Mine to Keep (Mine #2)(39)
Author: Cynthia Eden

She put her hand on the glass. It was hard. Cool.

The water pounded down.

Her fingers swiped over the glass. She cleared a small section so that she could see—and, through that glass, Skye saw Trace.

Standing on the other side. Watching her.

She opened the door. The shower had been so loud that she hadn’t heard him come inside the bathroom.

He was still dressed. In his too expensive designer pants and the shirt that she knew must’ve been cut just for him.

The faint lines on his face were deeper. The shadows under his eyes were darker.

“Why were you just standing there?” Skye asked him. She didn’t try to cover her nudity.

“I wasn’t sure you wanted me with you.”

Ah, that was the part he just didn’t seem to get. “I always want you.” That was the problem. She lifted her hand to him, inviting him closer.

He took a fast step forward, then stilled. “I don’t want any more secrets. If you stay with me, I’ll tell you everything.”

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.”

“I’ll keep it. I swear.”

She kept her hand up. “Tell me that you didn’t kill Parker.” Skye hadn’t asked for the words before because she’d been afraid of his answer. But now…

“I didn’t kill Parker.”

Her lips trembled, then curved. “I need you.”

Skye thought he would strip before he joined her. The clothes had to be worth a small fortune but—

Trace didn’t strip.

He came straight into the shower, the water—pumping from two shower heads—poured down on them. His mouth took hers. The kiss was deep and hard. Consuming.

Exactly what she wanted.

Her hands closed around his shoulders. The water soaked his shirt, making the fabric cling to him. Her bare br**sts pressed against his shirt-front, her ni**les pebbling.

Trace.

Only Trace.

He was the one man who’d always been able to get past her defenses. The one man who could make her want and need more than anyone else.

His fingers slid down to her waist and he lifted her up against the marble wall of the shower. His mouth didn’t leave hers. His tongue thrust past her lips, and Skye arched toward him. In that moment, she was greedy and desperate for all that he’d give to her.

He was aroused. Trace’s thick c**k pushed against the front of his pants, and she felt the ridge against her. She wanted that ridge in her.

Her hands shoved between them. She unhooked his belt. Fumbled enough to get the button and zipper undone, and then that thick, strong c**k spilled out.

Two seconds later, his c**k was just where she wanted it to be. Driving deep inside of her.

She cried out when he filled her because it felt so good. He thrust deep, as far as he could go. His hips pinned her, her legs clasped his hips, and his hands caught hers.

He pushed her hands back against the marble. Lifted them up high and held her prisoner while he thrust.

The pleasure built. She clamped down her inner muscles, holding him as tightly as she could. Faster, faster, harder, deeper…she was chanting and she didn’t care.

Trace was f**king her, and this moment—this—was what she needed to banish the hell around them.

She came with a fury, exploding hard and fast as the orgasm rocketed through her. It took her breath. Made the world grow dim for an instant, and she reveled in it.

He came right after her. Another hard thrust, then he was pumping within her. He kissed her while he came, and Skye was sure that she could taste his pleasure.

There was no room for doubt. It was just her. Just him.

Slowly, her feet slid from his hips and she—

Laughter escaped Skye. The water was still just as warm. Jetting down just as powerfully. And… “You left your shoes on.”

He smiled down at her. One of his real, rare smiles. The kind that made the dark, cold places inside of her feel a little bit warmer.

“I was afraid that if I stopped to take them off, you’d change your mind.”

His words, so gruff, had her pressing a fast kiss to his lips.

“You didn’t run when I confessed. You believed in me,” Trace rasped the words against her lips. “I had to have you.”

And she’d needed him the same way.

He turned off the spray of water. Tossed away his soaked clothes. Ditched the Italian shoes.

He’d been wearing his shoes!

Then he wrapped her in a towel. So carefully. They went into his bedroom. Their bedroom. The darkness surrounded them as they slid into the bed. She put her fingers over his heart, reassured by the steady beat. Then her fingers trailed to the right, just a few inches. To the thick, red scar that marked his chest.

Trace had been shot by the bastard who’d abducted her. Skye tried not to think about what could have happened if Mitch Loxley had been a better shot.

I can’t think about that. She bent and put her head over his heart, needing to hear that strong beat.

His fingers brushed back her wet hair. “You are the most important person in my life.” His words rumbled beneath her. “I will do anything it takes in order to keep you safe.”

She squeezed her eyes shut because that anything—it was what she feared most.

***

Skye was in the basement once again. Handcuffed to the pole that wouldn’t move. She’d screamed and she’d screamed, but no one had come to save her.

She knew that she was going to die in that pit.

“Trace!” His name was a desperate cry from her. He would be the last person that she thought of. The last man that she—

“Why do you call for him?” The voice drifted from the darkness. “He’s the reason you’re here.”

She shook her head and yanked harder on the cuffs.

“You’re hurting, you’re dying for him.”

“Let me go!” Skye begged. “Just let me—”

Then she saw the glinting flash of a blade. The knife slashed down toward her chest.

Skye screamed.

***

“It’s okay,” Trace said, his arms strong and warm around her. “I’ve got you.”

Her breath expelled in heaving pants. Her gaze flew around the room. Sunlight slipped through the curtains.

“The dreams will stop,” he said, as his fingers stroked reassuringly down her arm. “One day, the memories will fade.”

Only this hadn’t been her usual bad dream. A new, terrifying twist had slipped into her nightmare.

“Your memories haven’t faded any,” she told him, too aware of the drying tears on her cheeks. “How long has it been since you watched Anna Jean die?”