by Cynthia Eden
“Broken?” Skye finished because that was how the man had looked.
And it’s the way my mother had appeared. So many times. There’d been no mistaking the look in Ben’s eyes.
“He wasn’t the same,” Trace said instead. Then he rolled his shoulders, as if trying to push the past away. “Reese will see to it that he’s taken care of. Don’t worry.”
“But Ben said someone was watching him.” And, not too long ago, she’d gone to Trace and told him the same thing. Someone is watching me. She’d been afraid that Trace wouldn’t believe her. The cops sure hadn’t bought her story.
But Trace had.
He’d protected her. Saved her life.
“When he’s off his meds, Ben has hallucinations. He talks to people who aren’t there. He sees people who aren’t there.”
Just like her mother. Skye swallowed. “But are you sure—”
He kissed her. His lips—so warm and sensual—pressed to hers. “Don’t worry about him,” he whispered against her lips. “You don’t have anything to fear from Ben.”
It wasn’t Ben that she was afraid of. It was his warning that wouldn’t stop playing through her mind.
He’d said death was coming. “Are you safe?” Skye asked Trace, lifting her lashes to look into his bright gaze.
“Always,” he told her, and she wanted to believe him.
After all, Trace wouldn’t lie to her…
Would he?
His hands closed around her shoulders. He seemed so warm and solid, so incredibly strong before her. “I don’t want that part of my life ever touching you.”
She shook her head. “That’s not going to work. We can’t be that way.”
Trace stilled.
“No secrets,” she heard herself say. “That’s the way it needs to be. You know everything about me…” Every fear she had.
Every desire.
He let her go. “There are some things that you’re better off not knowing.”
“Trace…”
He lifted his hand. “Let it go, baby. Just…let it go. The past is buried, and all I care about is my future with you.”
“But that man—”
“He’s crazy!” Trace exploded.
She flinched. Not because of the anger in his voice, but because his words hit far too close to home. “And what if I am, one day? What if—”
She didn’t get to say more. Because Trace had her in his arms, holding her so tightly that she knew she might bruise, but Skye didn’t care.
“You aren’t. You won’t ever be.”
So easy for him to say.
But Trace hadn’t lived in a home with a mother who lost her hold on reality a little more each day. A woman who talked with people who weren’t there. A woman who hurt her daughter and never remembered doing it.
The doctors said her mother had been psychotic. Sometimes, too many times, Skye wondered if there was a ticking time bomb within herself.
That’s why I won’t go see the shrinks. I don’t want to know…
“You survived that sick bastard’s kidnapping. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met.” He’d lifted her up against him and buried his face in the curve of her neck. “I know crazy, Skye, and it’s not you.”
She could barely breathe in his grasp. Skye pushed against him, and Trace let her toes touch the floor once more. “I came to you,” she said, searching his eyes, “with the same story that Ben just told. Someone was watching me. You believed me.” What if he hadn’t? “Are you so certain that man wasn’t telling the truth?”
“Ben…he has a problem with reality. For the last few years, he’s been convinced that someone was after him.” His lips thinned. “He thought his past was chasing him.”
“What if it is?” He’d seemed so desperate.
Her mother had been desperate that way, once.
Her desperation had led her to take her own life—and to take the life of Skye’s father in the process.
“I’ll have another talk with him, okay?” Trace said. “If he’s being hunted by anything other than his own demons, I’ll find out.”
Relief had her shoulders slumping.
“Your heart’s too soft,” he growled, and Trace sounded angry. Odd, he didn’t usually get angry with her.
Everyone else? Oh, yes, but not her.
“You can’t be so trusting, Skye.” He let her go and stalked across the room. The marble floor gleamed beneath his feet. He stopped at the bar. A bar that took up half the left wall. Trace grabbed the decanter of whiskey and poured a sloshing glassful. “That trust can get you into trouble.”
Even though he wasn’t looking at her, Skye’s chin hitched up. “Trouble? You mean the kind where I trust the wrong man and nearly get killed because of it?”
He whirled around. “Skye—”
“Been there, done that,” she snapped at him. Her hands fisted. “I’ve got to say, this is one hell of a moving-in party.”
