Mine to Take (8 page)

Then he came. A hard, hot jet inside of her. “Only…” he growled.

She didn’t hear the rest of what he said.  Her racing heartbeat drowned out the words, but she knew.

Only me.

Trace shuddered against her.  He’d come, she’d felt that release, but he kept thrusting.

The pleasure didn’t end.

She’d never felt this way with anyone else. Never wanted and wanted and had her whole body explode with pleasure, one shattering climax after the other.

No one else.

Only Trace.

She hadn’t given him the words. But then, she didn’t need to.

He already knew.

Only me.

***

Rehearsal was always a chaotic time.  Dancers swirled around the stage. Choreographers jumped in, corrected, advised.  The director was there, shouting orders in the background. 

It seemed both incredibly familiar and oddly foreign as Skye stood in the shadows, watching everyone else.  It was barely past seven a.m., but, of course the dancers were working. By this time, they would have been working for at least two hours.

Sweating. Flying.  Dancing until their muscles trembled.

This had been her life.

Without it, she’d been lost.

“Skye?”  She recognized that voice, with its faint English accent.  She’d known that Robert Wolfe would be there—since he was the lead choreographer, he had to be there. And Trace had been determined to question Robert. But…

Robert isn’t doing this to me.

She didn’t want to suspect him.

She turned at his call, her shoulder brushing against Trace’s.  They hadn’t spoken much that morning. She’d felt too raw, too overexposed after last night.   

Just how fast did you tumble into bed with him?
The question whispered through her mind. The answer?
Fast. Very. Very fast
.   

A broad smile split Robert’s handsome face as he hurried toward her. He was sweating, the shine gleaming on him, because he’d been working with the dancers. He rushed toward her and wrapped her in a tight hug, sweat and all.

“I knew you’d come back,” Robert said as he squeezed her even tighter. “You just needed time. You just—”

“I-I’m not here to dance.” 

He stopped squeezing her.  Robert pulled back, but didn’t release her. He stared down at her, a faint line between his perfect brows.

Robert was tall, with a strong dancer’s body.  His blond hair was brushed away from the strong planes of his face, and his tanned skin gleamed under the lights. 

“You can let her go now,” Trace ordered him. But then Trace didn’t wait for Robert to comply. He pulled the other man away from Skye.

“Jeez, Skye, picked a jealous lover, eh?”

She could feel the blush on her cheeks. Skye cleared her throat. “We…we need to talk. Somewhere private.”

Robert’s face hardened. “Something’s wrong.”

Something had been wrong, for a very long time. 

“The dressing rooms.” He motioned toward the right. “While everyone’s rehearsing, they’re empty.”

She knew the way, so Skye started walking first. She’d only taken a few steps when she realized exactly what Robert was doing.

He was watching her walk. No, more specifically, he was watching her leg.  Dammit, had she limped? She didn’t want to limp in front of him. She didn’t like to limp in front of anyone. But especially Robert. He’d trained her for so long. Told her that she was the best dancer he’d ever seen.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

Skye straightened her shoulders. Slowed her stride.

A few moments later, they were in her old dressing room.  Memories were everywhere in that room.  She’d been so excited when she came in after a performance. So—

“You look…familiar to me,” Robert said as he closed the door and let his gaze focus on Trace.

“He’s Trace Weston,” Skye said, waving her hand toward him. “You’ve probably seen his picture in the paper.”

Robert gave a little whistle. “Right. I have seen you.” The whistle was more mocking than anything else. Robert didn’t look impressed. But then, if you weren’t talking about dancing, Robert normally
wasn’t
impressed.

His golden gaze turned back to her. “I want you to dance for me again.”

Skye tensed. She’d been afraid that he’d go right back to that.

Before she could reply, Trace put his body between them. “Have you been to Chicago recently, Wolfe?”

“Chicago? No, no, of course not.” His British accent tightened the words. “I’ve been here, for the last bloody month. Trying to make those dancers out there
half
as good as Skye…”  He stepped around Trace.  Smiled at Skye. “Have you ever seen her dance?” Robert asked Trace. His eyes didn’t leave Skye’s face. “It’s the most fucking beautiful thing in the world.”

