Mine to Take (Mine #1)(3)

But she knew something else was happening.

She licked too dry lips. “This…this isn’t the first time this has happened.”

His hands had flattened on his desk.

“When I was in New York…” That seemed like a life-time away. “The same thing was happening before my accident. Someone would get into my apartment.” At first, the whole thing had started harmlessly enough. Just with flowers. “He started by leaving flowers in my dressing room.” She’d gone into her dressing room after a performance and found them waiting for her. No note. Just the flowers.

Trace waited for her to continue.

Her chest ached as she said, “The next time I found the flowers, they were in my apartment. My locked apartment.”

A muscle flexed along his jaw. “And you’re sure the flowers weren’t just a gift from a lover?”

“I don’t have a lover.” She shook her head. “Not then. Not now.”

What she had was someone who was terrifying her. A shadow that seemed to follow her wherever she went. “I came here because I was hoping that one of your agents might be able to help me. That you could assign someone to follow-up and just see what’s happening.”

His gaze seemed to bore into her. She’d always felt like Trace saw too deeply when he looked at her.

But she couldn’t look away. “The police won’t help me. I was hoping that you could.” Skye kissed her pride good-bye. When this much fear was involved, there was no room for pride. She had secrets that she wasn’t telling him, not yet. “Please, Trace. I need you.”

“You have me.” Said instantly.

Her breath eased out. “Thank you.” Tell him about the money. “Maybe we can—we can work out some kind of payment plan—”

“Screw the money.” He rose from his desk again. Stalked toward her. Her head tilted back and her hair slid over her arm as she looked up at him.

He reached for her hand. Pulled her to her feet. At his touch—just that one touch—awareness poured through her. Heat flushed her cheeks. Memories tightened her body. That was the way it had always been between them. One touch and—

“It’s still there,” Trace gritted out as his hold tightened on her hand. “And we’ll be getting to that, soon enough.”

The dark words were a promise.

“But right now, I want to find out what the hell is going on in your life.”

So did she.

***

Skye Sullivan. Skye Fucking Sullivan. The girl who’d starred in every teenage fantasy that he’d ever had. The woman who’d made him realize just how dark and wild lust could burn.

She’d come back to him. Walked straight into his building. Into his life.

He’d seen her image on the security screen. One look, and everything had changed.

She’s back.

This time, things would end differently for them. He’d never had his fill of Skye.

This time, she needs me.

They stepped outside of his building. The sounds of the city instantly filled his ears—horns, voices, the backfire of engines. Skye eased away from him, heading for the cab at the corner of the street.

He caught her arm and pulled her right back against him. “We’ll take my car.” He’d already called for his driver. The sleek, black ride was waiting to the right. The driver—who doubled as one of Trace’s guards—held the back door open for them.

“We’ll be heading to Skye’s apartment,” Trace murmured to Reese Stokes.

Skye hesitated, then quickly rattled off the address.

Reese nodded. Reese had been with Trace for over five years now, and Trace trusted the man implicitly.

Skye slid into the vehicle first, and when she did, her skirt lifted, revealing a silken expanse of leg covered in nylon.

Once upon a time, Skye had enjoyed wearing thigh-highs. He’d bought them for her. Because he’d loved the feel of them against her skin.

She disappeared into the car.

Eyes narrowing, memories swirling through his mind, Trace followed her. The door shut, sealing them inside. The privacy shield was already in place, completely blocking them from Reese’s scrutiny.

The car pulled away from the curb.

“I thought one of your agents would handle this. I mean, you’re the boss.” Her words came a little too quickly. She’d always done that. Spoken fast when she was nervous.

It’s good that I still make her nervous.

“I’m sure you don’t have time to spend on me.”

On the contrary. He slid back into the seat next to her, making sure that their shoulders brushed. “You’re not going back to New York.”

Her head jerked toward him. Her eyes—deep, dark green—met his. There was gold in her eyes, buried in the green. When she was aroused, the gold burned hotter.

And when she was aroused, her cheeks flushed, her f*ck-me lips trembled, and a moan would slip from her lips.

Skye Sullivan. Porcelain perfect. So delicate that he’d once worried his passion might bruise her.

He still worried because the things he wanted from her…

I’m not a boy any longer.

He’d already held back with her for too long.

Her dark hair fell down her shoulders, long and silken. When she danced, she kept her hair pinned up, making her cheekbones look even sharper.