Mine to Keep (Mine #2)(3)

He’d jerked on a pair of jeans and then followed Skye out onto the balcony. He stood now, watching her as she walked along the shore. The waves crashed against her feet.

Skye. His beautiful, lost Skye.

The nightmares weren’t stopping, and the pain in her green eyes seemed to be getting worse with each passing day.

The trip to the Keys had been designed to heal her wounds.

Not make them worse.

“Boss, you’re not going to believe who dropped by for a little visit today.” Reese’s voice flowed easily over the line.

Trace kept his eyes on Skye. Was she going into the water?

“Ben Sharpe was here, looking for you.”

A hard breath blew from Trace. The name was from his past, a blood-soaked past that he’d tried to bury. “What the hell did he want?”

“The guy said he had a message. One that he could only give to you.”

Figured.

“But, there was…there was something about his eyes…” Now hesitation had entered Reese’s voice, and that in itself was damn unusual. “The man’s been unstable for years, hell, I know that, but this was different.”

Trace didn’t take his eyes off Skye. Her scent was on him. She’d marked him in ways that went far beneath the skin.

“He was afraid,” Reese added. “Terrified.”

“Everyone is afraid of something,” Trace murmured. He’d learned to fear recently. Before, he tried to fool himself into thinking that he was invulnerable.

Then a bastard had tried to take Skye from him.

No one takes her.

She’d waded into the water. She looked so small out there.

And her robe was getting soaked.

“He came to the penthouse,” Reese told him, “not the security agency.”

Weston Securities wasn’t just an agency. It was the biggest private security firm in the United States. Trace had built it with blood and sweat. And with the aid of secrets. So many deadly secrets.

“Tell me you have a man on him,” Trace said. Because Reese would understand how important—and volatile—Ben could be.

Reese had been in hell with Trace. They’d both survived.

As had Ben…

Well, Ben had mostly survived.

The waves crashed into Skye. She stumbled.

Trace surged forward.

“Yeah, a guy’s on him,” Reese said, sounding annoyed now. “Jeez, boss, what do you think this is? Amateur hour? I’m calling because I thought you’d want to know. I thought this news might make you get your ass off that island. You have to come back home sooner or later.”

Yes, he did.

He’d let Skye hide long enough.

The nightmares aren’t going away. This place doesn’t make her feel any safer.

“We’ll be coming back on the jet tomorrow.”

Reese’s breath rustled over the line. “Good. Good, but…is she…okay?”

The waves crashed into her again. This time, Skye didn’t stumble. She stood strong. “She’s not going to break.” Because he wouldn’t let her.

I need her too much.

“Make sure the guards are in place,” Trace directed. Because he wouldn’t be taking any chances.

“They’re ready and waiting.”

Good. Trace ended the call. He tossed his phone onto the hammock near the edge of the balcony, then he hurried down the wooden steps that would take him to the beach and to her.

She didn’t turn at his approach. Trace wasn’t even sure that Skye could hear him, not over the rough pounding of the surf.

Her long, dark hair trailed over her back. Her hands were lifted up, as if she’d touch the waves. Her body was delicate, lithe, a true dancer’s body, but she’d become too fragile since her abduction.

“Skye.”

She didn’t look back.

He followed her into the surf, not caring that his jeans got soaked, but he did say, “Baby, you’re getting your robe wet, you—”

She glanced over her shoulder at him.

The moonlight fell on her face. Her high cheekbones. The gentle curve of her jaw. The straight line of her nose.

Her f*ck-me lips.

The woman had a mouth that always made him think of sin. A mouth that made him need.

Her stare held his. It was too dark for him to see the green color of her eyes or to read any emotion in her gaze.

“We’re going home, aren’t we?” Skye asked.

Home. Back to Chicago. He nodded.

“Then let’s go out in style,” she said, and she slipped off the robe.

“Skye—”

She tossed the robe toward him. He caught it, his hands flying up in a reflexive action.

Skye’s laughter teased his ears. He loved that sound. Happy. Free. She hadn’t sounded that way in so long.

His fingers fisted in the robe.

Naked now, Skye dove into the waves.

He tossed the robe onto the beach behind him.

“Come and get me…” Her words taunted him when she broke through the surface of the water.

That was exactly what he planned to do.

Trace stalked into the water.

She won’t break.

Her laughter reached him once more, banishing the chill that had crept over him when he’d awoken to the sound of her screams.