She spun on her heel and marched down the hallway. Her heartbeat sounded like drums in her ears and—
“I don’t…want it touching you.”
Skye paused a few steps away from their bedroom. Then, crap, she found herself storming back toward him. “What are you talking about?”
He drained the glass. Slammed it back on the bar. “I’ve done things that weren’t good, Skye. Things that—if you knew about them—they’d give you even more nightmares.”
He headed toward her with slow, determined steps. A predator, stalking his prey.
I’m the prey.
“I don’t want you to know about the things I did while we were apart. I want us to go forward. Fuck the past.” He stopped just a foot away and gazed down at her. She couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. “What we have is good. I’d damn well die for you, and you know that.”
She did. She also knew…
He’d kill for me.
The world saw Trace Weston as a suave businessman. A charmer who’d exploded onto the security scene. He’d amassed billions in record time.
But no one knew about his past.
Once, Skye had thought that she knew everything about him.
Now she was realizing that Trace had secrets he didn’t intend to share with her.
“Nothing can come between us now,” he told her.
Why did she feel like he was making a vow?
Trace smiled. The smile that had always made her breath come a little faster.
He advanced toward her. “You were right when you said this wasn’t the way to celebrate your moving in…”
“Trace.”
But he’d scooped her into his arms. He carried her to the bedroom. The room was dark. The sun was setting, and the light barely spilled through the curtains and onto his massive bed.
But…something was shining on his bed.
Skye glanced over, frowning, even as her arms tightened around Trace’s neck. “What is that?”
“It’s your welcome home present.” He kissed her and slowly lowered Skye to her feet.
Then his hands went to the back of her dress. A flick of his fingers unhooked the button near her nape, and the dress slid to the floor with a soft slither of sound.
She was left in her high heels, her black panties and her matching bra.
Trace was fully dressed.
“Don’t move,” he told her.
Then he reached around her, and, yes, the sparkle on the bed seemed even brighter now.
Diamonds. A necklace full of glittering diamonds.
He put the diamonds around her neck. They were cold, and she let out a little gasp.
A fortune. That’s what he just put around my neck.
She knew exactly how much those diamonds had cost him. In another life, she’d been a prima ballerina in New York. Before her car accident and her stalker, before the nightmares—
“Skye.” Her name was a sharp demand.
Her gaze flew to his face.
“Stay with me,” he ordered.
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He always knew what she was thinking.
But do I know him?
The diamonds chilled her skin.
He lifted her hair, brushing it back over her shoulder. “You’re so beautiful.”
And he was the only man she’d ever loved.
At fifteen, he’d burst into her life, saving her from an attack. He’d been her hero then.
Her world.
But he’d left her. Gone away, and for ten years, they hadn’t seen one another.
What happened to him during those years?
He lowered his head and he kissed her neck. Her breath rushed out because that spot was so sensitive, and Trace knew that.
Just as he knew everything about her.
He lowered her onto the bed. Came down with her. Surrounded her.
“I’ll make you happy,” he promised. “We can have everything.”
Skye shoved her doubts and fears away. This was Trace. They’d survived hell before.
They could survive anything that came their way.
“I already have everything,” Skye said softly, and she didn’t mean the necklace that seemed to be such a heavy weight against her skin.
Trace didn’t strip. She expected him to, but he didn’t. His hands became harder, rougher on her. He pulled her to the edge of the bed.
His fingers slid between her legs. One yank, and her panties were gone. He stroked her, caressed her, had her own fingers twisting in the bed covers as the need grew within her.
But…
He’s too careful.
Since the attack, he’d always been that way when they had sex.
She didn’t want care.
She wanted fire.
Lust.
Need.
He unzipped his pants. Put his cock right at the entrance of her body. Trace leaned over her. “Forever, Skye.”
Her eyes locked with his. Her hands grabbed him, and her nails dug through the fabric of his shirt, sinking in with a sensual bite.
“Forever,” she agreed, and her hips surged toward him just as he thrust into her.
She lost her breath then. He stretched her, filled her so completely. He tried to pull back, to go easier.
