by Cynthia Eden
a time, he’d kissed her there, and she’d melted for him. “What I want is you.” Being near her drove him fucking insane. Having her scent—sweet vanilla—wrap around him. Having her silken skin beneath his fingers.
She wasn’t telling him no. Wasn’t pushing him away. Instead, she stared up at him with need in her green gaze. “I thought…I thought we came here to figure out who was after me.” Her words were a whisper.
“We did.” But it was nearing 3 a.m. New York might be the city that never slept, but they still couldn’t go pounding on doors right then. Better to wait. Head out in the morning.
Waiting left them with the night.
His fingers eased under the heavy curtain of her hair. Her breath caught on a little rasp that was the sexiest sound he’d heard in years.
“Tell me you haven’t thought about us.” Even though she’d been with others. Fucking bastards. When she’d told him their names, everything had gone red for him. Other men, touching her. He wanted to wipe the memory of their hands away.
Trace wanted her to only think of him.
Before the night was over, she would.
“I won’t lie.” The snow fell lightly behind her. “I’ve thought about you more times than I can count.”
Good. Because every damn night when he closed his eyes, she was the one in his dreams.
Her hand rose. Curled around his wrist. “And I think about the way you told me…to get the hell out of your life.”
Trace didn’t let his expression alter.
“You stopped wanting me, Trace, not the other way around.” She yanked his hand away from her. Marched around him. “Since you got the bell hop to leave my bags in the master bedroom, I’ll take that room.” She wasn’t looking back at him. “With forty-five hundred square feet, I’m sure you can find some other place to crash.”
Every muscle in his body locked down. “I never stopped.” His control seemed razor thin right then, and that was dangerous. He’d intended a seduction for her.
The wild hunger he’d held in check wasn’t supposed to break free.
Not yet.
Her laugh was bitter. Not like Skye at all. “Right. That’s why you came after me, huh? Why I’ve seen you pictured with dozens of women over the years? Because you wanted…”She glared over her shoulder, “me so much.”
Maybe he wasn’t the only one eaten by jealousy. Maybe there was some hope for them after all.
“Want me to prove how much I want you?” Nothing could have kept him away from her in that moment. He’d talked to her doctor before he left Chicago. Skye was safe. The concussion wasn’t an issue. She could sleep.
She could fuck.
She was most definitely about to get fucked.
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.
Her legs were parted. His hips pushed against her sex, and it was good. So good.
He’d make it better. She knew he would.
“That’s what I’m doing tonight, baby,” the words rumbled against her lips. “I’m tasting, and I’m taking…everything.”
He lifted her hands above her head. Switched his hold so that just one of his hands imprisoned hers. Then his left hand snaked down her body.
Her bra was tossed across the room.
The cool air hit her nipples, making them go even tighter.
Then his mouth was on her. His mouth wasn’t cool. It was hot.
She was wet. She could feel the wetness on her panties, and Skye wanted them gone. She wanted Trace thrusting into her—
“I’ll let your hands go, but don’t move them. I get to touch. I get to taste.” His hands eased away from hers. “I get to take.”
She would be taking her pleasure, too. Trace liked to be in control in the bedroom, dominant, compelling and—
He was kissing his way down her body. His dark stubble pressed into her stomach. His tongue licked over her skin.
His fingers slid under the edge of her panties. “Fuck, yes,” he muttered. “Wet for me.”
She didn’t want to wait any longer. “Trace, now.”
“No.” He pulled the panties down her legs. Then his fingers slid up her thighs. Teased. Tormented her. “I’ve waited too long. I told you, I get to taste and take.”
Everything.
Her hands balled into fists so that she wouldn’t reach out to him.
It’s just sex. It’s just sex. The mantra flew through her head as her heart raced. She had to focus on the present, not the past. Everything got so tangled up when she was with him.
This wasn’t about love.
Sex. Pleasure.
His fingers slid between her legs. Pushed between the folds of her sex. Into her.
She arched off the bed. His thumb rubbed over her clit even as he thrust two fingers into her.
More. “Trace…” Skye could barely gasp out his name.
