Mine to Take (Mine 1)

Skye rounded on him. “That isn’t—”

He kissed her. There was simply no holding back. He’d waited until they were alone. Waited until he had her in the suite with him.

Waited…waited ten long years.

There was no more waiting.

Unless Skye told him no, unless she didn’t want him, he would have her.

Chapter Four

She should push him away. Skye knew her hands should lift and shove against Trace’s chest. Those traitorous hands shouldn’t be lifting and curving around his shoulders.

She needed to push him away.

Not pull him closer.

But she wanted him closer.

She. Wanted. Him.

Her emotions were too raw. Maybe it was the city. Maybe it was Trace. Maybe she was just too scared and too tired of being alone.

But when his tongue thrust into her mouth, when she tasted his rich, masculine flavor, Skye stopped thinking about why it was wrong to be with him.

Right then, she wanted to be wrong.

His mouth was strong and fierce on hers. Searching for a response that she was eager to give. Trace was a great kisser, one who’d just gotten better with age. His lips and his tongue played her perfectly.

And his hands…

His hands stroked down her body. His fingers curled around her hips—then he lifted her up.

Skye gasped because she hadn’t been expecting that move, even though she knew how strong he was. Her gasp let him deepen the kiss, and he took two steps and pinned her against the wall.

Her legs locked around his hips. His arousal pressed against her core. Long and hard and thick.

Their clothes were in the way.

Skin to skin. She needed to be that way with him. Needed desperately to be that way.

Her hips arched toward him.

His mouth pulled from hers. Trace began to kiss his way down her neck. Right there. Yes, yes, right there. Where her neck curved into her shoulder. She loved it when he kissed her—

“You won’t forget me,” his words were growled against her overheated flesh. “But you will forget them.”

He was carrying her again. Down the hallway. Another chandelier glittered overhead. They turned, and he took her into the bedroom.

The big bed took up half of the massive space. The curtains were pulled back. The snow was still falling. Beautiful snow, covering the world in a blanket of white.

He lowered her onto the bed.

She thought he’d follow her. That he’d put his body against hers and crush her into the mattress. She wanted wild passion. Wanted to feel the surge of pleasure that would banish her fear and the past.

But he just stared down at her. “You’re even more fucking beautiful now.”

She couldn’t be. She had on old leggings. A sweatshirt. Her hair was a tangle around her head and—

He started with her shoes. Tossed them aside. Tossed aside the leggings and the sweatshirt. Trace stripped her with deft hands, hands that must have undressed plenty of women.

Jealousy bit into her. Don’t go there, don’t.

Soon she was clad only in the slip of her black bra and her matching panties. She was spread on the bed. He still stood above her.

His gaze traveled slowly, so very slowly, over her body. His jaw hardened when his gaze landed on her bra—her breasts. “So perfect.”

No, she was too small there, she was—

His bright stare drifted over the plane of her belly. Down to the flare of her hips.

Trace licked his lips.

She imagined him licking her.

But…but his gaze didn’t stay. Down, down it went, and some of her passion began to fade.

My leg. I don’t want him looking at my leg.

She didn’t want Trace to see the tangled mass of scars that still covered her calf. The scars that would always cover the skin.

Why hadn’t she turned off the lights? She’d turned them off with Mitch, and she should have thought to turn them off with Trace.

“Don’t,” her voice sharpened as she tried to reach for him.

Trace caught her hands. Pushed them back against the mattress. Fully clothed, he came down on top of her. “Don’t what, baby? Don’t look at you?” His lips—open, hot, sexy—brushed over hers. “Don’t taste? Because that’s exactly what I plan to do. I’ll taste every inch of you.”

Don’t pity me. Those were the words she’d meant to say. But he wasn’t looking at her calf any longer. He was kissing her and holding her wrists prisoner.

She liked the friction of his clothes against her. Liked the feel of that strong, hard body over hers.