Skye’s eyes flew open. “Trace—”
He kissed her again. Her lips had parted, and he was able to easily slide his tongue right into her mouth. “Do you remember the first time we made love on this plane?”
She gave a little gasp at that question, and he drank it up greedily.
Then his mouth moved down to her neck. He knew she liked it when he licked her there. “You surprised the hell out of me then. And I’ve been wanting to return the favor.”
“Trace?”
Lucky for him, she was wearing a skirt. He pulled up the loose fabric of her skirt, edging higher and higher. And her thigh highs. Fuck, yes. His fingers slid up her thighs and found the silk of her panties. “This time, it’s my turn,” he said.
She arched against him.
“I get to give you pleasure,” he told her, “and I get to make you forget all about your fear.” His fingers slid under the edge of her panties. He found her sweet flesh—warm and wet. He stroked her, loving the way her breath caught in her throat, and she tipped her hips toward him.
Skye’s response always made him hot.
Made him want to take her endlessly.
He pulled her panties down. Thrust his index finger into her.
“Trace…”
“I don’t want you to be afraid. I don’t want you to feel anything but pleasure.” Because he hated it when her green eyes shone with fear.
He pushed a second finger into her. Her teeth sank into her lower lip. His thumb began to massage her clit, rotating in slow circles.
He licked her throat again. Bit her lightly.
Withdrew his fingers. Thrust. Again.
Worked her clit.
“Trace!”
Her body was tight against him. So damn tight. He loved it. He wanted nothing more than to drive into her as deeply as he could go.
And that was why he didn’t.
This is just for Skye. She needed to know that he could put her first.
She came with a gasp. Her inner muscles clenched around his fingers as she rode out her orgasm. So beautiful.
So perfect.
His Skye.
He held her while she shuddered. Then he slowly withdrew his fingers. Positioned her skirt once more.
Kissed her soft lips again.
Her hand grabbed his forearm. “Trace, you didn’t—”
“I’m a selfish bastard most days. Hell, we both know that.”
“No,” she said quietly, with certainty, “you’re not.”
But Trace knew the truth. “I am with you. I see you, and all I want to do is take.” His heart raced in his chest. “So this time, this once, just let me give.” He had to look away from her because while he was talking a good game…
I want in her.
“Do you want to know how I see you?”
Trace nodded.
“I see a man who is sexy as sin. He’s strong and he’s powerful, and sometimes, he drives me absolutely crazy because he tries to control everything.”
Trace winced.
“But he’s the man who’s saved me—twice—in my life. He was the first man to give me flowers. The only man to ask me to marry him. He’s the man right there beside me when my nightmares come to haunt me.”
She was the only woman he’d ever dreamed about.
“So don’t talk about him as if he’s a selfish SOB. I can do that,” Skye said, her voice rough. “But no one else gets to say a word about him, got it? No one, not even you.”
His lips curved. His gaze came back to her. The lust was still there, always there, but so was something else. “I love you, Skye.”
She smiled at him. “I know.”
***
Weston was out hunting. The guy thought he was such a security expert. That he could catch any criminal. That he could save the day.
Too late.
There wasn’t going to be anything left for him to save this time.
Weston’s empire would crumble. So would he.
One loss, for another.
The killer gazed across the street and up at the lights that burned on the second level of Skye Sullivan’s dance studio.
Sara Kramer’s sister was there. He knew that.
Just as he knew everything.
Did the sister know about him? Sara and Claire had been so close, and they’d talked frequently. When the grief eased, would Claire remember some half-forgotten conversation?
Will she remember me?
It was a chance he couldn’t take. Claire shouldn’t have come to town. Sara hadn’t told him about her sister’s arrival.
If she had, he would’ve planned his attack better.
Too late for regrets.
Claire was in the game now.
Until death.
***
The plane touched down on the runway. A small, narrow patch of concrete in the middle of Piedmont, Texas.
The town was a dot on the map. Tucker had talked often of the place. He’d said that it let him breathe. That he could see for miles and miles there.
That the place made him feel free.
Trace walked away from the plane, his hand locked with Skye’s. He’d come to this town because he needed to see one person. A phone call wouldn’t have done the job.
The light of dawn rose on the horizon. Trace climbed into the rental vehicle that waited. Arranging for the SUV had been easy enough.
The meeting that was coming?
Not so damn easy.
“I know you have a plan,” Skye said.
He did.
“Want to share it with me?”
He drove away from the little landing strip. He’d been in Piedmont twice before. Once with Tucker.
Once when he’d come to bury Tucker. Only…Tucker hadn’t been in that empty grave. It had just been a ceremony. A headstone with no casket in the ground.
“Tucker’s father still lives in the area. I have some more questions for him.” Because if Tucker truly had somehow made it out of that frozen hell, he would’ve come home. Tucker had been so close to his father.
“Did you tell his father you were coming?”
Trace shook his head. “He doesn’t exactly like me, Skye. The man blames me for his son’s death.” His fingers tightened around the wheel. “With damn good reason.” But Quint Hawk just thought Trace hadn’t done a good enough job of covering Tucker’s ass on the mission.
He didn’t realize that Trace had been the one to fire the shot that ended Tucker’s life.
They rode in silence. The miles drifted past. They turned off the pavement and fish-tailed down a long, dusty dirt road. The road ended in front of a ranch house. Two dogs ran out to meet them, barking excitedly.