“I won’t break,” she said, panting out the words. “Faster, Trace, harder.” Because it was what she needed.
His gaze never left hers. He gave her what she wanted.
Fast.
Hard.
But he was in control. Every moment. She could feel it in the tight movements of his body. See it in the hard clench of his jaw.
She wanted him out of control. Wild.
But he wasn’t letting go.
“Trace!” His name was a demand.
His head bent. He jerked her bra out of the way and put his mouth on her breast. Licked. Kissed.
She felt the light edge of his teeth on her.
Skye erupted. Pleasure blasted through her, and she held him as fiercely as she could.
His movements roughened. His hips pistoned against her. Close—close—he was almost losing his control. Skye just needed to push him over that edge.
She wrapped her legs around him.
He came with a shout. His eyes flashed, seeming to go blind for an instant. He shuddered, his body curving over her. He was still standing at the edge of the bed.
Still dressed.
Still holding all the control, even in his moment of release.
Skye stared up at him, lost.
She’d been lost with Trace from the beginning.
There was no going back. Not for her.
Not for him.
He pressed a tender kiss to her lips. “I knew you’d be gorgeous in diamonds.”
The diamonds were beautiful, but Skye didn’t care about them. I only care about him.
He withdrew from her. Tenderly took care of her and even tucked her under the covers.
But he didn’t join her.
“Get some rest,” he told her, voice gruff. “You’re safe, and you’re home.” He smiled down at her. “Our life is just starting…”
***
His life was ending.
Ben Sharpe ran down the busy Chicago street. Rain beat down on him, the storm erupting suddenly from the sky.
Weston hadn’t taken his warning seriously.
He’d tried to help the man, but Weston hadn’t wanted to hear his words.
Weston hadn’t wanted him there at all.
He didn’t want me near her.
It was just as bad as Ben had feared. Weston’s weakness was right there, and the man didn’t even realize it.
Skye Sullivan would be his downfall. Weston needed to protect himself, to back the hell away from her.
Before it was too late.
***
Trace shut the bedroom door.
He could smell Skye’s scent on his skin. Sweet vanilla. He could feel her silken flesh beneath his fingers.
He wanted to go back in that room, to wrap his arms around her and hold her through the night.
But first, he had to take care of some unfinished business. Business that would not be allowed to touch Skye.
He hurried down the hallway. Grabbed his phone. In seconds, he had Reese on the line. “Where is he?” Trace demanded.
Lightning flashed outside of his windows. The storm had come up so suddenly.
“He’s about to hop the train. I tried to get the guy to stay at a motel.” Disgust and anger thickened Reese’s voice. “But the fool took a punch at me.”
Trace’s back teeth clenched. “Keep your eyes on him until I can meet up with you. I’m leaving now.” He glanced toward the hall. Skye’s soft heart would be a problem. Because she looked at Ben Sharpe, and she saw her own mother.
But Skye’s mother had been dangerous.
And so was Ben.
You won’t get near Skye again.
Reese was still talking, giving Trace intel about the train and Ben’s location.
Trace left the penthouse. The elevator descended quickly to the parking garage.
Once upon a time—a lifetime ago—he’d saved Ben Sharpe’s life.
Once upon a time…
***
Thunder crashed.
Skye jerked up in bed, her heart racing.
She was alone.
“Trace?”
He didn’t answer her call.
She rose, grabbed for her robe.
She still had on the diamonds. They still felt too cold.
Her fingers closed around the bedroom doorknob. She twisted it, and the door opened with a creak of sound. “Trace?” She tip-toed down the hallway.
He didn’t answer. Lightning flashed just outside of the windows, long jagged streaks of light.
Trace wasn’t there.
Skye stopped in the den, then she turned to the big-picture window, and she watched the storm rage.
***
Another alley.
Ben ran forward, his boots hitting the rain puddles and sending mud flying around him.
He’s tracking me. The bastard is coming after me.
He had to run faster.
His breath sawed from his lungs. For an instant, the buildings around him vanished.
When the thunder rolled, he heard it as gunfire.
Another place, another time.
He looked down, and the mud was gone. The pot-hole filled alley was gone.
