Mine to Take (Mine 1)

He was watching her walk. No, more specifically, he was watching her leg. Dammit, had she limped? She didn’t want to limp in front of him. She didn’t like to limp in front of anyone. But especially Robert. He’d trained her for so long. Told her that she was the best dancer he’d ever seen.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

Skye straightened her shoulders. Slowed her stride.

A few moments later, they were in her old dressing room. Memories were everywhere in that room. She’d been so excited when she came in after a performance. So—

“You look…familiar to me,” Robert said as he closed the door and let his gaze focus on Trace.

“He’s Trace Weston,” Skye said, waving her hand toward him. “You’ve probably seen his picture in the paper.”

Robert gave a little whistle. “Right. I have seen you.” The whistle was more mocking than anything else. Robert didn’t look impressed. But then, if you weren’t talking about dancing, Robert normally wasn’t impressed.

His golden gaze turned back to her. “I want you to dance for me again.”

Skye tensed. She’d been afraid that he’d go right back to that.

Before she could reply, Trace put his body between them. “Have you been to Chicago recently, Wolfe?”

“Chicago? No, no, of course not.” His British accent tightened the words. “I’ve been here, for the last bloody month. Trying to make those dancers out there half as good as Skye…” He stepped around Trace. Smiled at Skye. “Have you ever seen her dance?” Robert asked Trace. His eyes didn’t leave Skye’s face. “It’s the most fucking beautiful thing in the world.”

“I’ve seen her,” Trace’s voice was clipped.

Trace had seen her long ago. In a different lifetime. When he’d taken her to the community center. Stayed to watch her practice. She’d gotten much better than the way she’d been then.

Well, she had been better.

“We’re not here about the dancing,” she tried telling Robert again. The man had such a one track mind. “There’s something else that we need to discuss.”

“Something more important than you getting that sweet ass of yours back onstage? Doubt it. I don’t see you—”

“Someone is stalking, Skye.” Trace’s cold, quiet words cut right through the rumble of Robert’s speech. “Some bastard attacked her recently in Chicago.”

“Skye!” Robert’s jaw dropped. “Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you—”

“She said that the man first started following her here in New York. He got into her dressing room…” Trace cast an angry glance around the room. “Since the security here is non-existent, I can see how that happened. He got into this place, he got into her home, and—”

“And you said someone forced you off the road,” Robert muttered. He ran a shaking hand over his face. “Hell, I thought it was the pain meds talking. When you first woke up, you were out of it in that hospital. I didn’t realize…” His words trailed off.

Maybe because he’d just fully noticed the killing glare that Trace had aimed on him.

“You think it’s me, mate?” Robert demanded, backing up a step.

“You sure have easy access to her dressing room, mate,” Trace threw right back. “You know where she lived.”

“Of course, I did! I helped her move in! Dammit, I even had her back-up key.”

Trace’s shoulders stiffened. He turned and cast that rather scary glare of his at Skye.

Crap. Had she neglected to mention that part?

“But I wouldn’t do that to Skye! I would never do anything to hurt her.” And Robert reached for Skye again. His fingers locked around her arms. “You know how much I need you. I wouldn’t hurt you, not for—”

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

Goosebumps rose on Skye’s skin.

Robert immediately jerked away from her. “Look, mate, I—”

Trace caught Skye’s hand and pulled her to his side. “I’m going to need confirmation that you haven’t left the city.”

“Y-you’re asking me for an alibi?” Robert sputtered.

“Damn straight, I am.”

Now Robert was the one to flush. “A dozen dancers can tell you that I’ve been working their asses off for the last twenty days. They can all confirm that I haven’t left the city.”

“Good.” Trace flashed a hard smile, one that held an evil edge. “I’ll get them to confirm that before I leave today.”

Skye’s breath expelled in a fast rush. “Robert, did you ever see anyone hanging around my dressing room? Anyone that lingered after a show?” She’d asked stagehands the same questions before, but no one had seen anything. After a performance, it was too chaotic to keep track of people.

Robert’s eyes had narrowed on Trace. He seemed to be searching Trace’s face with a dark intensity.

“Robert?” Skye pushed.

“There are always fans who try to get back to the dancers,” Robert said, rolling his shoulders. “I’ve told you before, when you dance, you become something…quite different.”

That…different…had been what drew him to her. A night of long practice had turned into something more for them. But it hadn’t lasted with Robert. It never lasted because…

No other man is Trace.

“You didn’t see anyone?” Trace questioned. “Dammit, what about video cameras?”

“We don’t have them backstage.” Robert shook his head. “After a show, it’s chaos. Plain and simple. Hell, do you have any idea just how many flowers get delivered after a show? It’s a fuckin’ madhouse here.”

And someone had slipped into that madhouse far too easily.

“I’ll check, okay?” Robert offered as a knock sounded at the door. “I’ll ask around and see if anyone remembers anything but, Skye, you know how fast the back-stage groups turn over. We’ve got new staff working this show.”

With every new show, there was a rotation.

A knock rapped again at the door. “Wolfe!” A woman’s voice called. “They need you on stage.”

“Be right there.” He straightened his shoulders. Met Trace’s stare. “Check my alibi. Talk to the dancers. Like I said, I would never hurt Skye, and I sure hope you find the bastard who did.” Then he glanced her way. The gold in his eyes heated. “Come back to me. I want you to dance for me again.”