“I’ve seen her,” Trace’s voice was clipped. 

Trace had seen her long ago. In a different lifetime. When he’d taken her to the community center. Stayed to watch her practice. She’d gotten much better than the way she’d been then.

Well, she
had
been better.

“We’re not here about the dancing,” she tried telling Robert again. The man had such a one track mind. “There’s something else that we need to discuss.”

“Something more important than you getting that sweet ass of yours back onstage? Doubt it. I don’t see you—”

“Someone is stalking, Skye.” Trace’s cold, quiet words cut right through the rumble of Robert’s speech. “Some bastard attacked her recently in Chicago.”

“Skye!” Robert’s jaw dropped.  “Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you—”

“She said that the man first started following her here in New York. He got into her dressing room…” Trace cast an angry glance around the room. “Since the security here is non-existent, I can see how that happened. He got into this place, he got into her home, and—”

“And you said someone forced you off the road,” Robert muttered. He ran a shaking hand over his face. “Hell, I thought it was the pain meds talking. When you first woke up, you were out of it in that hospital. I didn’t realize…”  His words trailed off.

Maybe because he’d just fully noticed the killing glare that Trace had aimed on him.

“You think it’s me, mate?”  Robert demanded, backing up a step.

“You sure have easy access to her dressing room,
mate,”
Trace threw right back. “You know where she lived.”

“Of course, I did! I helped her move in!  Dammit, I even had her back-up key.”

Trace’s shoulders stiffened. He turned and cast that rather scary glare of his at Skye.

Crap. Had she neglected to mention that part?

“But I wouldn’t do that to Skye! I would
never
do anything to hurt her.” And Robert reached for Skye again. His fingers locked around her arms. “You know how much I need you. I wouldn’t hurt you, not for—”

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

Goosebumps rose on Skye’s skin.

Robert immediately jerked away from her. “Look, mate, I—”

Trace caught Skye’s hand and pulled her to his side. “I’m going to need confirmation that you haven’t left the city.”

“Y-you’re asking me for an alibi?” Robert sputtered.

“Damn straight, I am.
”

Now Robert was the one to flush. “A dozen dancers can tell you that I’ve been working their asses off for the last twenty days. They can all confirm that I haven’t left the city.”

“Good.” Trace flashed a hard smile, one that held an evil edge. “I’ll get them to confirm that before I leave today.”

Skye’s breath expelled in a fast rush. “Robert, did you ever see anyone hanging around my dressing room?  Anyone that lingered after a show?”  She’d asked stagehands the same questions before, but no one had seen anything. After a performance, it was too chaotic to keep track of people.

Robert’s eyes had narrowed on Trace. He seemed to be searching Trace’s face with a dark intensity.

“Robert?” Skye pushed.

“There are always fans who try to get back to the dancers,” Robert said, rolling his shoulders. “I’ve told you before, when you dance, you become something…quite different.”

That…different…had been what drew him to her.  A night of long practice had turned into something more for them.  But it hadn’t lasted with Robert. It never lasted because…  

No other man is Trace.

“You didn’t see anyone?” Trace questioned. “Dammit, what about video cameras?”

“We don’t have them backstage.” Robert shook his head. “After a show, it’s chaos. Plain and simple.  Hell, do you have any idea just how many flowers get delivered after a show? It’s a fuckin’ madhouse here.”

And someone had slipped into that madhouse far too easily. 

“I’ll check, okay?”  Robert offered as a knock sounded at the door. “I’ll ask around and see if anyone remembers anything but, Skye, you know how fast the back-stage groups turn over.  We’ve got new staff working this show.”

With every new show, there was a rotation.

A knock rapped again at the door. “Wolfe!” A woman’s voice called. “They need you on stage.”

“Be right there.”  He straightened his shoulders. Met Trace’s stare. “Check my alibi. Talk to the dancers.  Like I said, I would
never
hurt Skye, and I sure hope you find the bastard who did.”  Then he glanced her way. The gold in his eyes heated. “Come back to me.  I want you to dance for me again.”

Angry tension seemed to roll off Trace’s body.

“I…can’t,” Skye said softly. 

