“Tell me their names.”
She glanced over at Trace. “They’re not even in the city, okay?”
There was only one ex-lover for her in Chicago, and he was sitting far too close and taking up far too much room in the vehicle.
One dark brow rose. “It’s not hard to hop a flight or a train to Chicago.”
No, it wasn’t.
Rain began to fall, splattering against the window. Her shoulders stiffened. Fine, if he wanted the list, she’d give it to him. In all its short and sweet beauty. “Robert Wolfe. He was…he was a choreographer that I met years ago.” Brilliant. Determined. Way too exacting.
“Who else.”
The impatience in his tone grated. It wasn’t like she had a four page list. I bet he does. “Evan Meadows, he’s an actor.” One who’d made it pretty big recently. “But he’s in California now so I don’t see how he could possibly—”
“Keep going, Skye.” His voice was clipped.
There wasn’t very far that she could go. “Mitch Loxley.”
The car’s interior got very, very quiet.
“Say the name again,” Trace growled.
“Why? You heard me the first time.” She glanced out the window once more. A frown pulled her brows low. This definitely wasn’t the way to the penthouse.
“You slept with your doctor?” Trace demanded. His voice was low and cold.
Sometimes, he did that. When he was angry, his voice would drop to that lethal softness.
“He wasn’t my doctor at the time.” She’d been so alone, and Mitch had been the only one there for her. Always smiling. Coming by with doughnuts and flowers.
One night, drinks had led to something…more.
“Why aren’t you with him now?”
“Because I couldn’t stay in New York.” Her lease had been up, and she hadn’t had the cash to renew it, not after all her medical bills. Insurance had only stretched so far.
“The f**king doctor…”
Her head snapped toward him. “Look, who I’ve been with shouldn’t matter—”
“It matters to me.” Gritted. “It matters a great deal.”
She would never figure him out. “You’ve been screwing your way through every model or actress you could find, so don’t act like some ex-lover I had does something to you. We both know I made your ancient history list a long time ago.”
He leaned toward her. In the darkened interior of the vehicle, she wished that she could see his expression. But he was still hidden by shadows. “It does something,” he said. “It makes me f**king furious.”
“Trace?”
His hand slid over her cheek. “I want you to forget them. I want to take you to bed, and I want to wipe away every memory you have of them all.”
She couldn’t take a deep enough breath. “We’re over, Trace. You know—”
“How can we be over, when I still want you so much?” His hand slid down her cheek, down her jaw, then down to the column of her throat. His fingers splayed over her neck, lightly touching the pulse that raced frantically beneath her skin. “And how can we be over, when you still want me so much?”
Because he’d ruined her for other men. It was a sad and humiliating fact. The sex had been good with the others, but with Trace…
I was always comparing. How had that been fair? Maybe that was why Robert and Evan had ended things. They’d told her—both of them—that she wouldn’t let them get close. That she put up a wall to keep them out of her life.
After Trace, she’d needed that wall. Because she hadn’t ever wanted to hurt that much again.
When he left me, I felt broken. It had taken too long for her to put the pieces of her life back together.
“If I’m wrong, tell me now.” Trace’s hand seemed to singe her skin. “Tell me to back the hell off, and I will. I won’t push for something you’re not willing to give. I want all of you. All or nothing.”
Wasn’t that the way it had worked between them before? She had given everything to him.
What had Trace given?
The car stopped.
“All or nothing, Skye. Make the choice.”
Then he pulled away from her. Shoved open his door.
She sucked in some much needed air. A frantic glance to the left made her realize—definitely not the penthouse.
Her door opened. Only Reese wasn’t standing there, holding said door. Trace was.
She scrambled out. “What are we doing here?”
And here was—the airport?
“Taking a flight. My jet’s waiting.”
He had a jet? Right, of course, the mega-wealthy guy he’d become would have his own jet.
Skye didn’t step away from the car. “Where are we going?” Why was this like pulling teeth with him? “I have my studio opening, I can’t just—”
“You want this SOB caught, don’t you? Well, to do that, we need to head back to the beginning. If he started following you in New York, then we can try to learn more about him there.”
He seriously thought she was just going to jump on a flight to New York? Right then? “I’m not going to—”
“You can make the people in that city talk to me. The dancers, your old neighbors. By you being with me, they’ll share more. Maybe someone saw something. Maybe someone saw him.” His fingers still gripped the door. “I need you to come with me. We’ll be back before the studio opens, I promise you that.”
Once upon a time, she’d loved New York.
But she’d run from it, so desperate to get away.
Only…now she wondered…had she been running from the city? Or from the man who’d been after her? The dark shadow that seemed to stalk her, with every step she took?
Before the accident, she’d started to become so nervous. Jumping at the slightest noise. She hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that her actions were being monitored. Watched. Always watched.
And he’d been in her home. She knew he had broken inside, even though there had been no indication of a forced entry.
“Let’s end this,” Trace urged her. “Come with me to New York. Let me do the job that I know how to do. I’ll find him, and I will stop him.”
She glanced toward the waiting airport. A plane had just taken off, and the rumble of its engines filled the air. “All right. I’ll come with you.”
Reese slammed the trunk. Her head jerked toward him, and she saw that he was carrying two bags. One bag had to belong to Trace, but the other bag—