Mine to Keep (Mine #2)(8)
Author: Cynthia Eden

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.

He saw snow. Blood. Death.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

The voice whispered from the darkness.

His head jerked up. He reached for the knife at his belt.

Gone.

Weston had taken the weapon. He hadn’t given it back.

Ben reached for his ankle sheath.

Fuck me, gone! He’d left Weston’s place without his weapons. Stupid, stupid mistake.

Ben straightened. “I-I was trying to help—”

A blade shoved into his chest. “You should have stayed away.”

Rain pelted down on Ben.

And his blood dripped into the mud around him.

Chapter Three

“Where were you last night?”

Trace glanced up at the soft question. Skye stood just inside the kitchen, staring at him with her deep green eyes. She had on yoga pants and a loose top.

She looked sexy as sin.

“Trace?” She lifted a dark brow.

He put down his coffee. “You want something for breakfast? I have a chef on call here, and I can get—”

“I want to know where you were last night.” She walked toward him. Skye had a soft, graceful stride. She’d been made to dance. And even though she didn’t want the stages of New York anymore—

“Trace.”

He smiled at her, enjoying the bite in her voice. “I had business to take care of.”

“Business…like with that man, Ben?”

Yes. “He won’t be bothering you again.”

“He never bothered me. What bothered me was you. Or, more specifically, you not telling me about your past.”

And he wouldn’t tell her. Trace forced a careless shrug. “The past is dead and buried. I told you before, I only care about our future.”

Her lips tightened. The woman had gorgeous lips. Full and red, and so wonderfully soft. He could kiss her for hours.

For a moment, he thought she’d argue with him. Skye braced her delicate shoulders and she said, “I’m going back to my dance studio today.”

He blinked. Ah, tricky lady. She’d thrown him off. But he nodded. “Of course, Reese can drive you and stand guard while—”

“No.” Her voice was flat and adamant. “I can get to the studio by myself, and I don’t need any sort of guard.”

His hands braced against the table. “After what happened to you—”

“The man who was stalking me is dead. I don’t have to worry about him anymore.” Her slightly pointed chin kicked up into the air a notch. “I don’t need a guard, Trace. What I need is to be able to lead my life on my own terms.”

He’d suspected this was coming. He’d dreaded this confrontation for days. “What about the press?”

Her laughter held a bitter edge. “We ran away from them. Wasn’t that the point of our trip to the Keys? To hide out there until the reporters moved on to the next juicy story.”

A prima ballerina who’d been abducted and held captive for days by her ex-lover definitely counted as a juicy story. Her face had been splashed on all the papers in the country, and her story had been broadcast again and again on the TV news shows.

“I have to get back to normal. I need normal.” Then she shook her head. “And I need my dancing.”

She always had. Dancing had gotten Skye through some of the darkest moments in her life. Dancing had also taken her from his life.

“I want you to keep a guard with you,” he began.

Skye opened her mouth to argue.

“Please,” Trace said, the word grating from him. “At least for the first few days, just until we make sure the reporters aren’t going to swarm like locusts on you.” He closed the space between them. Caught her wrist in his hand. Such a fragile wrist. The black bruises from the handcuffs no longer marked her.

That bastard Mitch had kept her handcuffed for days. He’d starved her. Tried to take her away.

But the bruises had faded.

She’d healed.

Trace hadn’t forgotten the fear.

“Let Reese stay with you,” he said, as his fingers smoothed over her wrist. “Just for a few days.”

“F-fine. Just at first, okay? Because I won’t be kept prisoner by anyone. Not even you, Trace.” She pulled away from him. “I have to get back to my routine. I want to open that dance studio, and I will do it.”

Skye. Always so determined. Her determination was one of the things he loved about her.

He watched her for a moment longer as she puttered around the kitchen. “You didn’t like the diamonds.” He’d been worried about that. Skye wasn’t the type for flash, but he wanted to shower her in diamonds.

She glanced back at him in surprise. “Of course, I did. They’re incredible.”

He had the feeling she was just saying those words to make him happy. The woman didn’t get it. Everything he did was for her. If she didn’t like diamonds, then he’d get her rubies. He’d buy her anything and everything that she wanted.

But, well, he knew that what she wanted—Skye wanted to head back to her dance studio and work herself down to the bone again.

Trace cleared his throat. “I took the liberty of having some…upgrades made to the studio while we were away.” He figured he might as well tell her about those additions now.

Before they’d left town, Skye had rented an old fire station and she’d planned to convert the place into her new dance studio. He’d…helped…with those conversion plans.