Chapter One
She couldn’t get free. No matter how long or how hard she struggled, Skye couldn’t escape from the handcuffs.
Or from the basement that she knew would be her grave.
The place smelled of blood and death. Fear. Her fear.
Skye’s breath sawed in her lungs. Hunger gnawed at her, twisting her stomach. The darkness was so complete.
She was trapped there. Skye knew that she would die there.
“Weston is dead.” The brutal words came to her in the darkness.
Weston. Trace Weston. Her Trace.
He was gone, and, soon, she would be dying, too.
Because there was no escape from the darkness. Or from the monster that waited there with her.
“Skye! Dammit, wake the f**k up!” Hard hands grabbed her. Shook her.
Tore her right out of the nightmare.
Skye Sullivan’s eyelids flew open. Light surrounded her, flooding from the nearby lamp and spilling onto the rumpled bed.
Trace leaned over her. His hands were wrapped tightly around her upper arms. His blue eyes—so bright that sometimes it almost hurt to look into them—blazed down at her. “You come back to me,” he demanded, his voice a low, deep growl. “You come back now.”
Her heart thudded in a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She couldn’t suck in a breath that was deep enough, and Skye realized that her cheeks were wet with tears.
Because that hadn’t just been a nightmare.
It had been a memory.
Four weeks ago, her ex-lover, Mitch Loxley had kidnapped her. He’d kept her captive in a basement. Starved her. If it hadn’t been for Trace, Skye knew that she would’ve died in that stinking pit.
“I’m back,” she said, but the words were hoarse, as if she’d been screaming.
When Mitch had taken her, she’d screamed for hours. Days? Until her voice broke.
“He can’t hurt you anymore,” Trace said. The faint lines around his eyes tightened as his gaze swept over her face. “Baby, that bastard is rotting in the ground. He won’t hurt anyone.”
Thanks to Trace. Because Trace had killed Mitch.
Memories can’t hurt you.
Lately, that had become her mantra.
Trace bent his head. His lips brushed over her cheek. “I don’t want you crying because of that SOB.”
But she hadn’t been crying for Mitch. She’d been crying because…in that twisted memory, Trace hadn’t come to save her.
Trace had been dead.
She wet her dry lips and stared into his eyes. In one way or another, Trace had been the central point of her life since she’d been fifteen years old.
He’d saved her the first night they met. Her foster brother had been attacking her. Skye had been so certain that no one would hear her cries for help.
Trace had heard her.
Without him, sometimes she feared that she would be lost.
And that scared her to death.
“Make love to me,” she said, the words coming out in that same hoarse, husky tone.
His hold tightened on her.
“I need you,” Skye told him, and it was the truth. Trace was real and strong, and she wanted him to banish the fear that twisted within her.
“Skye…”
Her hands rose up. Her fingers sank into the thickness of his midnight black hair, and she pulled his head toward her. Her lips met his. Open. Hungry. Desperate.
She licked his lips. Licked his tongue.
They were in bed. She was naked, tangled in the sheets. She needed—
“I’ll give you anything you want, you know that,” Trace said, biting off the words against her lips. Then he yanked the sheets away from her. Flesh met flesh. He was warm and hard, his body strong with muscles, and he was alive.
His fingers slid down her body. Parted her legs. His fingers stroked her. Eased up and—
“No.” Skye was surprised by the clipped denial that broke from her, but she wasn’t looking for seduction.
She needed pleasure. Release. Fast. Hard.
His jaw tensed.
“You,” Skye whispered. “I need to feel you.”
Her hands curved around his shoulders. Her short nails raked over his flesh. Down, down she went. Her hand slid around his sides, pushed across his rock-hard abs.
Then she was touching his cock. Heavy and full, thrusting toward her. “I don’t want to wait,” Skye said as she stroked him. “I need you, now.”
“You’re not ready, Skye.” His words were a rumble.
“Yes, I am.” She arched toward him. “Trace, please!” She tried to urge him toward her, but Trace was too strong, and he pulled back.
Her heart stopped then.
“Not like this,” he said, the words hard and sharp and—
He kissed her. Deep and long even as he caressed the center of her need. She pushed against him. Because she didn’t want to go slow. She needed fast. One hundred miles an hour. Too fast to think. Too fast to do anything but feel—
He thrust a finger into her. Stretched her.
Not enough. Not even close.
His mouth trailed down her neck. He kissed her throat. Licked her sensitive flesh.
His fingers kept stroking her. Desire built, pulsing through her. But the desire wasn’t enough. It wasn’t going to be enough, not until he was in her. Skye arched toward him. Her legs wrapped around his hips.
But Trace’s hands caught her legs and pushed them back down.
No, she wanted him.
Trace slid down—
And he put his mouth on her.
Pleasure came then, surging through her and a moan broke from her lips.
“Much f**king better,” Trace growled. “Now, we do this.”
He positioned his body and drove into her. Deep. So deep. She stared into his eyes, those bright, glittering eyes. Stared right into that blue even as the bed shook beneath her. He thrust, again and again. Harder.
There was no more thinking. Only feeling.
Meeting him. Thrust for thrust.
Sweat slickened their bodies.
She couldn’t look away from his gaze.
His hands had locked around her hips. He lifted her up, holding her easily, as he thrust. Every muscle in her body tightened. She was so close to release. So close—
Pleasure exploded. The release burst over her with an impact that took her breath away. She shuddered and quaked, and he was there. Trace stiffened against her. Held her even tighter. The hot surge of his release filled her.
Alive.
Tremors shook her sex. Shook her.