Her legs were parted. His hips pushed against her sex, and it was good. So good.

He’d make it better. She knew he would.

“That’s what I’m doing tonight, baby,” the words rumbled against her lips. “I’m tasting, and I’m taking…everything.”

He lifted her hands above her head. Switched his hold so that just one of his hands imprisoned hers. Then his left hand snaked down her body.

Her bra was tossed across the room.

The cool air hit her nipples, making them go even tighter.

Then his mouth was on her. His mouth wasn’t cool. It was hot. Seeming to singe her and the rasp of his tongue against her nipples felt so good.

She was wet. She could feel the wetness on her panties, and Skye wanted them gone. She wanted Trace thrusting into her—

“I’ll let your hands go, but don’t move them. I get to touch. I get to taste.” His hands eased away from hers. “I get to take.”

She would be taking her pleasure, too. Trace liked to be in control in the bedroom, dominant, compelling and—

He was kissing his way down her body. His dark stubble pressed into her stomach. His tongue licked over her skin.

His fingers slid under the edge of her panties. “Fuck, yes,” he muttered. “Wet for me.”

She didn’t want to wait any longer. “Trace, now.”

“No.” He pulled the panties down her legs. Then his fingers slid up her thighs. Teased. Tormented her. “I’ve waited too long. I told you, I get to taste and take.”

Everything.

Her hands balled into fists so that she wouldn’t reach out to him.

It’s just sex. It’s just sex. The mantra flew through her head as her heart raced. She had to focus on the present, not the past. Everything got so tangled up when she was with him.

This wasn’t about love.

Sex. Pleasure.

His fingers slid between her legs. Pushed between the folds of her sex. Into her.

She arched off the bed. His thumb rubbed over her clit even as he thrust two fingers into her.

More. “Trace…” Skye could barely gasp out his name.

“You’re so gorgeous like this…” His words were dark, deep. “Flushed, open, ready for me…only me.”

His hands withdrew. No, dammit, she’d been close.

“Say it’s only me, Skye.”

Her lashes lifted. She didn’t even remember closing her eyes.

“Say it.” His mouth lowered to her sex. His lips pressed against her, and if his hands hadn’t moved to hold her hips against the mattress, she would have leapt off the bed at the first, electric touch of his tongue against her sex.

Pleasure beat at her as he tasted her. Her body twisted against the mattress. She wasn’t trying to get away from him. Skye wanted to get closer. Her fingers splayed wide, then grabbed the thick covers, bunching them in her fists.

Release was near, so near—

“Tell me, Skye,” he demanded. A dark note had entered his voice. One that should have made her hesitate. Possessive… fierce… “Only me.”

She hovered on the brink of release. “Trace, I need more—“

“I’ll give you every fucking thing.”

A zipper hissed down. He lowered his body against hers.

He thrust into her.

Not easy. Not tentative.

He drove deep, filling her completely, and she stopped being on the brink. Pleasure flooded through her. She gasped as her heart raced, seeming to pound right out of her chest. Her whole body tightened as that release swept over her. So good…so perfect…on and on and on.

Trace kept thrusting. He grabbed her legs. Lifted them higher. Made her take more and more until she was frantic because another release was coming. She was hollowed out from the first one, but he was pushing the second wave on her, and she screamed this time, a broken yell because the pleasure hit her so hard.

Then he came. A hard, hot jet inside of her. “Only…” he growled.

She didn’t hear the rest of what he said. Her racing heartbeat drowned out the words, but she knew.

Only me.

Trace shuddered against her. He’d come, she’d felt that release, but he kept thrusting.

The pleasure didn’t end.

She’d never felt this way with anyone else. Never wanted and wanted and had her whole body explode with pleasure, one shattering climax after the other.

No one else.

Only Trace.

She hadn’t given him the words. But then, she didn’t need to.

He already knew.

Only me.

***

Rehearsal was always a chaotic time. Dancers swirled around the stage. Choreographers jumped in, corrected, advised. The director was there, shouting orders in the background.

It seemed both incredibly familiar and oddly foreign as Skye stood in the shadows, watching everyone else. It was barely past seven a.m., but, of course the dancers were working. By this time, they would have been working for at least two hours.

Sweating. Flying. Dancing until their muscles trembled.

This had been her life.

Without it, she’d been lost.

“Skye?” She recognized that voice, with its faint English accent. She’d known that Robert Wolfe would be there—since he was the lead choreographer, he had to be there. And Trace had been determined to question Robert. But…

Robert isn’t doing this to me.

She didn’t want to suspect him.

She turned at his call, her shoulder brushing against Trace’s. They hadn’t spoken much that morning. She’d felt too raw, too overexposed after last night.

Just how fast did you tumble into bed with him? The question whispered through her mind. The answer? Fast. Very. Very fast.

A broad smile split Robert’s handsome face as he hurried toward her. He was sweating, the shine gleaming on him, because he’d been working with the dancers. He rushed toward her and wrapped her in a tight hug, sweat and all.

“I knew you’d come back,” Robert said as he squeezed her even tighter. “You just needed time. You just—”

“I-I’m not here to dance.”

He stopped squeezing her. Robert pulled back, but didn’t release her. He stared down at her, a faint line between his perfect brows.

Robert was tall, with a strong dancer’s body. His blond hair was brushed away from the strong planes of his face, and his tanned skin gleamed under the lights.

“You can let her go now,” Trace ordered him. But then Trace didn’t wait for Robert to comply. He pulled the other man away from Skye.

“Jeez, Skye, picked a jealous lover, eh?”

She could feel the blush on her cheeks. Skye cleared her throat. “We…we need to talk. Somewhere private.”

