Mine to Keep (Mine #2)(2)

But Trace’s hands caught her legs and pushed them back down.

No, she wanted him.

Trace slid down—

And he put his mouth on her.

Pleasure came then, surging through her and a moan broke from her lips.

“Much f*cking better,” Trace growled. “Now, we do this.”

He positioned his body and drove into her. Deep. So deep. She stared into his eyes, those bright, glittering eyes. Stared right into that blue even as the bed shook beneath her. He thrust, again and again. Harder.

There was no more thinking. Only feeling.

Meeting him. Thrust for thrust.

Sweat slickened their bodies.

She couldn’t look away from his gaze.

His hands had locked around her hips. He lifted her up, holding her easily, as he thrust. Every muscle in her body tightened. She was so close to release. So close— Pleasure exploded. The release burst over her with an impact that took her breath away. She shuddered and quaked, and he was there. Trace stiffened against her. Held her even tighter. The hot surge of his release filled her.

Alive.

Tremors shook her sex. Shook her.

But the memories of fear and death were gone. Pleasure surrounded her.

Because Trace surrounded her.

In that moment, Skye could almost convince herself that she was safe.

Almost.

The thunder of her heartbeat slowly eased its mad drumming. She became aware of other sounds then. The rush of waves, the pounding of the water against the shore.

The scent of the ocean.

She wasn’t in Chicago. Not New York. They’d escaped together, and Trace had taken her down to the Florida Keys.

She wasn’t supposed to be cold there. She wasn’t supposed to be afraid.

His lips feathered over her cheek. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Skye shook her head.

“He’s dead. I won’t ever let anyone hurt you again.”

Her lashes lifted, and she found herself staring up into Trace’s eyes once more. She’d always felt like Trace could see straight into her soul.

Past the pretenses that she gave to others.

Right to her core.

Trace Weston. His face was hard, strong. Slashing cheekbones. A square, tight jaw. Lips that were cut in the faintest of cruel lines.

One look, and a smart woman knew he was dangerous.

Skye knew, and she didn’t care.

He’d killed for her. She probably should have been afraid of him. She wasn’t.

Because, deep down, Skye knew the truth.

I’d kill for him, too.

With each day that passed, she was discovering a new darkness within herself.

Maybe that was why she’d always been drawn to Trace. They were the same.

He slowly withdrew from her. Stood. He stared down at her, his legs brushing against the side of the bed. “You have to talk to someone.”

No, she didn’t. What she had to do was shove the memories into the deepest, darkest part of her mind.

And move the hell on.

That was what she’d done before, when her parents had died. Burying the pain and the dark memories—that was the way she survived. Her coping mechanisms had gotten her through life.

One stumbling step at a time.

“The nightmares aren’t stopping.” His hands clenched into powerful fists as he stared down at her. “You need to—”

“I have what I need,” she said, and she rose from the bed, too. Skye pulled the sheet with her, letting it cover her body. Trace had never cared for modesty. She shouldn’t either, but Skye still found herself pulling the sheet closer. “Talking to some shrink isn’t going to magically fix me.”

“Skye…”

A loud, insistent ringing cut through his words.

Saved by the bell.

Skye glanced to the right. Trace’s phone waited on the small nightstand.

“It can damn well wait,” he muttered. “You should—”

But she’d leaned forward to see the screen. “It’s Reese. You’d better talk to him.” Because Reese Stokes was Trace’s right-hand man. A bodyguard, a friend—one of the few confidants that Trace actually had in the world.

“Go ahead,” Skye urged him. “It could be important.” She headed for the bathroom. Took the silken robe that waited on the hook behind the door. “I’ll be outside.”

The ringing stopped just as she opened the balcony door.

When she heard Trace answer the call, Skye stepped outside. The pounding of the surf was louder. The salty scent of the ocean filled her nose.

A private island.

Trace didn’t do things half-way. Since the guy was a freaking billionaire now, he could have anything or anyone that he wanted…with just a snap of his fingers.

The wind blew her robe back against her, molding the silk to her body.

Skye headed for the churning waves. The light of the moon glinted off the water, making it look almost black.

She walked toward that beckoning darkness.

One foot, in front of the other.

These days, that was the only way she could get through life.

The waves hit her feet, and they washed away the foot prints that she’d left behind.

***

“Reese, this had better be damn important,” Trace Weston snarled as his fingers tightened around the phone.