Mine to Take (Mine 1)

“You looked like you were here to fuck her.”

The words were low, hard. Jealous?

Trace stepped toward the detective. The fellow was close to his height, and even though he was a cop, he had a soft look to him that told Trace this man hadn’t seen nearly enough darkness in his life.

I’ve seen plenty.

Enough to appreciate the light that came his way.

Alex pointed his index finger at Trace. Bad move—that’s the way to get that finger broken. “I’ve got a woman being stalked,” Alex snapped, “an attack on her—and suddenly, I have a new guy—wait, sorry, an ‘old friend’—who has just entered the picture. Two days ago, she said that she had no one.”

He kept harping on the two days bit. “She has someone,” Trace told him, keeping his voice flat with a monumental effort. “And until the SOB after her is caught, Skye be staying with me. So if you need to contact her,” he gave him a hard smile, “come find me.”

The door opened behind them. Skye was seated in a wheelchair, and she sure didn’t look happy. “They said I had to go out in this thing.” Her hands lightly hit the wheels. “Some kind of hospital rule.”

“Liability issue,” the doctor said. “I told you, it’s—”

“Standard. Right.” Skye’s hands rose and clenched in her lap. Her frantic gaze locked on Trace. “I need to get out of here.”

“Baby, I’ve got you.”

And he did.

He moved behind the wheelchair. Pushed her carefully. The wheels spun on the chair.

“Skye!”

The detective was a dick, and he’d just snapped Trace’s last nerve. Did the fellow realize that, with just one phone call, Trace could have the guy writing parking tickets? Doing traffic patrol?

Or sitting bench at desk duty?

Alex hurried around them and stopped in front of the wheelchair. “Just how long have you known Weston?”

Skye swallowed. “Since I was fifteen years old.”

Alex leaned toward her. His voice dropped, but Trace heard him clearly as he said, “I asked you to tell me about any ex’s that you might have in town. Someone who might have a hard time letting go…”

Skye shook her head. “Trace never had trouble letting go.”

Alex’s stare swept to his.

He knows.

It was easy to recognize need, lust, in another man’s eyes.

Behind the cop, Trace saw Reese striding down the hallway toward them. Trace inclined his head toward the cop. “Make sure the detective has our contact information, Reese. Skye’s going to be staying with me for a while.”

Her head turned toward him. “But I—”

He pushed her down the hall, leaving Reese to deal with Alex.

The detective could become a problem. Trace would have to watch him, carefully.

Because no one could be allowed to interfere with his plans for Skye.

***

She should have expected the penthouse. The elevator doors opened up, and she stepped out onto the top level of the high-rise. Trace was right at her side.

“No one can get up here without passing my guards,” he told her as his fingers curled around her elbow.

Right then, she was sure glad to hear about that security.

They entered the penthouse. Her gaze swept around the place. Everything looked expensive. Everything smelled expensive.

And the view was killer.

If she hadn’t been scared to death, literally shaking apart on the inside, she would have appreciated that view more right then.

As it was, she just wanted to go someplace and collapse.

The door shut behind them. She heard the sound of the alarm engaging. Then…Trace’s hands slid down her arms. Her bare arms because all she’d had to wear out of that hospital were her workout clothes. “You’re safe, Skye.” His words whispered into her ear.

And the fear deepened. Because she remembered him. The man in the dark. His mouth at her ear. His whisper.

I will be the one.

She pulled away from Trace and headed toward the big, floor to ceiling window that looked out over Chicago.

He didn’t follow her.

His voice did. Trace told her, “I’m having a top-of-the-line security system installed at your studio. And a damn electrician is going in to check your lights.”

She rubbed her arms. No matter what she did, she couldn’t seem to shake the chill from her body. Her gaze stared out at the city. It seemed like she could see forever from this vantage.

“You don’t have to drop your life for me,” she made herself speak when she just wanted to stand in silence. “I’m sure having me here…in your home…it’s going to cramp your style.” She’d read the papers. She knew all about his many, many exploits.

Trace certainly wasn’t a man living in the past.

He was too busy seducing in the present.

That was why she hadn’t told Alex about him. When the detective had asked for a list of lovers in the area, anyone who might be fixated on her, Trace had been the last man to come to her mind.

He wasn’t fixated on her. He’d been the one to show her to the door.

“You aren’t cramping my style.”

She could see her reflection in the glass. She looked lost. Carefully, Skye schooled her features before she turned back to face him. “Won’t the flavor of the week mind?” She’d seen him with some blonde just last week in the variety pages—

“Fuck it if anyone minds.” He’d braced his legs apart. He stood staring at her. Behind him, a fire blazed. When had he started that fire? “This isn’t about anyone but you and me.”

He acted as if the last ten years hadn’t happened. But not once, not once, had he tried to contact her. I missed you. She wouldn’t tell him that, though. She’d already broken her pride for him too many times.

He began walking toward her. His stride was slow, certain. She wanted to back up, but there was no place to go.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Skye lifted her head and stared into his eyes.

“Reese called me when he was rushing inside that studio. He’d seen the lights go dark, and he was worried. I was only five minutes away, already coming to see you, and I couldn’t get there fast enough.”