“How do you know?”  Robert asked her, tilting his head as he studied her. “Unless you try?”

The knock pounded again. It was much more impatient this time. “Wolfe, they’re screwing up out here! We need you.”

He gave a curt nod to Skye and Trace, and Robert hurried away.

The door hung open behind him, just a few inches.

“Before we leave,” Trace spoke slowly, “
I’ll
talk to the stagehands here and see if anyone remembers something.”

She nodded. “It’s been too long, hasn’t it?”  If Trace had been here to question people sooner, to run his investigation, then perhaps more evidence, more clues could have been found.

Trace exhaled slowly. “I’ll find him. He’s not getting away.”

She hoped that he wasn’t.  She started to slip by Trace.

He caught her arm. “You left New York without trying to dance again? You just ran from the city?”

Her throat had gone dry.  “It took me weeks to walk again.” That was only
after
all of the surgeries. “And I did try.”  That painful memory would never go away. “The first time I tried to dance, I fell on my face.” The first time, the second, the third.  Her lashes lifted so that she could meet that bright blue stare. “Robert is the most demanding choreographer I’ve ever worked with. I knew what he would see if he watched me dance. I didn’t want to hear him say—”

You’ve lost it, love.

She could hear his words clearly in her mind.

“There are some things that you know on your own.”  She’d had enough humiliation and pain by that point.  Running had seemed like her best plan.
Escape.

And she didn’t want to talk about this anymore. “I’ll go talk to some of the dancers.” Her words tumbled out quickly. “I’ll see if anyone remembers or—or maybe if anyone had something like this happen to them.” So she was grasping at straws. That room was too small. Too filled with memories, and Skye wanted to get
out
of there.

So she fled. After all, she might suck at walking sometimes, but when it came to running away, she had that one down cold.

***

The Brit was a bastard who touched Skye far too freely. Trace could still feel the jealousy coursing through him.

You came back to me.

The hell she had. Skye hadn’t turned to Wolfe when she needed protection.

She’d gone to Trace.

The dancers and the stagehands had been no help. They didn’t remember anything.

Or anyone.

Plenty of fans had come to see Skye, but their faces were a blur in everyone’s memories.

Useless.

So they’d left the dancers and the choreographer who watched Skye with far too much intensity. They’d moved to the second stop on their list.

He’d visited this place before. So many times, when Skye hadn’t even known he was there.
I had to make sure she was all right.

“It’s been a while,” Skye murmured beside him as they strode down the hospital corridor. “And I can’t exactly say I’m happy to be back here.”

The scent of disinfectant filled his nose. Nurses bustled past him.  A family walked down the corridor, carrying flowers and balloons in their hands.

Skye’s doctor was on duty that day. Trace had verified Dr. Mitch Loxley’s rotation schedule before heading to the hospital. He’d also had his men check to see if either Mitch Loxley or Robert Wolfe had taken any recent flights to Chicago.

They hadn’t.

But they could have driven over there. A thirteen-hour drive was doable.

He halted at the nurse’s station. “I need to see Dr. Loxley.” 

The nurse glanced up. Her eyes widened a bit as she stared at Trace, then she smiled.

He’d gotten plenty of smiles like hers over the years. Flirtatious. Interested.

Only he wasn’t interested. Skye was at his side.

When he had her, he didn’t need anyone else.

“He’s on his rounds right now, but is there something I can help you with?” The nurse asked as she rose—and leaned forward, putting her hand on his arm. “I’ll be happy to help you, if you need assistance.”

What he needed was Loxley.

Another of Skye’s lovers.

Shit, but it had been hard not to drive his fist into Wolfe’s pretty-boy face. When the guy kept touching Skye, too much familiarity in that touch…
I wanted to break his hand.

Only Trace wasn’t supposed to be that guy any longer. He was supposed to be the businessman. The success story.

Not the street fighter who wanted to tear into anyone who’d gotten too close to Skye.

“I’m afraid that only Dr. Loxley can help
us,
” he said, pulling Skye close to his side. She’d tensed up when they walked into the hospital. Not that he blamed her, not after what she’d been through. He wanted to question the doctor, then get the hell out of that place with her.