Mine to Keep (Mine 2)

He kissed her. Not hard and wild. But deep. Using every bit of sensual skill that he had.

Did Skye want him as much as he wanted her? Did she crave him?

More than breath?

“Wear the diamonds tonight,” he said against her mouth. “And if you need to buy a dress, use my card—our card—and get anything you want.”

“I have what I want.” Her eyelashes lifted to reveal the gorgeous green of her eyes. “See you tonight.”

He should back away. And, slowly, Trace made himself do just that. It just took a huge effort.

But her words echoed in his ears. I have what I want.

He had exactly what he wanted, too. And no one would ever take her from him again.

***

Skye didn’t buy a dress. She still had a few dresses left from her New York days.

Skye went with a black dress. You can’t go wrong with black, right? The dress was a form fitting bit of silk that clung to her like a second skin. The front collar scooped around her breasts and the back—well, there wasn’t a back. It plunged to the base of her spine, then the skirt fell, swirling around her feet.

She’d worn the dress once before, to a post-dance party after she performed as a particularly wicked witch. She’d thought the dress fit her character.

Daring. Dark.

Skye stared at her reflection in the mirror as she secured the diamonds. They were still cold against her skin.

Cold and glittering.

A fortune.

She didn’t want to wear them.

But she did, for Trace.

The floor squeaked behind her. She turned at once, and her gaze caught his.

He was dressed in a black tux. One that made his shoulders look even wider. One that she knew had been cut just for him.

She stared at him and thought of sex. Temptation.

Because he looked good enough to eat.

“Have I ever told you…” Trace asked as his gaze glided over her. “That you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen?”

He was lying. She knew she wasn’t the most beautiful. She’d followed his exploits over the years. The man had kept company with supermodels. She was too thin, her breasts were too small. Her chin too pointed. She was—

He sighed. “Skye, what have I told you about leaving me?”

She blinked at him.

He was right in front of her. The guy sure moved fast.

“Be with me,” he ordered.

“I am.” Inches away.

“And believe me when I tell you…to me, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Her breath slid out in a soft sigh. She believed him.

Skye smiled up at him. Fear had been trying to take root inside of her, but it vanished, drifting right away.

Trace reached for her hand. He lifted it up, and the diamond on her finger gleamed in the light. “Everyone will know you’re mine.”

“I’ve been yours since I was fifteen.” The truth was there between them. They had no room for pretense. “I just had to wait for us to be together again.”

She saw the flare of longing in his eyes. “You make me want to tell the rest of the world to screw off.” He kissed her knuckles. Lightly licked the skin.

A hot spike of arousal fired her blood. “We have to go, but we don’t have to stay there forever,” she whispered back.

He smiled. Such a gorgeous, sexy smile. “I’ve been yours, too,” he told her, voice rumbling. “Since the moment I first heard you call for me. You got to me, when no one else could.” Then he eased back. His gaze swept her once more. “Every man in the room will want you.”

She doubted that. “You’re the only man I’ll leave with.”

“Always,” he said.

Skye nodded.

Always.

***

A sea of reporters greeted them the instant the limo’s doors opened. Reese hadn’t driven them, not to this event. A posh limo escorted Skye and Trace toward Chicago’s Magnificent Mile and deposited them right at the red carpet that led to the entrance of the illustrious Bartley Hotel, an icon that had been in the city since the early 1930s.

Trace exited first. She heard the reporters shout his name.

He ignored them and turned back toward her. Bending, he offered Skye his hand.

She put one high-heeled foot out. Then the other.

When she rose, there was a moment of silence. Perfect, complete silence.

Then the questions exploded.

“Skye! Skye Sullivan! Can you confirm the rumors that you and Trace Weston are planning to marry?”

She thought her ring confirmed that rumor.

“Ms. Sullivan! Is it true that you’ve been offered a spot as lead in Robert Wolfe’s next ballet?”

That question made her falter. Robert had been her choreographer for years when she danced in New York. When it came to the top echelon of the New York ballet, Robert was the man in charge.

Skye found herself shaking her head. There was no return for her. Robert certainly hadn’t come to ask—

“Is it true that you were in a mental facility for the last three weeks because you had a breakdown?”

Skye stiffened.