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**k-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.
Skye was stronger than most people realized.
Her arms reached for him.
He held her tight and knew that he couldn’t let her go.
***
Ben Sharpe hunched his shoulders as he turned and hurried into the alley.
He knew he was being followed. He’d known for a while now.
Death was coming. Stalking him with slow, certain steps.
He had a debt to repay before he died. His father had always taught him that a man had to pay his debts.
One way or another.
He owed Trace Weston. He’d pay him.
Warn him.
The faintest shuffle of a footstep reached Ben’s ears. His gaze flew to the mouth of the alley.
Death had been after him for years now.
After him. After Trace.
You could only run for so long.
The faint shuffle came again.
Before the past catches you…
His fingers curled around the knife that he always kept close. Death wasn’t going to have an easy time taking him.
He planned to fight for every moment that he had left.
And if he had to, he’d kill to keep living.
He knew how to kill. He was good at it.
Thanks to Weston.
And I’ll repay that debt…
Even if it was the last f**king thing he did.
Chapter Two
The limo pulled to a slow stop in front of the Chicago high-rise. The building stretched so far up that it seemed to blend with the clouds.
Skye glanced at Trace. “You just assumed we’d be going back to your place?”
He put down the papers he’d been reading. Some thick manila file. His gaze locked on her. “I want you to move in with me.”
She tried to keep her face expressionless. “And this is how you ask me? We were on a white sand beach for days, and you couldn’t find some nice, romantic moment there to—”
“I suck at romance, Skye.” He heaved out a hard breath and reached for her hand. His fingers smoothed over the big, gleaming diamond that she wore on her left hand. His ring.
He’d asked her to marry him after he’d saved her from Mitch. He’d never said they would move in together before they got married.
“Skye, look, we probably only have ten seconds before Reese opens that door and—”
They had less than five seconds. There was a soft click of sound, and Reese opened the door.
“His timing is shit,” Trace muttered, sounding disgusted.
Skye climbed from the car. Reese was frowning at her, more than a hint of concern on his face. Reese’s face was just as hard as Trace’s—maybe even harder. All angles and rough planes. Reese’s hair was cut brutally short, and his dark eyes glinted. “Is there a problem?”
Skye looked up at the high-rise once more. Trace’s penthouse waited all the way at the very top.
He’d sure come a long way in the last ten years. Once, they’d both barely had enough money for food. For clothes.
Now, it seemed that Trace could buy the whole world.
Is he trying to buy me? Sometimes she wondered if that could be the case. She was highly conscious of the weight of her ring around her finger.
“Have the doorman get the bags, Reese,” Trace directed as he exited the vehicle.
But Skye put her hand out, stopping Reese. “Not yet.” Because their living arrangements weren’t settled. She straightened her shoulders. There was something about this city that got to Skye. Chicago was home for her. The noise. The people. The activity.