Trace moved quickly so that when the door opened, he was right in the cop’s path.

Alex Griffin jerked to a halt when he saw Trace. “Who the hell are you?”

Trace’s brows rose as he studied the detective. In his early thirties, light blond hair, fit, and with a dark stare that heated a little too much when it peered over Trace’s shoulder and focused on Skye. The guy immediately put Trace on edge. “I’m Skye’s friend,” he said simply, but Trace knew the other man would hear the note of possessiveness that roughened his voice.

Alex stepped around him. Seemed to focus totally on Skye. “Are you all right?”

Her smile was forced. It barely lifted her lips. “Just a bump on the head. I’ll be fine.”

Then the detective actually reached out to her and curled his hand around hers.

Trace tensed. What the hell kind of police work was that? The detective was far too cozy with Skye, especially for a guy who hadn’t believed her story about a stalker.

“The attack changes things,” Alex told her as his fingers skimmed over her knuckles. “This is an assault. I can get a team at—”

“My team is already at her studio,” Trace said as he returned to Skye’s side. The detective was still holding her hand. Still staring at Skye with far too much interest. Still pissing Trace off to an alarming degree. “But your officers are certainly welcome to join the hunt.”

“Your team?” Alex repeated as his brow furrowed. Then his stare—a muddy brown—was back on Trace. “I didn’t catch your name.”

Because he hadn’t thrown it. He did now, with pleasure. “Trace Weston.” Deliberately, he took Skye’s hand from the detective.

Alex backed up a step. “Weston Securities?”

“Yes.”

Alex whistled and glanced back at Skye. “You hired him to keep you safe?” Before Skye could answer, Alex continued, “I don’t get it. If Weston Securities was on the case, why the hell did she get hurt? Aren’t you supposed to be the best in the damn area?”

His hold tightened on Skye. “If we’re asking questions, I’ve got a few of my own…like why the hell didn’t you do your job sooner? Someone has been stalking Skye for weeks.” No, much longer if she’d been watched in New York.

“Because there was no evidence,” Alex gritted out. “But I tried, okay? I sent extra patrols to her house. I dropped by whenever I could. I’ve been trying to keep an eye on her.”

The guy wanted to keep more than an eye on her. That much was obvious to Trace. The detective’s expression was too intense when he glanced her way. “Don’t worry, detective,” Trace said, his voice flat, “I’ll keep an eye on her from now on.”

Skye looked between them. Her lips tightened. “I just want this man caught, okay? I want him stopped!” She pulled away from Trace and slid from the exam table. When her feet hit the floor, Trace was there to brace her, just in case.

“Tell me everything that happened,” Alex told her, hunching his shoulders as he leaned in closer to her.

Back the hell off. Skye didn’t need the cop crowding her.

Skye had come to Trace because there hadn’t been anyone else to help her. The detective didn’t get to step in now and play hero.

“There isn’t much to tell.” The hospital gown slipped off her right shoulder and she tried to quickly pull it back into place. “I was working in my studio. The lights went off. I-I heard the creak of the floor and knew someone was there. I tried to run, but h-he caught me.”

Trace had locked his back teeth while she spoke. Bastard, I’m going to make you pay.

“He?” Alex pounced on that word choice. “You’re sure it was a man?”

“I couldn’t see him.” Her stare darted to Trace. “But I could feel him. He was strong, and he was big…about Trace’s height. His body curved over mine when he—he held me against him.” Her voice broke a little.

Trace wanted her out of that room. He wanted her in his home, where he could protect her.

“Did he say anything to you?” Alex pressed. “Did you hear any kind of accent in his voice? Did he—”

“No accent.” She shook her head. Winced a little. “He was just whispering to me.”

Alex stilled. “What did he say?”

“He said, ‘I will be the one,’” she told them, her voice husky. She blinked quickly, as if fighting tears. “That’s all he told me, okay?” Those words came out rushed. “That he’d be the one. Then Trace’s agent came rushing in and—and the guy let me go.”

“After he slammed your head into the glass,” Trace added, the words tearing from him.

“No, actually, he slammed my head into the glass before he gave me his little promise.” She curled her arms around her stomach. Stared up at Trace. “Please take me home,” she said. “Take me home with you.”

Hell, yes.

The doctor and a nurse headed into the room then. The doc glanced Trace’s way. He inclined his head. “I’ll make sure she’s safe tonight.” Every night.

He and the detective headed out while the nurse helped Skye change. Trace would have been more than happy to do that job himself—seeing Skye nude was one of his favorite things—but he needed to clear the air with the detective.

And it seemed the guy wanted to clear the air with him, too. As soon as the door closed behind them, Alex spun toward Trace. “What’s your game?”

He let his brows rise. “I’m not playing a game.”

“Two days ago, Skye told me that she wasn’t involved with anyone. She didn’t have any family in the city, no close friends…” Alex exhaled roughly as he glared at Trace. “Now you’re standing here, saying you’re her ‘old friend’ and taking her home for the night.”

Yes, that was exactly what he was doing. Wasn’t the detective observant? “Skye doesn’t like hospitals. After her accident in New York, I think that’s understandable.” He didn’t like to think about her accident. Didn’t like to remember—

“I’ve heard about you, Weston.”

Good for the detective. “Most people in Chicago know about me…”

“You’ve got money, a freaking ton of it from all accounts.”

Yes, yes, he did. He’d come a long way from being the poor kid on the streets.

“And you’ve got dangerous connections.”

“Safe connections aren’t any fun,” he murmured.

Alex’s eyes narrowed. “You’re high profile. You take the big cases. You don’t sign on as some woman’s bodyguard.”

