“Yeah, I knew about the Brit.” Anger hummed in his voice and his face had tightened.

Well, hell. Back when they’d been trying to figure out who might have been stalking her, Trace had demanded a list of her lovers. “Why did you want me to tell you about my lovers if you already knew them all?”

“Because I didn’t know them all.” Ah, definite anger vibrated in his voice. “And it wasn’t like I wanted to hear you talk about those assholes. I’d rather never hear about them again if I had the choice.”

“There’s no need to hear about them.” She pressed an open-mouthed kiss to that delectable stubble. “Because I certainly don’t want to hear about any of your ex’s.” Quickly, Skye rolled away from him and hopped from the bed. “Now come on, we need to—”

“I told you before, they were all you.” He was looking straight at her. “In the dark, that’s all they were. And come dawn, I couldn’t stand to be with them any longer because the light showed that they weren’t you.” His lips twisted. “I was seventeen, and you destroyed me for everyone else.”

She’d felt that way before…destroyed. Skye grabbed for her robe and belted it quickly. “I’m starving. Let’s go get some breakfast together.”

“I’ll call the chef,” Trace said at once. “I’ll have him prepare anything you want.”

There he was—being too eager. When she’d been held captive, Skye had been starved for days. Trace was still overcompensating for that, seeming to be there, every instant when she so much as suggested hunger. They both needed to get past that. “I thought we’d try baking breakfast together. You know, the way most couples do.”

For an instant, an expression of absolute horror slipped over his face. “You want me to cook?”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll burn the eggs together just fine.” She had to laugh because the horrified expression on his face was just so not Trace. Then Skye hurried from the room, her heart feeling lighter. In that moment, she had hope for them.

She didn’t necessarily have hope for the eggs.

Her feet thudded as she hurried down the hallway, and in moments, she was in Trace’s crazy, glorious kitchen. Normally, his chef Collins would come up and work his magic.

Today wasn’t about working magic. It was just about the two of them.

She grabbed for pans. Got the butter. Hmmm…they could use cheese, too. She cracked the eggs and was starting to scramble them when Trace’s arms wrapped around her. He nuzzled her neck. Licked her.

“Trace!” His name came out as a yelp. “You’re going to make me destroy breakfast before I even really get started.”

His mouth rose to her ear. His lips pressed against the delicate shell. “Fuck the breakfast,” he growled.

Oh, he tempted. Carefully, she turned in his arms. “I’d rather fuck you.”

Skye pressed up onto her tip-toes. The better to get into kissing position.

There was a sharp, hard pounding at the penthouse’s front door.

Skye put her hands on his shoulders. “Are you expecting company?” At barely 7 a.m.?

Trace shook his head. “Unexpected company doesn’t happen here.”

Not with the security he had in check. The staff downstairs would never let anyone access his private elevator. Not unless…

Trace rushed from the kitchen. She turned off the burners and followed quickly behind him. Trace glanced through the peephole on the main door.

When he shot her a fast glance, she caught the worry in his stare. His body was tense. He’d donned a pair of black pajama pants, but his muscled chest was bare. She could see the tautness in his broad shoulders.

“Who is it?” Skye asked, frozen five feet from him.

Trace opened the door.

Alex waited on the other side. He had his badge clipped to his waist. Two uniformed officers were behind him.

No, most people wouldn’t have been able to get past security and get up to the penthouse. But a detective wasn’t most people.

“I-I’m sorry, sir!” A voice called out, and she saw John Ford, the building manager, as he peered around the cops. “I had no choice but to bring them up because they have—”

“A warrant,” Alex finished. He pulled out a folded piece of white paper. “I’ve got a search warrant for your penthouse. So, Weston, step outside and let us do our job.”

***

It wasn’t going to be good. Trace knew the truth, even before the uniforms called for back-up and more techs swarmed his penthouse.

They were tearing his life apart, one piece at a time.

“It’s all right,” Skye said. Alex had given her a chance to dress. A fast few minutes in the bedroom. Trace still wore his pajama pants—is that supposed to bother me, Alex? Cause it doesn’t. Trace didn’t give a damn what he wore or didn’t wear.

Skye was a different matter. If the cops hadn’t given her time to dress, Trace would’ve had every single one of them pulling traffic duty by the end of the day.

But Alex hadn’t hesitated with Skye. She now wore a pair of form fitting yoga pants and a loose top. Her hair was pinned up. She looked beautiful and worried and too good for me.

He didn’t want to lie to her anymore. He wouldn’t. “You know he found something to tie me to Parker’s death already, or else no judge would’ve given him a warrant.” The judges in this town should have been too afraid to issue those warrants under any circumstances.

Milligan. Vermont Milligan. He’d been the judge to issue this warrant, and Trace’s lawyer was out earning his retainer right then as he attempted to figure out just what the hell was happening.

What did Alex find that led him back to me?

But then two of the techs spilled out of the penthouse. They were carrying several clear, plastic bags. Trace saw a few of his shirts in those bags.

Alex exited behind them.

Trace lifted a brow. “Looking for some new apparel, Detective?”

Tags: Cynthia Eden Mine Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net