“You’re so gorgeous like this…” His words were dark, deep. “Flushed, open, ready for me…only me.”
His hands withdrew. No, dammit, she’d been close.
“Say it’s only me, Skye.”
Her lashes lifted. She didn’t even remember closing her eyes.
“Say it.” His mouth lowered to her sex. His lips pressed against her, and if his hands hadn’t moved to hold her hips against the mattress, she would have leapt off the bed at the first, electric touch of his tongue against her sex.
Pleasure beat at her as he tasted her. Her body twisted against the mattress. She wasn’t trying to get away from him. Skye wanted to get closer. Her fingers splayed wide, then grabbed the thick covers, bunching them in her fists.
Release was near, so near—
“Tell me, Skye,” he demanded. A dark note had entered his voice. One that should have made her hesitate. Possessive… fierce… “Only me.”
She hovered on the brink of release. “Trace, I need more—“
“I’ll give you every fucking thing.”
A zipper hissed down. He lowered his body against hers.
He thrust into her.
Not easy. Not tentative.
He drove deep, filling her completely, and she stopped being on the brink. Pleasure flooded through her. She gasped as her heart raced, seeming to pound right out of her chest. Her whole body tightened as that release swept over her. So good…so perfect…on and on and on.
Trace kept thrusting. He grabbed her legs. Lifted them higher. Made her take more and more until she was frantic because another release was coming. She was hollowed out from the first one, but he was pushing the second wave on her, and she screamed this time, a broken yell because the pleasure hit her so hard.
Then he came. A hard, hot jet inside of her. “Only…” he growled.
She didn’t hear the rest of what he said. Her racing heartbeat drowned out the words, but she knew.
Only me.
Trace shuddered against her. He’d come, she’d felt that release, but he kept thrusting.
The pleasure didn’t end.
She’d never felt this way with anyone else. Never wanted and wanted and had her whole body explode with pleasure, one shattering climax after the other.
No one else.
Only Trace.
She hadn’t given him the words. But then, she didn’t need to.
He already knew.
Only me.
***
Rehearsal was always a chaotic time. Dancers swirled around the stage. Choreographers jumped in, corrected, advised. The director was there, shouting orders in the background.
It seemed both incredibly familiar and oddly foreign as Skye stood in the shadows, watching everyone else. It was barely past seven a.m., but, of course the dancers were working. By this time, they would have been working for at least two hours.
Sweating. Flying. Dancing until their muscles trembled.
This had been her life.
Without it, she’d been lost.
“Skye?” She recognized that voice, with its faint English accent. She’d known that Robert Wolfe would be there—since he was the lead choreographer, he had to be there. And Trace had been determined to question Robert. But…
Robert isn’t doing this to me.
She didn’t want to suspect him.
She turned at his call, her shoulder brushing against Trace’s. They hadn’t spoken much that morning. She’d felt too raw, too overexposed after last night.
Just how fast did you tumble into bed with him? The question whispered through her mind. The answer? Fast. Very. Very fast.
A broad smile split Robert’s handsome face as he hurried toward her. He was sweating, the shine gleaming on him, because he’d been working with the dancers. He rushed toward her and wrapped her in a tight hug, sweat and all.
“I knew you’d come back,” Robert said as he squeezed her even tighter. “You just needed time. You just—”
“I-I’m not here to dance.”
He stopped squeezing her. Robert pulled back, but didn’t release her. He stared down at her, a faint line between his perfect brows.
Robert was tall, with a strong dancer’s body. His blond hair was brushed away from the strong planes of his face, and his tanned skin gleamed under the lights.
“You can let her go now,” Trace ordered him. But then Trace didn’t wait for Robert to comply. He pulled the other man away from Skye.
“Jeez, Skye, picked a jealous lover, eh?”
She could feel the blush on her cheeks. Skye cleared her throat. “We…we need to talk. Somewhere private.”
Robert’s face hardened. “Something’s wrong.”
Something had been wrong, for a very long time.
“The dressing rooms.” He motioned toward the right. “While everyone’s rehearsing, they’re empty.”
She knew the way, so Skye started walking first. She’d only taken a few steps when she realized exactly what Robert was doing.
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 -->
