Mine to Keep (Mine #2)(26)

Lighting effects drifted over the water. Soft pink, light blue.

Beautiful.

“Miss?”

She turned and found a waiter at her elbow. The balcony was well lit, gleaming with candles. The waiter offered his tray of champagne. She took a glass, nodding her thanks.

Skye lifted the glass to her lips.

Then she stopped. Because she’d just caught sight of a man standing below. He had a hood over his head, and he was partially hidden by the shadows.

Her heartbeat kicked up. Her left hand pushed against the hard marble column of the balcony as she leaned forward, trying to get a better glimpse of the figure.

The glass tipped in her right hand and began to fall.

Long, masculine fingers caught the glass, and only a few drops of champagne dripped to the ground.

Skye looked into Noah’s eyes.

“It’s all right,” he said softly, “I’ve got it.”

“I-I—” Skye shook her head, unnerved by the intensity that seemed to cloak him. Trace carried that same, dark intensity, but she didn’t fear the danger that clung to him.

Noah York was another matter.

“I saw someone,” Skye finally said, pointing over the balcony. “Down there, in the shadows.”

Noah followed her stare. “What was this person doing?”

“It was a man. I-I think. He was…staring up. Looking toward me.”

Silence.

She squinted as she stared out at the fountains, but Skye couldn’t see any sign of the watcher now. “He was there.”

“I never said he wasn’t.” Noah put the champagne on the balcony and pulled out a phone. With his eyes on her, he said, “Dale, Jonah, do a perimeter sweep near the south-side fountains. Make sure that no uninvited guests slipped past security.” He pushed the phone back into the inner pocket of his tux. “Some reporters can be very determined.”

Reporters. Right. Her breath panted out too quickly. It had just been a reporter out there, waiting for a scoop. She had to stop looking at the shadows and seeing danger.

“Excuse me,” Skye murmured, embarrassed now. “I’d better get back inside and—”

“Trace won’t be much longer.” Noah leaned back against the broad column and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why don’t we take a few minutes to talk?”

Once more, she glanced back down toward the fountains. Now she saw two men—both wearing suits—heading toward the shadows.

“Those are two of my men,” Noah said, not sounding particularly concerned. “If anyone else is down there, I’ll know shortly.”

There was just something about him that reminded her so much of Trace. Guessing, she said, “The two of you served together, in the military.”

“I did a stint in the military, yes.”

That was a vague answer.

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him.

“I’m very sorry for what you had to endure, Skye.”

She swallowed to ease her suddenly dry throat. “Plenty of people endure worse all the time. I’m just lucky I survived.”

Silence, then, “I don’t think luck had much to do with it, but I agree, you are a survivor.”

The candle light fell on his face, half revealing, half concealing. “How much do you know about me?” Skye asked him.

“I know that we share a similar past. You, Trace, and I—life wasn’t always easy for us when we were younger, but we didn’t let our pasts stop us. A past should never get in the way of your future.”

“Your parents—”

“Unlike you and Trace, I never knew them. Not my real parents, anyway.”

She stared back at him.

He laughed softly, but the sound held no humor. “This is the point where most women would say, ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘Their loss.’”

Skye rolled her shoulders. “But like you said, we share a similar past.”

His head inclined. “So you don’t know if I deserve sympathy or envy.”

“You’re an unusual man, Noah.”

“And you, Skye Sullivan, are not at all what I expected.” He paused. “I wish that I’d had the pleasure of seeing you dance on stage. According to Trace, you’re quite phenomenal.”

“I was,” Skye said. “Once upon a time…” She forced a smile. “But life is about change, isn’t it? Moving forward.” Always, forward.

He stepped away from the column. Stalked closer to her. “Do you love Trace?” Noah asked her.

“Of course.” She didn’t know how to not love him.

“Like I said, he’s one lucky bastard.”

She glanced toward the ballroom then, as a shiver of awareness slid down her spine. The band had started to play again—and Trace stood inside the open doorway.

How long had he been there? Listening? Watching?

She slipped around Noah and went to Trace’s side. “I think I’m ready to leave.” Seeing the reporter had rattled her, and she’d overdone at her studio earlier that day. Her legs were aching.

No, admit it—you just want to escape.

There were too many people in the ballroom. Too many eyes.

“Whatever you want,” Trace told her. His arm wrapped around her shoulders.