If the detective kept pushing, he’d find out just how hard Trace could push back. “This isn’t some woman,” Trace said. Time for his turn to talk. “This is Skye, and, I assure you, where she is concerned, I am very involved.”

“You weren’t two days ago,” Alex fired back.

“Two days ago…” Trace exhaled slowly and fought to chain his anger. “That would have been back when you were patrolling, doing your circles around her place.”

“Yes,” Alex hissed. “I’ve been trying to protect her—”

“And now I’m here to help you do that job.”

“You looked like you were here to fuck her.”

The words were low, hard. Jealous?

Trace stepped toward the detective. The fellow was close to his height, and even though he was a cop, he had a soft look to him that told Trace this man hadn’t seen nearly enough darkness in his life.

I’ve seen plenty.

Enough to appreciate the light that came his way.

Alex pointed his index finger at Trace. Bad move—that’s the way to get that finger broken. “I’ve got a woman being stalked,” Alex snapped, “an attack on her—and suddenly, I have a new guy—wait, sorry, an ‘old friend’—who has just entered the picture. Two days ago, she said that she had no one.”

He kept harping on the two days bit. “She has someone,” Trace told him, keeping his voice flat with a monumental effort. “And until the SOB after her is caught, Skye be staying with me. So if you need to contact her,” he gave him a hard smile, “come find me.”

The door opened behind them. Skye was seated in a wheelchair, and she sure didn’t look happy. “They said I had to go out in this thing.” Her hands lightly hit the wheels. “Some kind of hospital rule.”

“Liability issue,” the doctor said. “I told you, it’s—”

“Standard. Right.” Skye’s hands rose and clenched in her lap. Her frantic gaze locked on Trace. “I need to get out of here.”

“Baby, I’ve got you.”

And he did.

He moved behind the wheelchair. Pushed her carefully. The wheels spun on the chair.

“Skye!”

The detective was a dick, and he’d just snapped Trace’s last nerve. Did the fellow realize that, with just one phone call, Trace could have the guy writing parking tickets? Doing traffic patrol?

Or sitting bench at desk duty?

Alex hurried around them and stopped in front of the wheelchair. “Just how long have you known Weston?”

Skye swallowed. “Since I was fifteen years old.”

Alex leaned toward her. His voice dropped, but Trace heard him clearly as he said, “I asked you to tell me about any ex’s that you might have in town. Someone who might have a hard time letting go…”

Skye shook her head. “Trace never had trouble letting go.”

Alex’s stare swept to his.

He knows.

It was easy to recognize need, lust, in another man’s eyes.

Behind the cop, Trace saw Reese striding down the hallway toward them. Trace inclined his head toward the cop. “Make sure the detective has our contact information, Reese. Skye’s going to be staying with me for a while.”

Her head turned toward him. “But I—”

He pushed her down the hall, leaving Reese to deal with Alex.

The detective could become a problem. Trace would have to watch him, carefully.

Because no one could be allowed to interfere with his plans for Skye.

***

She should have expected the penthouse. The elevator doors opened up, and she stepped out onto the top level of the high-rise. Trace was right at her side.

“No one can get up here without passing my guards,” he told her as his fingers curled around her elbow.

Right then, she was sure glad to hear about that security.

They entered the penthouse. Her gaze swept around the place. Everything looked expensive. Everything smelled expensive.

And the view was killer.

If she hadn’t been scared to death, literally shaking apart on the inside, she would have appreciated that view more right then.

As it was, she just wanted to go someplace and collapse.

The door shut behind them. She heard the sound of the alarm engaging. Then…Trace’s hands slid down her arms. Her bare arms because all she’d had to wear out of that hospital were her workout clothes. “You’re safe, Skye.” His words whispered into her ear.

And the fear deepened. Because she remembered him. The man in the dark. His mouth at her ear. His whisper.

I will be the one.

She pulled away from Trace and headed toward the big, floor to ceiling window that looked out over Chicago.

He didn’t follow her.

His voice did. Trace told her, “I’m having a top-of-the-line security system installed at your studio. And a damn electrician is going in to check your lights.”

She rubbed her arms. No matter what she did, she couldn’t seem to shake the chill from her body. Her gaze stared out at the city. It seemed like she could see forever from this vantage.

“You don’t have to drop your life for me,” she made herself speak when she just wanted to stand in silence. “I’m sure having me here…in your home…it’s going to cramp your style.” She’d read the papers. She knew all about his many, many exploits.

Trace certainly wasn’t a man living in the past.

He was too busy seducing in the present.

That was why she hadn’t told Alex about him. When the detective had asked for a list of lovers in the area, anyone who might be fixated on her, Trace had been the last man to come to her mind.

He wasn’t fixated on her. He’d been the one to show her to the door.

“You aren’t cramping my style.”

She could see her reflection in the glass. She looked lost. Carefully, Skye schooled her features before she turned back to face him. “Won’t the flavor of the week mind?” She’d seen him with some blonde just last week in the variety pages—

“Fuck it if anyone minds.” He’d braced his legs apart. He stood staring at her. Behind him, a fire blazed. When had he started that fire? “This isn’t about anyone but you and me.”

He acted as if the last ten years hadn’t happened. But not once, not once, had he tried to contact her. I missed you. She wouldn’t tell him that, though. She’d already broken her pride for him too many times.

He began walking toward her. His stride was slow, certain. She wanted to back up, but there was no place to go.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Skye lifted her head and stared into his eyes.

“Reese called me when he was rushing inside that studio. He’d seen the lights go dark, and he was worried. I was only five minutes away, already coming to see you, and I couldn’t get there fast enough.”