Skye’s delicate face tightened instantly, her brows knitting together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Did he honestly think she was the kind of girl who just hopped into bed with anyone?
But then last night came rushing back—the boldness, the liquid courage, the way she’d practically thrown herself at Trace Ryan. Yeah, maybe that did look a little reckless. Maybe she deserved the judgment.
Trace studied the woman in his arms, watching her expression flicker through a dozen emotions. His lips curved slightly. “That hard to understand? Let me spell it out for you.”
With that, he dipped his head, trailing a line of kisses down her neck, then lower, along her collarbone.
Skye’s heart slammed against her ribs.
But Walker’s sneer echoed in her head—the taunt that she’d never find a better man than him. And something inside her snapped into place. Defiance, hot and reckless.
She wrapped her arms around Trace’s neck and mirrored his move, pressing her lips to the hollow of his throat. Her whisper brushed his ear. “Trace Ryan, I never slept with Walker. You’re my first.”
Something unreadable flickered in his eyes.
Were her first kisses his too?
The next moment, he lifted her as if she weighed nothing and carried her swiftly to the bedroom.
Trace wasn’t the type to chase women—but he wasn’t a saint either. He wanted her, and she’d offered herself willingly. No way in hell was he letting her go.
Inside the bedroom, clothes hit the floor one by one, the air thickening with heat.
Skye watched him, her tongue darting out to wet her lips without thinking.
His tall frame. His carved muscles. His firm chest.
Ring, ring, ring!
The phone she’d tossed on the nightstand blared, slicing through the haze.
Trace’s dark eyes flashed, a shadow of impatience crossing them.
Skye saw the caller ID—her sister, Mae Carr—and instinctively reached for it. But Trace’s hand got there first, snatching the phone and flinging it to the floor.
His voice curled against her ear, low and smoky. “I don’t like being interrupted.”
“Trace, I—”
His lips swallowed the rest of her words.
Lost in the patient rhythm of his kisses, Skye let herself melt, drifting deeper and deeper until nothing else existed…
An hour later, Trace stepped into the shower, leaving Skye sprawled across the sheets, completely wrecked. Her legs wouldn’t stop trembling.
Reliving the past hour, her cheeks burned.
It hadn’t been the rough encounter she’d braced herself for. Instead, Trace had been careful, almost attentive—reading her every reaction, drawing her to the edge again and again until she shattered blissfully.
The phone on the floor rang again.
Skye pushed herself off the bed, her legs nearly buckling beneath her. Ignoring the ache, she grabbed the phone and saw forty-something missed calls from Mae. Guilt coiled in her chest. How had she not heard it ringing before?
She drew a steadying breath and called back. “Sis? What’s wrong? Why so many calls?”
Her voice came out raspy.
“Skye, where are you?” Mae’s voice shook on the other end. “Please tell me you didn’t actually go to a hotel with some man.”
Skye froze. But she pieced it together quickly—Gabriela. That little snake must have ratted her out just to ruin her night with Trace.
If Skye had answered that first call, none of this would have happened. Exactly what Gabriela wanted.
For a second, Skye actually felt grateful Trace had thrown her phone.
Because tonight? She’d enjoyed every second.
And she didn’t feel used.
Sleeping with Trace Ryan was half the city’s fantasy. She’d done it without even trying. Right?
“Sis,” Skye said, without a moment’s hesitation, “I’m at a hotel with my boyfriend. You don’t need to worry about me.”
As the words left her mouth, Trace stepped out of the bathroom, catching the tail end of the conversation.
From where he stood, he could see her—the delicate curve of her back, the graceful line of her silhouette.
His throat bobbed, his gaze drinking in every detail.
But he refused to spoil her first time by making her feel cheap. So he turned back into the bathroom and stepped under another cold shower.
Mae’s voice cracked over the line. “Skye, you haven’t been with anyone since you broke up with Walker. Why are you lying to me? A girl’s virtue is precious. You’re going to regret this for the rest of your life.”
“I’m sorry, sis.” Skye’s eyes stung, but she kept her voice level. “I have my reasons. And I don’t regret tonight. Whatever happens, I’ll own it.”
After she hung up, Skye realized she was trembling.
She could handle anything except disappointing her family.
She knew Mae didn’t understand, that she was hurt. But Skye had already crossed the line. There was no going back now.
“Here’s a card with five million. You’ll need it.”
His deep voice came from behind her, startling her.
Skye spun around—and there he stood, a towel slung low around his waist, every sharp line of his body highlighted by the soft light.
But her gaze dropped to the card he was holding out, and all the color drained from her face.
It was like a knife to the chest.
She’d thought his tenderness meant something. That she was different. But this? He was trying to pay her off.
Men were all the same, she thought bitterly. This was probably a well-rehearsed act Trace had perfected long before her.
Remembering the real reason she’d come to him in the first place, Skye forced a smile. “Trace, I didn’t come to you for money.”
What she needed was for him to help her dig up evidence that Kash Wagner had framed her father’s company—something that could clear her dad’s name.
“Then what do you want?”
His eyes went cold in an instant.
So she did have an agenda.
Skye caught the mockery flickering in his gaze, but she held it. “Trace, I heard you’re working with Kash Wagner. Could you possibly—”
“No.”
He cut her off, his tone flat and final. “Five million. Not enough?”
Was she going to run off and find another man next?
Skye’s heart faltered. Yeah, she’d been naive.
“If you won’t help me, fine. And as for your money—keep it.” Her voice stayed steady, even though it stung.
She dressed calmly, ignoring his looming presence.
Before she walked out, she pulled a few hundred-dollar bills from her purse and tossed them on the bed. “You were good. Call it a tip.”
Then she lifted her chin and walked out the door, head high—as if her whole world hadn’t just crumbled behind her.
