Mine to Keep (Mine #2)(40)
Author: Cynthia Eden

“Five years.”

She had that to look forward to? Years of nightmares and memories that haunted her? Great.

But at least I’m alive.

Yet that time period also gave her pause. She turned in his arms and stared up at him. “If Tucker really survived, then don’t you think he would’ve come after you by now?”

A dark growth of stubble lined his hard job. “Sharpe was right when he said that you were my weakness. The whole world knows how I feel about you.” He brought her hand to his lips. Lightly kissed her ring finger.

“Because you killed to keep me alive,” she whispered.

“I kept your picture with me back then, just like I told you. Tucker saw it. All of my teammates did. So did my enemies.” His fingers kept stroking her. “Once I fell behind enemy lines on a retrieval mission that went south, and I was tortured for hours.”

She hated the thought of him in such pain.

“They were good, I’ll give them that. Never left a sign on me. But then, that’s what water boarding is all about, right? Destruction on the inside.”

She’d never realized he was in such danger. He’d been in the military, she’d worried for him but—I never knew this.

Maybe she hadn’t let herself think the worst.

“I made a mistake by having your picture with me. My captors took it. Taunted me. Told me that they’d find you. Rape you. Kill you.” His voice was so wooden that he chilled her. “But they were the ones to die. Most of ‘em, anyway. A few slipped away. I got out, thanks to Noah and Tucker. And when I was free, Tucker gave your photo back to me.” His eyes blazed down at her. “He knew, even then, how much you meant.”

She hadn’t known.

“But when I came back to the U.S., I didn’t go to you.”

“You just sent guards instead.”

He nodded. “They’d threatened to hurt you. They knew what type of missions I’d completed. I’d attacked their allies before. The men who escaped could’ve come after you. They could’ve told others…I just couldn’t risk anything happening to you.”

Except he’d missed one huge basic step. She lifted her hand and cupped his jaw. She loved the slightly rough feel of his stubble against her palm. “Next time, tell me. We’re partners, so that means you can’t leave me in the dark.”

He nodded. “If I’d…if I’d come to you then, what would you have done?” But then he shook his head, as if he regretted the question. “You were with the choreographer then, so you wouldn’t—”

The choreographer. Her jaw dropped. “You knew exactly when I was sleeping with Robert?”

“Yeah, I knew about the Brit.” Anger hummed in his voice and his face had tightened.

Well, hell. Back when they’d been trying to figure out who might have been stalking her, Trace had demanded a list of her lovers. “Why did you want me to tell you about my lovers if you already knew them all?”

“Because I didn’t know them all.” Ah, definite anger vibrated in his voice. “And it wasn’t like I wanted to hear you talk about those ass**les. I’d rather never hear about them again if I had the choice.”

“There’s no need to hear about them.” She pressed an open-mouthed kiss to that delectable stubble. “Because I certainly don’t want to hear about any of your ex’s.” Quickly, Skye rolled away from him and hopped from the bed. “Now come on, we need to—”

“I told you before, they were all you.” He was looking straight at her. “In the dark, that’s all they were. And come dawn, I couldn’t stand to be with them any longer because the light showed that they weren’t you.” His lips twisted. “I was seventeen, and you destroyed me for everyone else.”

She’d felt that way before…destroyed. Skye grabbed for her robe and belted it quickly. “I’m starving. Let’s go get some breakfast together.”

“I’ll call the chef,” Trace said at once. “I’ll have him prepare anything you want.”

There he was—being too eager. When she’d been held captive, Skye had been starved for days. Trace was still overcompensating for that, seeming to be there, every instant when she so much as suggested hunger. They both needed to get past that. “I thought we’d try baking breakfast together. You know, the way most couples do.”

For an instant, an expression of absolute horror slipped over his face. “You want me to cook?”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll burn the eggs together just fine.” She had to laugh because the horrified expression on his face was just so not Trace. Then Skye hurried from the room, her heart feeling lighter. In that moment, she had hope for them.

She didn’t necessarily have hope for the eggs.

Her feet thudded as she hurried down the hallway, and in moments, she was in Trace’s crazy, glorious kitchen. Normally, his chef Collins would come up and work his magic.

Today wasn’t about working magic. It was just about the two of them.

She grabbed for pans. Got the butter. Hmmm…they could use cheese, too. She cracked the eggs and was starting to scramble them when Trace’s arms wrapped around her. He nuzzled her neck. Licked her.

“Trace!” His name came out as a yelp. “You’re going to make me destroy breakfast before I even really get started.”

His mouth rose to her ear. His lips pressed against the delicate shell. “Fuck the breakfast,” he growled.

Oh, he tempted. Carefully, she turned in his arms. “I’d rather f**k you.”

Skye pressed up onto her tip-toes. The better to get into kissing position.

There was a sharp, hard pounding at the penthouse’s front door.

Skye put her hands on his shoulders. “Are you expecting company?” At barely 7 a.m.?

Trace shook his head. “Unexpected company doesn’t happen here.”

Not with the security he had in check. The staff downstairs would never let anyone access his private elevator. Not unless…

Trace rushed from the kitchen. She turned off the burners and followed quickly behind him. Trace glanced through the peephole on the main door.

When he shot her a fast glance, she caught the worry in his stare. His body was tense. He’d donned a pair of black pajama pants, but his muscled chest was bare. She could see the tautness in his broad shoulders.

“Who is it?” Skye asked, frozen five feet from him.