaze keeps lingering on my lips, and when he catches me staring at him, he doesn't look away like he should.

He holds eye contact, letting that simmering heat intensify.

Desperate to break the spell, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "So, did you really have to join the military just because Ryan did?"

Jake chuckles softly, but there's an undercurrent of something more serious in his voice when he responds. "It wasn't like that for me. I wanted to go—needed to, even. But yeah, having Ryan there made it... easier."

I nod, feeling a pang of guilt for implying otherwise. They've been through so much together; their bond is something I can never truly understand. "How's he doing overseas?" I ask, genuinely curious.

Jake's expression softens as he thinks about my brother. "He's good, toughing it out like always. Missing home, though." He pauses, then adds, "We talk every week."

I smile at the idea of them keeping each other company from across the globe. It must be nice to have someone who gets you that well, without needing to say much at all.

Then Jake tells me about Ryan's last video call, his face animated and full of warmth, and I can't help but feel a pang of jealousy.

Not just because they share such a strong connection, but also because it's clear how much he cares for my brother, and by extension, our family.

It makes me wonder what it would be like to have him care about me that way too.

And then, without meaning to, I blurt out, "Why did you never try anything with me?" That was a mistake, I immediately tell myself, but it's too late to change it now.

The words hang heavy in the air between us, and Jake's eyes widen slightly in surprise before his gaze darkens. He leans back against the couch, considering me carefully. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice low.

I swallow hard, trying to keep my racing heart from betraying just how much this conversation is affecting me. "You know what I mean," I say, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "Why did you never... try anything when we were younger? Like, before Ryan made you promise not to."

That brought back a lot of memories, and he probably didn't want to remember them.

A slow smile spreads across Jake's face, and he runs a hand through his hair, looking almost sheepish. "Well, for starters, you were only eighteen the first time I really noticed you—really noticed you, you know?" He gestures between us, as if that explains everything.

I roll my eyes, feeling my cheeks flush with heat at the memory. It's true. I'd been painfully obvious about my crush on him back then. "That doesn't answer my question," I press, crossing my arms over my chest.

Jake sighs, leaning forward again.

"Because you were off-limits," he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. That's it? It was that simple all along? "You're Ryan's little sister. You always have been. And no matter how much I might've wanted to... it just didn't feel right."

My heart aches at the honesty in his words, at the longing hidden beneath them. I know what it's like to want something you can't have, to be drawn to someone you shouldn't be. It's a painful, all-consuming kind of desire that never truly goes away.

But still... "That doesn't explain why you've never even tried since then," I say softly, tracing patterns on the couch cushion with my fingertips. "You could've come to visit me at college, or after, when I moved to the city. But you didn't."