Right there, on that dance floor, with that too-loud music and the hot press of bodies, she broke him.

His hands tunneled in her hair. He tipped her head back. "I'm not, baby. I'm not." He kissed her. Hard and deep and desperately.

Skye had kept him sane for years, and she didn't even know it. Skye had made life worth living for him.

She thought he'd hurt her? Terrorize her?

No. h.e.l.l, no.

"Trust me," he breathed the words against her lips. "It's not me."

He needed to get her out of that club. To some place quiet so that they could talk.

He could explain then.

She stared up at him. "I love you."

The words were a punch to his chest.

"I never stopped," she said, lips trembling. "I couldn't."

To Skye, love was trust. He knew that. Because he knew her.

He pulled her close-and he got her the h.e.l.l out of that club.

"She's leaving," Carol said into her phone as she watched Skye rush out of the club. "And she's not alone." Carol straightened in her seat. "Wow, wait-wasn't he supposed to be in jail?" Because that guy holding Skye Sullivan's hand sure looked like Trace Weston to her.

The man was pretty unmistakable.

She thought the couple would head back toward Skye's apartment. They didn't. Weston bundled her up in his black Jag and he raced away with her moments later.

The guy never glanced Carol's way. He'd been focused only on Skye.

Carol listened to her orders as her hold tightened on the phone. "On it, sir." She tossed her phone to the side and cranked up her vehicle.

She was supposed to keep her eyes on Skye Sullivan.

That was exactly what she'd do.

The elevator doors slid closed behind Trace, and he was finally able to take a deep breath as they headed up to his penthouse.

Vanilla. Skye's scent wrapped around him.

He glanced at her. She'd retreated to the back corner of the elevator. The walls were mirrored, and his stark reflection stared back at him.

He looked too dangerous. Too wild.

Story of his life.

"Why were you in New York those times?" Skye asked him.

The elevator silently rose.

He closed the distance between them. Didn't touch her. Instead, he put his hands on the mirror, positioning them on either side of Skye's shoulders. "Because I had to see you."

"Y-you could have told me. Called me-"

"Have you ever wanted something so badly..." Trace whispered as he bent his head, "that you couldn't think about anything else? All you feel is need. An endless desire that churns through you."

She gave a little nod. "That's how I feel...for you."

She was exposing her soul for him. He could do no less for her.

"And that's the way I feel for you," Trace told her. "Nothing else matters. Just you."

The elevator kept rising.

"When you were eighteen, you had your dreams. Your dancing." She'd wanted her stage so badly. "For once, once, I did the right thing."

Her scent was making him light-headed.

"I let you go," he rasped. "It tore my heart out, but I let you go because I wanted you to be happy."

She shook her head. "Trace-"

"I had nothing to offer you. Barely two hundred bucks to my name. And you were amazing. f.u.c.king amazing. I'd seen you dance, so many times. I knew that you'd light up those stages." He wanted her mouth beneath his. "But I also knew...you'd give all of that up, for me, in an instant."

Because, at eighteen, she'd loved him.

Skye's love had been real and wonderful and so pure. No hesitations. No limits.

Her love had been the most precious thing in his life.

She had been the most precious thing. And because he did love her, he'd tried, for once-not to be a selfish b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

"I didn't want you giving up anything for me. So I told you I was done. That I wanted out." When he'd just wanted her. "I hurt you." f.u.c.k, that knowledge still tore him up. "And even as I did it, I swore to myself that I would never hurt you again."

The elevator had stopped.

"I wanted you to have your dreams. I stepped back. And I pushed you away." Then he'd gone out and clawed his way to the top. Done anything necessary to make a success of his life.

For her.

In case she ever came back to him. In case she ever gave him a second chance.

"I kept thinking you'd find someone else. Some nice, safe guy. Have a family." But she hadn't. "The years pa.s.sed, and I...I had to see you. Just to make sure you were all right. Just to...fill the f.u.c.king hole in my chest from where my heart used to be."

The elevator doors opened.

"I saw you dance," he said, staring into her eyes, "and I remembered what it was like to be loved by you. To be happy."

Her lips parted. "That night..."

"I didn't cause the crash. I was...dammit, I was waiting at your place for you. I'd decided that I was going to talk to you that night. To see if you still felt anything for me." But the hours had pa.s.sed, and she hadn't appeared. He'd gone looking for her.

And found the wreckage.

"You were awake when I found you," he said. Awake but...

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 d.a.m.n 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.

h.e.l.l, 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 d.a.m.n 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 h.e.l.l does he want?