Mine to Take (Mine #1)(14)
He smiled then, a cold, hard grin. “I know.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Everything.”
She backed away. “I-I have to get to the studio.” She hadn’t counted on this. On him. It was all too fast. Too much.
“I’ll take you there.”
“Fine…just…I need to go, now.”
He came toward her. Always so sure of himself. So certain. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I’m the one who’ll keep you safe.”
She didn’t know what he was. “When I went to your office the other day, I thought you might just blow me off.”
His eyes narrowed at that, and she saw the spark of anger lighten his gaze. “You underestimate yourself…and your value to me.”
“I don’t understand you,” she whispered once more.
He bent his head. His lips feathered over hers in the briefest of caresses. “You will.”
***
Two guards went into the dance studio with Skye. Trace insisted on that surveillance. She wanted to get inside, she wanted to get her place ready, then she could do just that. But she would have his men with her every moment.
Trace sat in the back of his car, his gaze on the building. Maybe he shouldn’t have told Skye about his trips to the hospital in New York.
But the truth would have come out, soon enough.
Especially since he planned to take her to New York within just a few hours. “The plane’s ready?” Trace asked Reese. He’d opted to leave the Jag at home and have Reese do the driving today. He had plans that he needed to make, and he could multi-task better with Reese at the wheel.
“Yes, sir. The pilot’s on stand-by.”
“Good.” He’d wait until Skye finished her work, then they’d leave.
No one else might have believed her story, but he wasn’t like the others. If Skye said that she’d been forced off that road…
I want to find out what happened in New York.
And he couldn’t go to the city on his own. Skye was too uncertain of him now. He’d asked for her trust, and she’d hesitated.
No, he had to keep her close.
But he also had to be very, very careful. In New York, it would be easy for him to stumble. For her to discover more about his life.
About the last ten years.
There were some things that she’d truly be better off not knowing.
***
“I need a list of your lovers,” Trace told Skye when she returned to his car that evening. He’d just pulled up, seemingly at the perfect time, but she knew one of his agents must have contacted him and told Trace that she was calling it a night.
Exhaustion pulled at her, but his growled demand…
I need a list of your lovers.
“This isn’t show and tell,” she mumbled as she felt her cheeks flush. “I’m not asking for—”
“The detective—Griffin—was right. The man after you could be an ex. Someone who had you once, and doesn’t want to let go.”
She glanced out of the window. The city passed her in a blur. “It could be an ex, or it could just be some nut-job who saw me on the street. Maybe someone who even saw me dance. Sometimes, people get dancers confused with the characters we play.” She’d been plenty of people, over the years. A sleeping beauty. A wicked witch. A swan. A—
“The list of your lovers will be the starting point for us. You’ll find that my resources are much stronger than the detective’s. I can find these men, clear them—or—”
“They aren’t guilty.”
The car eased to a stop. Then turned right. Reese was up in the front. She inched forward. This wasn’t the way back to Trace’s penthouse. Not unless Reese was taking a different route home.
“Tell me their names.”
She glanced over at Trace. “They’re not even in the city, okay?”
There was only one ex-lover for her in Chicago, and he was sitting far too close and taking up far too much room in the vehicle.
One dark brow rose. “It’s not hard to hop a flight or a train to Chicago.”
No, it wasn’t.
Rain began to fall, splattering against the window. Her shoulders stiffened. Fine, if he wanted the list, she’d give it to him. In all its short and sweet beauty. “Robert Wolfe. He was…he was a choreographer that I met years ago.” Brilliant. Determined. Way too exacting.
“Who else.”
The impatience in his tone grated. It wasn’t like she had a four page list. I bet he does. “Evan Meadows, he’s an actor.” One who’d made it pretty big recently. “But he’s in California now so I don’t see how he could possibly—”
“Keep going, Skye.” His voice was clipped.
There wasn’t very far that she could go. “Mitch Loxley.”
The car’s interior got very, very quiet.
“Say the name again,” Trace growled.
“Why? You heard me the first time.” She glanced out the window once more. A frown pulled her brows low. This definitely wasn’t the way to the penthouse.
“You slept with your doctor?” Trace demanded. His voice was low and cold.
Sometimes, he did that. When he was angry, his voice would drop to that lethal softness.