Mine to Keep (Mine #2)(24)

***

A sea of reporters greeted them the instant the limo’s doors opened. Reese hadn’t driven them, not to this event. A posh limo escorted Skye and Trace toward Chicago’s Magnificent Mile and deposited them right at the red carpet that led to the entrance of the illustrious Bartley Hotel, an icon that had been in the city since the early 1930s.

Trace exited first. She heard the reporters shout his name.

He ignored them and turned back toward her. Bending, he offered Skye his hand.

She put one high-heeled foot out. Then the other.

When she rose, there was a moment of silence. Perfect, complete silence.

Then the questions exploded.

“Skye! Skye Sullivan! Can you confirm the rumors that you and Trace Weston are planning to marry?”

She thought her ring confirmed that rumor.

“Ms. Sullivan! Is it true that you’ve been offered a spot as lead in Robert Wolfe’s next ballet?”

That question made her falter. Robert had been her choreographer for years when she danced in New York. When it came to the top echelon of the New York ballet, Robert was the man in charge.

Skye found herself shaking her head. There was no return for her. Robert certainly hadn’t come to ask— “Is it true that you were in a mental facility for the last three weeks because you had a breakdown?”

Skye stiffened.

“Fuck,” Trace growled in her ear. “Ignore them. Put on your killer smile and lift your head up, baby. Walk like they don’t matter. They don’t. You matter. Only you.”

He was wrong.

Skye turned to the reporter. A curvy blonde with hard eyes.

“I didn’t break down,” Skye told her simply. “I survived.”

And she walked away. With her head up. With a false smile on her lips. She took the steps past the swarm of reporters, and then she and Trace were heading into the Bartley.

Guards were stationed at the doors, and they made absolutely sure that the reporters didn’t follow Skye and Trace inside.

Her heels tapped on the gleaming marble floor. From overhead, glittering chandeliers poured light down on her.

The other ball attendees headed forward, moving and laughing easily. They’d enjoyed their time in the limelight. Skye hadn’t. She didn’t care about photo opportunities or getting her name in the papers. If she had her way, she’d prefer to never see another paper or magazine with her face splashed on the cover.

Breakdown. Thanks, bitch.

Trace wrapped his hand around Skye’s waist. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”

She blinked. Glanced up at him.

“For a minute there, I was sure you were going to tell the blonde to f*ck off.”

Her lips twitched. The laughter escaped her, before she could even think to stop it. A light, quick bubble of sound.

Trace’s face froze. “There it is,” he rasped.

And he kissed her. A deep, sensual kiss that made her knees jiggle.

“Well, well…I guess this is how the mighty fall.”

Skye pulled away from Trace with a little gasp, but he didn’t let her go far. He kept a hold on her wrist as they both turned to face the man who’d closed in on them.

Tall, muscled, with wide shoulders that stretched the perfectly tailored tux he wore, the man stood just a few feet away. His hair was dark, nearly the same shade as Trace’s, and his eyes were a burning, deep gold.

Those eyes were on Skye, assessing her with a fierce intensity. “The reporters could see the kiss, you know,” the man murmured. There was a faint accent in his voice. Texas? “But maybe that was the point, right, Trace?” And his gaze trekked to Trace. “To stake the claim in front of them all. In case any of the blind fools missed the giant rock on her finger.”

She expected Trace to fire an angry retort, instead, he laughed.

Laughed.

Skye glanced over at him in surprise.

“Noah,” Trace murmured, “I’d heard you made a new acquisition in town.” His eyebrows rose as he took in the hotel. “Nice. You’ve done well for yourself.”

“As have you.” That golden stare was back on Skye. Still too intense. “Very well,” the man added as his voice deepened.

Trace wrapped his arm around Skye. “You said yourself, I’ve already staked a claim.”

Skye licked her lips—and tasted Trace.

“Skye Sullivan, I want you to meet Noah York. Noah is…an old friend of mine.”

The name clicked for Skye. York Towers. The guy had hotels all over the United States. Those Towers were usually in the biggest cities, but they were also found in some secluded, high-end getaway locations. Near pristine beaches. Cradled amid mountaintops.

Noah reached for her hand. He bent his head. “It’s great to finally meet you.”

Finally?

He released her and eased back. “I figured nothing would keep you away from this event, Trace.” His shoulders straightened. “Not when we both know what it’s like to be those kids.”

Her gaze sharpened on Noah.

Then someone called his name. Noah sighed. “Business.” He pointed at Trace and Skye. “But I’ll be seeing you both later.” Another nod, and then he was gone.

“We should go inside. The auction will be starting soon,” Trace said.

She started walking automatically, but her fingers reached out to touch his arm. “Trace, what did he mean when he said it was finally good to meet me?”