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  her back onto the bed.

  “Trace? What is it?”

  He pushed the covers out of the way.

  And hated himself.

  He could see his fingerprints—dark smudges, brown bruises, on her waist. He’d held her hips so tightly last night that he’d hurt her.

  He’d always known that he had to take care with Skye. She was too delicate. Too breakable for him. “I hurt you.”

  Her gaze followed his. She stared at the bruises on her flesh. Markings. My mark.

  The ache in his chest grew worse. He’d never wanted to do this. Never—

  Skye laughed. “That’s nothing. Obviously, you didn’t see the claw marks I left on your back.”

  His head snapped up at her words.

  A smile lit her face. Made her eyes shine. She was more than just beautiful.

  She was every hope and dream that he’d ever had.

  She squirmed against him, and he let her. Skye immediately wrapped her arms around him and brought her mouth close to his. “In case you didn’t notice, what with all the moaning and panting I was doing last night, I like things a little rough with you. I like it when you lose control.”

  She just didn’t seem to realize that when he lost control, dangerous things happened.

  “A few bruises aren’t going to kill me,” Skye told him, voice soft. “I didn’t even feel you holding me that tightly last night. I was focused on, you know, other things.” She licked his lower lip. “And I’m sure I’ll be focused on those other things again soon.”

  Yes, she would be.

  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.

  “Fuck,” Trace growled in her ear. “Ignore them. Put on your killer smile and lift your head up, baby. Walk like they don’t matter. They don’t. You matter. Only you.”

  He was wrong.

  Skye turned to the reporter. A curvy blonde with hard eyes.

  “I didn’t break down,” Skye told her simply. “I survived.”

  And she walked away. With her head up. With a false smile on her lips. She took the steps past the swarm of reporters, and then she and Trace were heading into the Bartley.

  Guards were stationed at the doors, and they made absolutely sure that the reporters didn’t follow Skye and Trace inside.

  Her heels tapped on the gleaming marble floor. From overhead, glittering chandeliers poured light down on her.

  The other ball attendees headed forward, moving and laughing easily. They’d enjoyed their time in the limelight. Skye hadn’t. She didn’t care about photo opportunities or getting her name in the papers. If she had her way, she’d prefer to never see another paper or magazine with her face splashed on the cover.

  Breakdown. Thanks, bitch.

  Trace wrapped his hand around Skye’s waist. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”

  She blinked. Glanced up at him.

  “For a minute there, I was sure you were going to tell the blonde to fuck off.”

  Her lips twitched. The laughter escaped her, before she could even think to stop it. A light, quick bubble of sound.

  Trace’s face froze. “There it is,” he rasped.

  And he kissed her. A deep, sensual kiss that made her knees jiggle.

  “Well, well…I guess this is how the mighty fall.”

  Skye pulled away from Trace with a little gasp, but he didn’t let her go far. He kept a hold on her wrist as they both turned to face the man who’d closed in on them.

  Tall, muscled, with wide shoulders that stretched the perfectly tailored tux he wore, the man stood just a few feet away. His hair was dark, nearly the same shade as Trace’s, and his eyes were a burning, deep gold.

  Those eyes were on Skye, assessing her with a fierce intensity. “The reporters could see the kiss, you know,” the man murmured. There was a faint accent in his voice. Texas? “But maybe that was the point, right, Trace?” And his gaze trekked to Trace. “To stake the claim in front of them all. In case any of the blind fools missed the giant rock on her finger.”

  She expected Trace to fire an angry retort, instead, he laughed.

  Laughed.

  Skye glanced over at him in surprise.

  “Noah,” Trace murmured, “I’d heard you made a new acquisition in town.” His eyebrows rose as he took in the hotel. “Nice. You’ve done well for yourself.”

  “As have you.” That golden stare was back on Skye. Still too intense. “Very well,” the man added as his voice deepened.

  Trace wrapped his arm around Skye. “You said yourself, I’ve already staked a claim.”

  Skye licked her lips—and tasted Trace.

  “Skye Sullivan, I want you to meet Noah York. Noah is…an old friend of mine.”

  The name clicked for Skye. York Towers. The guy had hotels all over the United States. Those Towers were usually in the biggest cities, but they were also found in some secluded, high-end getaway locations. Near pristine beaches. Cradled amid mountaintops.

  Noah reached for her hand. He bent his head. “It’s great to finally meet you.”

  Finally?

  He released her and eased back. “I figured nothing would keep you away from this event, Trace.” His shoulders straightened. “Not when we both know what it’s like to be those kids.”

  Her gaze sharpened on Noah.

  Then someone called his name. Noah sighed. “Business.” He pointed at Trace and Skye. “But I’ll be seeing you both later.” Another nod, and then he was gone.

  “We should go inside. The auction will be starting soon,” Trace said.

  She started walking automatically, but her fingers reached out to touch his arm. “Trace, what did he mean when he said it was finally good to meet me?”

