Mine to Take (Mine 1)

The lawyer had been threatening a law suit even as the door swung closed behind him.

But, by then, the charges had already been dropped.

Alex was jerking me around.

The detective should know better than to play out of his league.

Trace’s hands slammed into the main door and sent it flying open as he hurried outside. He needed to get to Skye and—

“I don’t know who the girl is,” Guthrie said as he grabbed Trace’s arm. “But with the cops involved, it might be wise to back off a bit.”

Trace paused. He glanced over his shoulder, looking back at the station’s entrance. Alex had followed him out.

Not surprising.

“Backing off isn’t an option,” he said and he shook off Guthrie’s hold. His gaze met Alex’s. “Not a fucking chance.”

***

The club was packed.

Lights flew over the crowd even as the music pumped out from the stage.

At first, Skye didn’t move.

Her gaze swept the club.

Some women wore short and low-cut dresses. They writhed on the dance floor.

Others were dressed like Skye—snug jeans, loose tops.

The music kept blaring. The beat was hard, driving.

A blond guy headed toward Skye. “Want to dance?” He had to yell to be heard over that pounding music.

Skye nodded. Dancing. It was what she needed. The only thing.

Trace lied. He lied.

She took the blond’s hand.

Then she went onto the dance floor. She stopped thinking. Started feeling the beat.

And, finally, finally, stopped hurting.

Chapter Seven

The fucking asshole had his hands all over Skye.

Trace stood a few feet from the dance floor. His eyes had found Skye the instant that he stepped inside the club.

He could always find her.

Some blond jerk had his hands on Skye’s hips. Skye was undulating and moving fluidly to the beat of the music.

Sensual temptation.

She pulled away from the man. Danced toward the center of the floor.

Spun. Rolled her body.

Another partner grabbed her.

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.”