by Cynthia Eden
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 fucking 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?”
“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 assholes. 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�
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 fuck 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.
Trace opened the door.
Alex waited on the other side. He had his badge clipped to his waist. Two uniformed officers were behind him.
No, most people wouldn’t have been able to get past security and get up to the penthouse. But a detective wasn’t most people.
“I-I’m sorry, sir!” A voice called out, and she saw John Ford, the building manager, as he peered around the cops. “I had no choice but to bring them up because they have—”
“A warrant,” Alex finished. He pulled out a folded piece of white paper. “I’ve got a search warrant for your penthouse. So, Weston, step outside and let us do our job.”
***
It wasn’t going to be good. Trace knew the truth, even before the uniforms called for back-up and more techs swarmed his penthouse.
They were tearing his life apart, one piece at a time.
“It’s all right,” Skye said. Alex had given her a chance to dress. A fast few minutes in the bedroom. Trace still wore his pajama pants—is that supposed to bother me, Alex? Cause it doesn’t. Trace didn’t give a damn what he wore or didn’t wear.
Skye was a different matter. If the cops hadn’t given her time to dress, Trace would’ve had every single one of them pulling traffic duty by the end of the day.
But Alex hadn’t hesitated with Skye. She now wore a pair of form fitting yoga pants and a loose top. Her hair was pinned up. She looked beautiful and worried and too good for me.
He didn’t want to lie to her anymore. He wouldn’t. “You know he found something to tie me to Parker’s death already, or else no judge would’ve given him a warrant.” The judges in this town should have been too afraid to issue those warrants under any circumstances.
Milligan. Vermont Milligan. He’d been the judge to issue this warrant, and Trace’s lawyer was out earning his retainer right then as he attempted to figure out just what the hell was happening.
What did Alex find that led him back to me?
But then two of the techs spilled out of the penthouse. They were carrying several clear, plastic bags. Trace saw a few of his shirts in those bags.
Alex exited behind them.
Trace lifted a brow. “Looking for some new apparel, Detective?”
“Actually, I found some recently.” Alex sauntered toward him.
The building manager was huddled in the corner, watching nervously.
Skye was still at Trace’s side.
“I went dumpster diving earlier. Not my favorite sport. Well, technically…” Alex looked over his shoulder. One of the uniformed cops had just come to join them. “It was Officer Coleman here who had the honor of that first retrieval.”
Skye stepped in front of Trace. “Just what are you talking about?”
“We found a shirt—a shirt very similar to the others that Weston owns—thrown in a dumpster a few blocks away from the Parker Jacobs crime scene.”
Sonofabitch.
“The shirt was covered in blood.” Alex’s eyes looked over Skye’s head, at Trace. “Arterial spray will do that, you know. Cover an attacker in his victim’s blood.”
“I didn’t kill Parker,” Trace snapped. “I told you that already.”
“Actually, you told us that you were at your office, working, but your assistant spun a different story. When I interviewed her, Sara Kramer told me that she came into your office, wanting to talk with you, but you weren’t there.”
Trace kept his expression blank.
“She didn’t like turning on her boss, but when I showed her the crime scene photos, when I let her know just what type of man she was dealing with, Sara was fast to tell the truth.” Alex’s gaze flickered down to Skye. “Some women can see the monsters in front of them. Others stay blind.”
Skye reached back and took Trace’s hand. “Trace told you he didn’t kill Parker.”
“And is that what he told you, Skye? Or, when you were alone, did he tell you the truth? Did he tell you a story about how he worried for you? How he just couldn’t keep on knowing that Parker was out there, that he might hurt you?”
Parker would’ve hurt her, but Trace hadn’t killed the bastard. He’d had other plans for Parker. Plans that involved a jail cell.
“Trace didn’t tell me any story about that. He just said that he didn’t do it. I believe him.”
