Mine to Take (Mine #1)(22)

You came back to me.

The hell she had. Skye hadn’t turned to Wolfe when she needed protection.

She’d gone to Trace.

The dancers and the stagehands had been no help. They didn’t remember anything.

Or anyone.

Plenty of fans had come to see Skye, but their faces were a blur in everyone’s memories.

Useless.

So they’d left the dancers and the choreographer who watched Skye with far too much intensity. They’d moved to the second stop on their list.

He’d visited this place before. So many times, when Skye hadn’t even known he was there. I had to make sure she was all right.

“It’s been a while,” Skye murmured beside him as they strode down the hospital corridor. “And I can’t exactly say I’m happy to be back here.”

The scent of disinfectant filled his nose. Nurses bustled past him. A family walked down the corridor, carrying flowers and balloons in their hands.

Skye’s doctor was on duty that day. Trace had verified Dr. Mitch Loxley’s rotation schedule before heading to the hospital. He’d also had his men check to see if either Mitch Loxley or Robert Wolfe had taken any recent flights to Chicago.

They hadn’t.

But they could have driven over there. A thirteen-hour drive was doable.

He halted at the nurse’s station. “I need to see Dr. Loxley.”

The nurse glanced up. Her eyes widened a bit as she stared at Trace, then she smiled.

He’d gotten plenty of smiles like hers over the years. Flirtatious. Interested.

Only he wasn’t interested. Skye was at his side.

When he had her, he didn’t need anyone else.

“He’s on his rounds right now, but is there something I can help you with?” The nurse asked as she rose—and leaned forward, putting her hand on his arm. “I’ll be happy to help you, if you need assistance.”

What he needed was Loxley.

Another of Skye’s lovers.

Shit, but it had been hard not to drive his fist into Wolfe’s pretty-boy face. When the guy kept touching Skye, too much familiarity in that touch…I wanted to break his hand.

Only Trace wasn’t supposed to be that guy any longer. He was supposed to be the businessman. The success story.

Not the street fighter who wanted to tear into anyone who’d gotten too close to Skye.

“I’m afraid that only Dr. Loxley can help us,” he said, pulling Skye close to his side. She’d tensed up when they walked into the hospital. Not that he blamed her, not after what she’d been through. He wanted to question the doctor, then get the hell out of that place with her.

He’d prefer to get her back to the hotel. To get her naked in his bed again.

Once wasn’t nearly enough.

But he had to eliminate the threats around her first.

“When are you expecting Loxley back?” Trace asked the blonde nurse.

Then, speak of the damn devil, Loxley marched around the corner. The guy’s white lab coat swirled around him as he put a clipboard on the nurse’s station. “Marsha, make sure the low carb diet for Mr. Rodriguez continues for at least twenty-four more hours and…” He trailed off.

Because his gaze had lifted.

And locked on Skye.

Another * that I want to punch.

But, at least unlike Robert, Loxley didn’t rush across the room and wrap Skye in a too-tight hug.

Loxley didn’t move at all, but his gaze sure seemed to drink Skye in.

What was it about her? She drew men to her. She’d sure drawn him easily enough.

Addicted him, from the very first.

“Dr. Loxley.” With an effort, Trace kept all the emotion from his voice. “We need a few minutes of your time.”

The guy’s startled gaze flew to his. The doc hadn’t even seemed aware of the fact that Trace was standing there, not until that moment.

Trace wasn’t used to being ignored.

He flashed his teeth in a shark’s grin. “We’re going to need that time, now.”

“I-I just finished my rounds.” Loxley glanced at his watch. “I can spare a few minutes. Come this way.” Then he turned, without another word, and headed back down the corridor.

Trace took his time following the doc, and he made sure not to let go of Skye.

How did she feel about the doctor? The fellow was close to Trace’s height, had a build similar to Trace…Mitch Loxley even had the same dark hair.

Mitch Loxley seemed like a safer, more dependable version of Trace.

Trace hated the sonofabitch.

Files were scattered around the doctor’s office. A few framed photographs. The doc grabbed the files and shoved them on his desk, blocking some of those photos.

But Trace had already seen them.

Yes, he hated the SOB.

“What are you doing here, Skye?” Loxley asked as he crossed his arms over his chest. Now that they were away from the nurse’s station, the polite veneer that the doc had worn while they had an audience showed signs of cracking. “I thought you’d gone to Chicago.”

He knew where she’d headed.

“I did.” Skye pulled her hand from Trace’s. “Do you…do you remember when I said that someone forced me off the road?”

Mitch’s dark eyebrows shot up. “That’s why you’re here? The cops told you that there were no signs of—”