Mine to Take (Mine #1)(33)

She met his moves. Danced. Danced.

Pulled away.

Went to another damn partner.

The music’s tempo increased. Skye easily matched the beat.

There was no limping. No stumbling. Just grace. Temptation.

No one else could dance like Skye.

Her body curved and spun. Dipped. Twisted.

Temptation.

Another partner. The crowd was loud. The band blasting.

Skye had nearly died that night. She should have been at home. Safe.

Another partner. Another. Fucking. Partner.

Trace stalked forward. Pushed his way through the crowd.

When she spun again, he was the one to catch her and pull her close.

Skye didn’t even look up at him.

Her body was rocking to the beat. Moving, moving…

“Are you drunk?” Trace growled out the words.

Her head jerked toward him. She stopped dancing and seemed to finally see him.

Fear flashed in her eyes.

The band cranked their song up even louder.

Skye pulled away from him. Found another partner.

He followed her. “Taken,” Trace snapped to the blond.

The man wisely stepped back.

“No,” Skye fired right back at him. “I’m not. Leave me alone, Trace. Get out of here.”

She didn’t sound drunk. She sounded angry and afraid, but her words hadn’t slurred.

He frowned down at her. “What are you doing?”

Skye laughed. “Dancing. It’s what I do, right? The only thing…” She tried to break away again.

Not happening.

“Someone is after you!” He pulled her closer. She was still moving. Her hips undulating. “You should be home.”

Her lashes shielded her eyes. “Are you the one after me?”

“Skye…”

“You’re the only one I’ve ever counted on. Don’t do this to me, Trace.” Her lashes lifted. There were f*cking tears in her eyes. “Don’t be the one hurting me.”

Right there, on that dance floor, with that too-loud music and the hot press of bodies, she broke him.

His hands tunneled in her hair. He tipped her head back. “I’m not, baby. I’m not.” He kissed her. Hard and deep and desperately.

Skye had kept him sane for years, and she didn’t even know it. Skye had made life worth living for him.

She thought he’d hurt her? Terrorize her?

No. Hell, no.

“Trust me,” he breathed the words against her lips. “It’s not me.”

He needed to get her out of that club. To some place quiet so that they could talk.

He could explain then.

She stared up at him. “I love you.”

The words were a punch to his chest.

“I never stopped,” she said, lips trembling. “I couldn’t.”

To Skye, love was trust. He knew that. Because he knew her.

He pulled her close—and he got her the hell out of that club.

***

“She’s leaving,” Carol said into her phone as she watched Skye rush out of the club. “And she’s not alone.” Carol straightened in her seat. “Wow, wait—wasn’t he supposed to be in jail?” Because that guy holding Skye Sullivan’s hand sure looked like Trace Weston to her.

The man was pretty unmistakable.

She thought the couple would head back toward Skye’s apartment. They didn’t. Weston bundled her up in his black Jag and he raced away with her moments later.

The guy never glanced Carol’s way. He’d been focused only on Skye.

Carol listened to her orders as her hold tightened on the phone. “On it, sir.” She tossed her phone to the side and cranked up her vehicle.

She was supposed to keep her eyes on Skye Sullivan.

That was exactly what she’d do.

***

The elevator doors slid closed behind Trace, and he was finally able to take a deep breath as they headed up to his penthouse.

Vanilla. Skye’s scent wrapped around him.

He glanced at her. She’d retreated to the back corner of the elevator. The walls were mirrored, and his stark reflection stared back at him.

He looked too dangerous. Too wild.

Story of his life.

“Why were you in New York those times?” Skye asked him.

The elevator silently rose.

He closed the distance between them. Didn’t touch her. Instead, he put his hands on the mirror, positioning them on either side of Skye’s shoulders. “Because I had to see you.”

“Y-you could have told me. Called me—”

“Have you ever wanted something so badly…” Trace whispered as he bent his head, “that you couldn’t think about anything else? All you feel is need. An endless desire that churns through you.”

She gave a little nod. “That’s how I feel…for you.”

She was exposing her soul for him. He could do no less for her.

“And that’s the way I feel for you,” Trace told her. “Nothing else matters. Just you.”

The elevator kept rising.

“When you were eighteen, you had your dreams. Your dancing.” She’d wanted her stage so badly. “For once, once, I did the right thing.”

Her scent was making him light-headed.