Skye went with a black dress. You can’t go wrong with black, right? The dress was a form fitting bit of silk that clung to her like a second skin. The front collar scooped around her br**sts and the back—well, there wasn’t a back. It plunged to the base of her spine, then the skirt fell, swirling around her feet.
She’d worn the dress once before, to a post-dance party after she performed as a particularly wicked witch. She’d thought the dress fit her character.
Daring. Dark.
Skye stared at her reflection in the mirror as she secured the diamonds. They were still cold against her skin.
Cold and glittering.
A fortune.
She didn’t want to wear them.
But she did, for Trace.
The floor squeaked behind her. She turned at once, and her gaze caught his.
He was dressed in a black tux. One that made his shoulders look even wider. One that she knew had been cut just for him.
She stared at him and thought of sex. Temptation.
Because he looked good enough to eat.
“Have I ever told you…” Trace asked as his gaze glided over her. “That you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen?”
He was lying. She knew she wasn’t the most beautiful. She’d followed his exploits over the years. The man had kept company with supermodels. She was too thin, her br**sts were too small. Her chin too pointed. She was—
He sighed. “Skye, what have I told you about leaving me?”
She blinked at him.
He was right in front of her. The guy sure moved fast.
“Be with me,” he ordered.
“I am.” Inches away.
“And believe me when I tell you…to me, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Her breath slid out in a soft sigh. She believed him.
Skye smiled up at him. Fear had been trying to take root inside of her, but it vanished, drifting right away.
Trace reached for her hand. He lifted it up, and the diamond on her finger gleamed in the light. “Everyone will know you’re mine.”
“I’ve been yours since I was fifteen.” The truth was there between them. They had no room for pretense. “I just had to wait for us to be together again.”
She saw the flare of longing in his eyes. “You make me want to tell the rest of the world to screw off.” He kissed her knuckles. Lightly licked the skin.
A hot spike of arousal fired her blood. “We have to go, but we don’t have to stay there forever,” she whispered back.
He smiled. Such a gorgeous, sexy smile. “I’ve been yours, too,” he told her, voice rumbling. “Since the moment I first heard you call for me. You got to me, when no one else could.” Then he eased back. His gaze swept her once more. “Every man in the room will want you.”
She doubted that. “You’re the only man I’ll leave with.”
“Always,” he said.
Skye nodded.
Always.
***
A sea of reporters greeted them the instant the limo’s doors opened. Reese hadn’t driven them, not to this event. A posh limo escorted Skye and Trace toward Chicago’s Magnificent Mile and deposited them right at the red carpet that led to the entrance of the illustrious Bartley Hotel, an icon that had been in the city since the early 1930s.
Trace exited first. She heard the reporters shout his name.
He ignored them and turned back toward her. Bending, he offered Skye his hand.
She put one high-heeled foot out. Then the other.
When she rose, there was a moment of silence. Perfect, complete silence.
Then the questions exploded.
“Skye! Skye Sullivan! Can you confirm the rumors that you and Trace Weston are planning to marry?”
She thought her ring confirmed that rumor.
“Ms. Sullivan! Is it true that you’ve been offered a spot as lead in Robert Wolfe’s next ballet?”
That question made her falter. Robert had been her choreographer for years when she danced in New York. When it came to the top echelon of the New York ballet, Robert was the man in charge.
Skye found herself shaking her head. There was no return for her. Robert certainly hadn’t come to ask—
“Is it true that you were in a mental facility for the last three weeks because you had a breakdown?”
Skye stiffened.
“Fuck,” Trace growled in her ear. “Ignore them. Put on your killer smile and lift your head up, baby. Walk like they don’t matter. They don’t. You matter. Only you.”
He was wrong.
Skye turned to the reporter. A curvy blonde with hard eyes.
“I didn’t break down,” Skye told her simply. “I survived.”
And she walked away. With her head up. With a false smile on her lips. She took the steps past the swarm of reporters, and then she and Trace were heading into the Bartley.
Guards were stationed at the doors, and they made absolutely sure that the reporters didn’t follow Skye and Trace inside.
Her heels tapped on the gleaming marble floor. From overhead, glittering chandeliers poured light down on her.
The other ball attendees headed forward, moving and laughing easily. They’d enjoyed their time in the limelight. Skye hadn’t. She didn’t care about photo opportunities or getting her name in the papers. If she had her way, she’d prefer to never see another paper or magazine with her face splashed on the cover.
Breakdown. Thanks, bitch.
Trace wrapped his hand around Skye’s waist. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”
She blinked. Glanced up at him.
“For a minute there, I was sure you were going to tell the blonde to f**k off.”
Her lips twitched. The laughter escaped her, before she could even think to stop it. A light, quick bubble of sound.
Trace’s face froze. “There it is,” he rasped.
And he kissed her. A deep, sensual kiss that made her knees jiggle.
“Well, well…I guess this is how the mighty fall.”
Skye pulled away from Trace with a little gasp, but he didn’t let her go far. He kept a hold on her wrist as they both turned to face the man who’d closed in on them.
Tall, muscled, with wide shoulders that stretched the perfectly tailored tux he wore, the man stood just a few feet away. His hair was dark, nearly the same shade as Trace’s, and his eyes were a burning, deep gold.
Those eyes were on Skye, assessing her with a fierce intensity. “The reporters could see the kiss, you know,” the man murmured. There was a faint accent in his voice. Texas? “But maybe that was the point, right, Trace?” And his gaze trekked to Trace. “To stake the claim in front of them all. In case any of the blind fools missed the giant rock on her finger.”