Part 9 (1/2)

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 f.u.c.king 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 pus.h.i.+ng 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. Ch.o.r.eographers 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 ch.o.r.eographer, 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 brus.h.i.+ng 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 s.h.i.+ne 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?”