Afraid. Of me. No matter what he’d said, she’d screamed and pulled away. He’d thought…she doesn’t want me anymore. She can’t handle the darkness in me any longer.
He’d made sure she got to the hospital. He’d forced his way inside to see her, again and again.
Then he’d tried to give her time to heal.
“When you walked into my office a few days ago…” He stepped back and put up his hand to keep the elevator door from closing. “I was so damn stunned. It was all I could do not to run and grab you, to hold you tight.” And never let go.
She was still in the corner.
“I didn’t burn your studio, Skye. I’ve always wanted you to have your dreams. I wouldn’t destroy them.”
Her gaze held his.
He offered his hand to her. “If you love me, you trust me.”
Because that was who she was.
Skye glanced down at his hand.
He didn’t move. This moment was hers.
“I don’t want any secrets between us,” she told him, her voice soft. “Not ever again.”
He didn’t let his expression alter. “Baby, you don’t need to know the things I’ve done.” Sometimes, he wanted to forget them, but his nightmares wouldn’t let him.
She stepped from the corner. Moved toward him. “You’re wrong. I want to know all of you.” Her shoulders squared. “And I want you to know all of me.” She took his hand.
Hell, yes.
Trace pulled her into his arms. Kissed her. He lifted her up, holding her easily. He nearly broke down the door to the penthouse before they got inside.
He didn’t make it past the foyer.
Too frantic. Too desperate.
He needed her.
His clothes still smelled of smoke. The specter of death hovered too close.
He stripped her there. Shed his own clothes in an instant.
He took her against the wall. Driving deep and hard and sinking into the only paradise he’d ever known.
Paradise, with her.
He couldn’t get inside her deep enough. Couldn’t touch her enough. Couldn’t kiss her enough.
With her, Trace knew he could never have his fill. He’d always want more with her. He’d want everything.
She came around him, her delicate inner muscles squeezing hard. Her release brought on his own, and his body shuddered as the pleasure pierced him to his core.
But he didn’t let her go.
Didn’t stop thrusting.
He couldn’t. He was starving, insane with need—for her.
He’d wanted her for ten long years. She was back. No one and nothing would ever take her away from him again.
***
The phone call came just before dawn. Trace threw out his hand, grabbing for his phone.
His first thought…Reese. He’d been told his friend was stable. Be okay, be—
“Weston,” he barked into the phone. If that was the hospital…
“There’s a gentleman in the lobby, sir,” he recognized the voice of John Ford, his building manager. “He’s insisting on seeing you.”
“I don’t take visitors,” he said, rolling from the bed. “Especially not this damn early.” Ford should know better. Skye slept on, undisturbed. “Tell him to get lost—”
“He’s very adamant,” John’s voice was hushed. “He said to tell you…his name’s Mitch Loxley, and the news he has is urgent.”
Loxley.
“Keep him there,” Trace ordered as his gaze slid over Skye once more. That SOB was in town? Right after the fire? “I’m on my way down.”
The sheets pooled around her body. She looked relaxed, at peace.
She’d stay that way.
He grabbed his clothes. Three minutes later, he was dressed and in the lobby.
John turned toward him. Mitch Loxley was at the man’s side. Mitch appeared pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
What the hell does he want?
“Thank you for seeing me,” Mitch began as he ran a hand over his face. “I wasn’t honest with you in New York. There’s…there’s something you need to know.”
***
“Trace?” Skye reached for him when she woke up.
But the bed was empty. The sheets beside her felt cool.
She searched the penthouse.
Trace wasn’t there.
Uneasiness settled within her as she dressed.
Then she slipped from the penthouse and made her way downstairs.
***
Trace’s gaze cut to John. “We need to use your office.” Because he wasn’t taking this guy anywhere near Skye.
John instantly nodded. “Of course! Right this way.”
Trace didn’t speak again, not until he and Mitch were in John’s office. The building manager hurried out of the room, then shut the door, making sure to give them privacy.
Trace crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the doctor. “Your timing is shit, doc.” Especially right after the fire. To be in same city…
“I had to come.” Mitch paced around the small confines of the office. “I needed to tell you—ah, dammit, you have to know the truth about her.”
“I know plenty about Skye.” He didn’t need this guy cluing him in to anything.
“Really?” Mitch spun back around to face him. “Then I suppose you know all about her mother? You know that Skye’s mother was psychotic? Delusional? The car wreck that killed Skye’s parents…her mother caused that wreck. She deliberately killed herself and her husband.”
Trace didn’t let his expression change. “How do you know that?” Trace knew, he’d found the truth long ago, but why had this guy dug into Skye’s past?
“I know because I was worried about her.” Mitch blew out a hard breath. “Skye…she’s too fragile. Too damn breakable.”
“That’s why you f**ked her?” Trace demanded, voice sharp. “Because she’s breakable?”
Mitch flushed. “I thought she needed me. Skye does something to a guy. She makes you think—she made me want to protect her.”
Trace had always wanted to keep her safe.
“But…something’s wrong with her.”
It took all of his strength not to lunge at the doctor.
“I started to suspect the truth, after a few weeks. The things she would say, what she would do…” Mitch’s hands drove into the pockets of his coat. “I talked to the detective up in New York. Fuller. No one pushed Skye’s car off the road. I think she drove it off herself.”