Mine to Keep (Mine #2)(27)

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Skye,” Noah called out to her.

She glanced back. “And it was very interesting to meet you.”

He laughed. This time, there seemed to be real humor in that laughter.

“See you soon, Trace,” Noah said. “Very soon.”

They moved easily through the cluster of people in the ballroom. The dress that had felt so beautiful against Skye’s skin suddenly seemed too revealing.

She looked to the left and found gazes on her.

To the right—she saw two women whispering and glancing her way.

Too exposed.

She didn’t want all of the attention. She’d thought she could hold it together but— Trace stopped. Right there, in the middle of the ballroom. He turned and pulled her into his arms. He stared down at her. “You are the most beautiful woman here. If eyes are on you, it’s because no one can look away. If people are talking, then it’s because they don’t understand how an * like me got lucky enough to be with someone as perfect as you.”

Her body trembled.

“There isn’t anything to fear. You’re safe.”

Skye nodded. She had to stop jumping at shadows. Straightening her spine, she met his stare directly. “We’re both safe.”

He nodded.

They walked slowly from the ballroom. She kept her shoulders squared all the way. Kept her chin up. When they exited the hotel and the cameras flashed once again, she didn’t flinch.

Skye just smiled.

Then she was in the back of the limo. They were cruising away from the hotel. Trace’s arms were around her.

The fear leaked away.

***

Noah York watched the limo pull away.

Trace Weston…the man was in deep.

And they were all in danger.

He pulled out his phone. Dialed a number that he should have forgotten years ago. Even at the late hour, his call was answered on the second ring.

“We have a problem,” Noah said. A deadly one. “And we need to act.”

***

Trace brushed back Skye’s hair. Her head was on his shoulder, and his arm was around her, holding her. Holding her was the most natural thing in the world for him.

She fit against his body. In bed. Out.

When he wasn’t with her, he felt empty. Hell, he’d been lost all of those years that they’d been apart.

He wasn’t planning to ever be lost again.

“The two of you were together during your time in the military.”

Trace didn’t let his body stiffen when he heard her soft words. “Is that what Noah told you?” He’d asked the man to stay quiet.

Trace hadn’t worried when Skye had gone out on the balcony. He’d had a guard watching her. Actually, he had a guard always watching her…just as a precaution.

But when he’d seen Noah head toward her, he hadn’t been able to get back to her soon enough.

Then he’d heard Noah ask Skye if she loved him.

“The two of you…you sort of remind me of each other,” Skye said.

That response surprised him. “What do you mean?”

“I feel like you’ve both spent too much time staring into the darkness.” Her left hand entwined with his.

The limo slowed. Trace figured they must be at a red light because they hadn’t traveled far enough to be close to his penthouse, not yet. “I’m not looking at the dark any longer,” he told her.

Her head turned. A soft light came from the back of the limo, giving him a perfect view of her face.

She started to smile.

The limo accelerated.

Trace bent his head toward hers.

The impact caught him off-guard. Metal screamed, glass shattered, and Trace felt his body flying forward. He grabbed for Skye, holding her as tightly as he could as the limo shuddered—and seemed to rip apart.

They hit the floor, and he did his best to shield her, but Trace still heard Skye cry out. Glass cut into him as the right side of the vehicle surged toward him.

Not Skye. Not Skye…

The scream of metal seemed to go on and on and—

Silence.

“Trace?” Soft hands feathered over his face. “Trace, are you okay?”

He heaved his body up. Glass rained off his back. Something wet dripped into his eye. Blood.

Rage built within him, but he kept a chain on the beast. He knew better than to let his fury out, especially with Skye so close. His hands slid over her, checking for injuries, making absolutely sure that she was safe and whole.

“Trace!” Her voice held definite bite now as she grabbed his hands. “Stop it and tell me—are you okay?”

Nothing that a few stitches wouldn’t cure. “Yes, baby, I am.” And so was she. He had to remember that.

“Mr. Weston!” The frantic shout reached him. “Mr. Weston! I’m coming to get you out!”

Trace lifted his head. He glanced over and saw that the right side of the vehicle was a tangled mess. The door was twisted. The windows shattered.

But a groan of sound heralded the opening of the door on the left-hand side of the vehicle.

The driver—a young guy named Matt Norris—peered in and, with a shaking voice, he asked, “Please, sir, please, tell me you’re okay—”

“We’re okay.” It was Skye who responded.