  His stride never faltered. “Noah and I go way back. Surely you realize that I’ve talked about you before?” He gave her a fast glance. “How could I not?”

  His words were easy. The explanation was simple, but a knot had formed in Skye’s stomach.

  “Now, let’s go bid a ton of money, baby. We’re supposed to have fun tonight.”

  Yes, yes, they were.

  They slipped into the ballroom. A stage had been set up for the auction. Business first, then Skye knew that the band would begin playing for the dancers.

  This wasn’t a night about fear.

  This was about the future.

  Starting fresh. Giving the children a future.

  Once, Skye had been a lost teen. So scared. Alone. From beneath her lashes, she watched Trace. Then she’d found him, and everything had changed for her.

  ***

  Noah had almost fucked up.

  Trace kept his arms around Skye, moving fluidly with her as they danced across the ballroom. Her face was lit up, her eyes shining.

  Skye loved dancing.

  And she loves me.

  Noah would have to be careful. Trace planned to catch the man alone at the earliest opportunity. Noah would understand—as many couldn’t—just how important some secrets were.

  He hadn’t realized that Noah was already back in town. If he had, Trace would’ve talked with him sooner.

  It was just a little slip. Skye believed what I told her.

  Lying to Skye wasn’t something that Trace enjoyed doing. She had so much faith in him. The lies he told her ate at his soul.

  But he wanted her protected.

  I have to make sure she doesn’t find out.

  The music ended. Because he knew that she liked it, Trace dipped Skye. Her cheeks flushed. More of that sweet, wonderful laughter slipped from her.

  He eased her back to her feet, keeping a light grip on her. He hadn’t noticed any weakness in her injured leg, but, when it came to Skye, Trace didn’t want to take any chances.

  The band announced that they’d be taking a short break.

  Trace glanced over and saw Melanie Petrie, the organizer of the charity event, as she talked quietly with two of her staff members. “Can you excuse me for just a moment?” Trace asked Skye. “I need to speak with Melanie.” Because he wanted to make a substantial donation, one that would be in Skye’s name. He’d tell her later, when they were alone.

  He couldn’t wait to be alone with her again.

  “Of course.” She gave him an easy smile. “I wanted to step out on the balcony anyway. I’ve heard the fountains in the courtyard are quite incredible.”

  They were. Trace also knew that they were well guarded. The event had a ton of security in place. And I have my own men here, too.

  “I’ll join you there,” he promised her.

  Trace watched her walk away. He couldn’t take his gaze off her back. All of that beautiful, silken skin.

  “You’re one lucky bastard.”

  He inclined his head at Noah’s words.

  “Is there a particular reason you were giving me a go-to-hell look earlier?” Noah asked him.

  “You mean other than the fact that your eyes were looking at Skye far too damn much?” Trace turned toward him. His back teeth had clenched, and Trace had to force his jaw to relax. “She doesn’t know about my past. I want it to stay that way.”

  Noah whistled. “You’re marrying her, and she doesn’t know?”

  “How many women know about your past, Noah?”

  Noah’s brows climbed.

  “The last thing I want is for her to fear me,” Trace said. “Especially after everything that happened.”

  Noah nodded. “I’m sorry. I…I read the stories. Was it as bad as they said?”

  For an instant, Trace remembered the basement. The darkness. The fear that had eaten at him.

  She’d looked so beaten. Skye hadn’t even believed that he was really there, not at first. She’d thought that she was seeing a ghost. He’d had to convince her…

  I found you. You’re going home with me. You’re going to dance, and we’re going to fuck and laugh and be happy. Do you understand?

  Trace cleared his throat. “It was even worse.”

  Noah swore.

  “Skye doesn’t need any more fear,” Trace told him, needing Noah to get the message.

  His old friend nodded.

  Noah started to walk away. Trace moved, blocking his path. “I want you to come to my office tomorrow. We have to talk.”

  “Look, I said—”

  “Ben Sharpe was murdered.”

  Noah’s lips parted in surprise. “The hell he was.”

  “He died right after he came to visit me, telling me that the past was coming back.”

  “The past is dead.”

  “Yes, that’s what I said, too. Then Sharpe wound up butchered in an alley.”

  Noah backed up a step. “I’ll be there, man.”

  Good. Because Noah had been in on the mission that went to hell. A mission that cost a teammate his life.

  And taught them all the truth about just how deadly an innocent face could be.

  Chapter Six

  The fountains were amazing. The water flew into the air, twisting and turning in a rhythm that perfectly matched the soft tunes that drifted from the outdoor speakers.

  Lighting effects drifted over the water. Soft pink, light blue.

  Beautiful.

  “Miss?”

  She turned and found a waiter at her elbow. The balcony was well lit, gleaming with candles. The waiter offered his tray of champagne. She took a glass, nodding her thanks.

  Skye lifted the glass to her lips.

  Then she stopped. Because she’d just caught sight of a man standing below. He -->