“I don’t.” Flat. “He has no alibi, and I’m betting the bloody shirt we recovered—hell, I could tell it was one of those fancy-ass, too expensive shirts like Weston wears from the first glance.”
“Good for you and your fashion eye,” Trace muttered.
Alex glared at him. “I bet it’s yours. I bet you left your DNA on it. A strand of hair. A drop of your blood that you don’t even remember losing when you were slashing out with that knife. Something will tie back to you.” Alex’s glare gave way to a shark’s smile. “And then you’re done, man. You won’t be on the streets anymore.”
He was supposed to be afraid. Only this cop didn’t scare Trace, not after all he’d seen and done. “I get that you’re trying to do your job, and I even understand why.”
John Ford had crept closer. No doubt, the better to overhear. Trace figured that the building manager’s eyes couldn’t get much bigger before they exploded from his head.
The uniform, Coleman, also leaned toward them.
“I know what happened to your sister,” Trace said.
Alex’s gaze cut to Skye.
“She didn’t tell me. I have a damn security company. I can learn anyone’s secrets, just with the press of a few buttons.”
Fury blazed in Alex’s eyes.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t save her,” Trace said and he meant those words. “But I’m not the bastard who hurt your sister. And no matter how many times you try to put me away, it won’t bring her back.”
Alex stumbled back a step.
���Here’s something else for you to think about,” Trace added, voice low and rumbling. “If I’d wanted Parker Jacobs dead, I could’ve just made the man disappear. No evidence would have ever been left behind. He would’ve vanished in an instant.” Trace snapped his fingers. “Just like that because that is the kind of power I have. A sloppy kill wouldn’t be my style.”
“But you did get sloppy,” Alex snapped. “You screwed up!”
“No.” Skye’s certain voice captured everyone’s immediate attention. “Someone is trying to set him up, don’t you see that?”
A furrow appeared between Alex’s brows. “Why the hell would anyone want to do that? We’re talking about murder here. Two murders.”
“Because he has enemies,” Skye said. “And some men will go to anything in order to get their vengeance.”
The other uniform appeared then. It looked as if the guy had collected every single knife that Trace owned. Seriously? Did Alex truly think he could be such an amateur that he’d kill with his own knives? And Trace had already taken the liberty of ditching the knives he’d taken from Ben.
“I don’t believe you would’ve sent a flunky after Parker,” Alex said, giving a sharp nod to the uniforms. The two men—and the techs—headed for the elevator. John rushed forward to use his keycard for them. “I think, for a job this personal, you wouldn’t mind getting your hands dirty.” Alex’s eyes were narrow slits of suspicion. “That dirt is gonna come back and bite you in the ass. Our lab techs are going to scan all the evidence we’ve got…”
He followed the others.
Skye laced her fingers with Trace. “You’ve got nothing,” she called out.
She sounded so confident.
The elevator doors closed and their uninvited guests were gone.
“Nothing,” Skye whispered as she pushed her hand into the loose pocket on her top. When her fingers came back out, she was holding the dog tags.
And one of those tags would have definitely tested positive for Parker’s blood.
“I took a minute to pick these up as soon as I saw who our guests were.”
Protecting him. Covering for him.
He took the tags from her. It was time he made them vanish. Then Trace cupped her chin in his hands and leaned toward her. “I’ll make this end.”
“No.” Skye was adamant. “We will. We’re in this together, Trace.”
Together.
Because death wasn’t about to part them.
***
When she heard the knock, Sara Kramer hurriedly opened her apartment door. Her lover waited in the hallway, and Sara threw her body against his. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Because she’d been afraid, for hours.
Trace would know that she’d talked to the cops. What would he do?
Fire her, no doubt. But what else? He’d helped her before, when she’d been desperate, and turning on him now seemed so wrong.
“Shh. Easy, my love.” His hands were so gentle on her. He was always gentle. “I told you that I’d take care of you.”
She pressed her face against the front of his shirt. “I don’t think I -->