Mine to Keep (Mine #2)(9)
She lost her breath then. He stretched her, filled her so completely. He tried to pull back, to go easier.
“I won’t break,” she said, panting out the words. “Faster, Trace, harder.” Because it was what she needed.
His gaze never left hers. He gave her what she wanted.
Fast.
Hard.
But he was in control. Every moment. She could feel it in the tight movements of his body. See it in the hard clench of his jaw.
She wanted him out of control. Wild.
But he wasn’t letting go.
“Trace!” His name was a demand.
His head bent. He jerked her bra out of the way and put his mouth on her breast. Licked. Kissed.
She felt the light edge of his teeth on her.
Skye erupted. Pleasure blasted through her, and she held him as fiercely as she could.
His movements roughened. His hips pistoned against her. Close—close—he was almost losing his control. Skye just needed to push him over that edge.
She wrapped her legs around him.
He came with a shout. His eyes flashed, seeming to go blind for an instant. He shuddered, his body curving over her. He was still standing at the edge of the bed.
Still dressed.
Still holding all the control, even in his moment of release.
Skye stared up at him, lost.
She’d been lost with Trace from the beginning.
There was no going back. Not for her.
Not for him.
He pressed a tender kiss to her lips. “I knew you’d be gorgeous in diamonds.”
The diamonds were beautiful, but Skye didn’t care about them. I only care about him.
He withdrew from her. Tenderly took care of her and even tucked her under the covers.
But he didn’t join her.
“Get some rest,” he told her, voice gruff. “You’re safe, and you’re home.” He smiled down at her. “Our life is just starting…”
***
His life was ending.
Ben Sharpe ran down the busy Chicago street. Rain beat down on him, the storm erupting suddenly from the sky.
Weston hadn’t taken his warning seriously.
He’d tried to help the man, but Weston hadn’t wanted to hear his words.
Weston hadn’t wanted him there at all.
He didn’t want me near her.
It was just as bad as Ben had feared. Weston’s weakness was right there, and the man didn’t even realize it.
Skye Sullivan would be his downfall. Weston needed to protect himself, to back the hell away from her.
Before it was too late.
***
Trace shut the bedroom door.
He could smell Skye’s scent on his skin. Sweet vanilla. He could feel her silken flesh beneath his fingers.
He wanted to go back in that room, to wrap his arms around her and hold her through the night.
But first, he had to take care of some unfinished business. Business that would not be allowed to touch Skye.
He hurried down the hallway. Grabbed his phone. In seconds, he had Reese on the line. “Where is he?” Trace demanded.
Lightning flashed outside of his windows. The storm had come up so suddenly.
“He’s about to hop the train. I tried to get the guy to stay at a motel.” Disgust and anger thickened Reese’s voice. “But the fool took a punch at me.”
Trace’s back teeth clenched. “Keep your eyes on him until I can meet up with you. I’m leaving now.” He glanced toward the hall. Skye’s soft heart would be a problem. Because she looked at Ben Sharpe, and she saw her own mother.
But Skye’s mother had been dangerous.
And so was Ben.
You won’t get near Skye again.
Reese was still talking, giving Trace intel about the train and Ben’s location.
Trace left the penthouse. The elevator descended quickly to the parking garage.
Once upon a time—a lifetime ago—he’d saved Ben Sharpe’s life.
Once upon a time…
***
Thunder crashed.
Skye jerked up in bed, her heart racing.
She was alone.
“Trace?”
He didn’t answer her call.
She rose, grabbed for her robe.
She still had on the diamonds. They still felt too cold.
Her fingers closed around the bedroom doorknob. She twisted it, and the door opened with a creak of sound. “Trace?” She tip-toed down the hallway.
He didn’t answer. Lightning flashed just outside of the windows, long jagged streaks of light.
Trace wasn’t there.
Skye stopped in the den, then she turned to the big-picture window, and she watched the storm rage.
***
Another alley.
Ben ran forward, his boots hitting the rain puddles and sending mud flying around him.
He’s tracking me. The bastard is coming after me.
He had to run faster.
His breath sawed from his lungs. For an instant, the buildings around him vanished.
When the thunder rolled, he heard it as gunfire.
Another place, another time.
He looked down, and the mud was gone. The pot-hole filled alley was gone.
He saw snow. Blood. Death.
“You shouldn’t have come here.”
The voice whispered from the darkness.
His head jerked up. He reached for the knife at his belt.