Robert’s face hardened. “Something’s wrong.”

Something had been wrong, for a very long time.

“The dressing rooms.” He motioned toward the right. “While everyone’s rehearsing, they’re empty.”

She knew the way, so Skye started walking first. She’d only taken a few steps when she realized exactly what Robert was doing.

He was watching her walk. No, more specifically, he was watching her leg. Dammit, had she limped? She didn’t want to limp in front of him. She didn’t like to limp in front of anyone. But especially Robert. He’d trained her for so long. Told her that she was the best dancer he’d ever seen.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

Skye straightened her shoulders. Slowed her stride.

A few moments later, they were in her old dressing room. Memories were everywhere in that room. She’d been so excited when she came in after a performance. So—

“You look…familiar to me,” Robert said as he closed the door and let his gaze focus on Trace.

“He’s Trace Weston,” Skye said, waving her hand toward him. “You’ve probably seen his picture in the paper.”

Robert gave a little whistle. “Right. I have seen you.” The whistle was more mocking than anything else. Robert didn’t look impressed. But then, if you weren’t talking about dancing, Robert normally wasn’t impressed.

His golden gaze turned back to her. “I want you to dance for me again.”

Skye tensed. She’d been afraid that he’d go right back to that.

Before she could reply, Trace put his body between them. “Have you been to Chicago recently, Wolfe?”

“Chicago? No, no, of course not.” His British accent tightened the words. “I’ve been here, for the last bloody month. Trying to make those dancers out there half as good as Skye…” He stepped around Trace. Smiled at Skye. “Have you ever seen her dance?” Robert asked Trace. His eyes didn’t leave Skye’s face. “It’s the most fucking beautiful thing in the world.”

“I’ve seen her,” Trace’s voice was clipped.

Trace had seen her long ago. In a different lifetime. When he’d taken her to the community center. Stayed to watch her practice. She’d gotten much better than the way she’d been then.

Well, she had been better.

“We’re not here about the dancing,” she tried telling Robert again. The man had such a one track mind. “There’s something else that we need to discuss.”

“Something more important than you getting that sweet ass of yours back onstage? Doubt it. I don’t see you—”

“Someone is stalking, Skye.” Trace’s cold, quiet words cut right through the rumble of Robert’s speech. “Some bastard attacked her recently in Chicago.”

“Skye!” Robert’s jaw dropped. “Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you—”

“She said that the man first started following her here in New York. He got into her dressing room…” Trace cast an angry glance around the room. “Since the security here is non-existent, I can see how that happened. He got into this place, he got into her home, and—”

“And you said someone forced you off the road,” Robert muttered. He ran a shaking hand over his face. “Hell, I thought it was the pain meds talking. When you first woke up, you were out of it in that hospital. I didn’t realize…” His words trailed off.

Maybe because he’d just fully noticed the killing glare that Trace had aimed on him.

“You think it’s me, mate?” Robert demanded, backing up a step.

“You sure have easy access to her dressing room, mate,” Trace threw right back. “You know where she lived.”

“Of course, I did! I helped her move in! Dammit, I even had her back-up key.”

Trace’s shoulders stiffened. He turned and cast that rather scary glare of his at Skye.

Crap. Had she neglected to mention that part?

“But I wouldn’t do that to Skye! I would never do anything to hurt her.” And Robert reached for Skye again. His fingers locked around her arms. “You know how much I need you. I wouldn’t hurt you, not for—”

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

Goosebumps rose on Skye’s skin.

Robert immediately jerked away from her. “Look, mate, I—”

Trace caught Skye’s hand and pulled her to his side. “I’m going to need confirmation that you haven’t left the city.”

“Y-you’re asking me for an alibi?” Robert sputtered.

“Damn straight, I am.”

Now Robert was the one to flush. “A dozen dancers can tell you that I’ve been working their asses off for the last twenty days. They can all confirm that I haven’t left the city.”

“Good.” Trace flashed a hard smile, one that held an evil edge. “I’ll get them to confirm that before I leave today.”

Skye’s breath expelled in a fast rush. “Robert, did you ever see anyone hanging around my dressing room? Anyone that lingered after a show?” She’d asked stagehands the same questions before, but no one had seen anything. After a performance, it was too chaotic to keep track of people.

Robert’s eyes had narrowed on Trace. He seemed to be searching Trace’s face with a dark intensity.

“Robert?” Skye pushed.

“There are always fans who try to get back to the dancers,” Robert said, rolling his shoulders. “I’ve told you before, when you dance, you become something…quite different.”

That…different…had been what drew him to her. A night of long practice had turned into something more for them. But it hadn’t lasted with Robert. It never lasted because…

No other man is Trace.

“You didn’t see anyone?” Trace questioned. “Dammit, what about video cameras?”

“We don’t have them backstage.” Robert shook his head. “After a show, it’s chaos. Plain and simple. Hell, do you have any idea just how many flowers get delivered after a show? It’s a fuckin’ madhouse here.”

And someone had slipped into that madhouse far too easily.

“I’ll check, okay?” Robert offered as a knock sounded at the door. “I’ll ask around and see if anyone remembers anything but, Skye, you know how fast the back-stage groups turn over. We’ve got new staff working this show.”

With every new show, there was a rotation.

A knock rapped again at the door. “Wolfe!” A woman’s voice called. “They need you on stage.”

“Be right there.” He straightened his shoulders. Met Trace’s stare. “Check my alibi. Talk to the dancers. Like I said, I would never hurt Skye, and I sure hope you find the bastard who did.” Then he glanced her way. The gold in his eyes heated. “Come back to me. I want you to dance for me again.”