The venue’s small. Perfect. Under the radar. A teaser of a performance Mort’s arranged. A way to get the Brothers Kincaid some practice in front of a live audience. Shit, the Opry’s in one week—they need all the help they can get.
Luke exits the Escalade first, blocking the doorway with his body to make sure there’s no press around.
“I can handle a little picture in the paper, Luke.”
Sal’s silvery voice, whispering in his ear, has every muscle in Luke’s body tensing. Leaning into him, Sal wraps an arm around his waist. Her breasts press up against his back. A long curtain of hair falls over his shoulder as she kisses his scruffy cheek.
Twisting around to meet her lips, Luke says, “I know you can. I don’t know if I can.”
“You my personal bodyguard now?” Sal teases. She’s hanging in the doorway of the SUV. “I thought we have guys for that.” She gestures at the barrage of personal protection lurking in the shadows that Luke’s hired.
“We do,” Luke grunts. What he isn’t telling Sal is that he doesn’t trust her to anyone. That he ain’t leaving her again. That he’ll do everything in his power to protect her. Anyone gets within an inch of his wife, he’ll drag them down to hell himself.
As she slips out of the SUV, Sal’s shirt rides up, exposing a flash of slender, bronze stomach.
God, she aims to kill him. Luke has to stifle a groan at the way she looks. Sal’s jeans fit her just right. The curve of her hip, pressed up against him, already has him hardening.
Tonight was a bad idea. A terrible idea. His wife’s gonna drive him to distraction and then some. Every chord, every lyric is already forgotten.
Screw the gig. He’ll take Sal home and screw her.
Then, like she’s read his mind, Sal wraps an arm around his neck and brings him in for a sweet kiss. His fingertips skim the waistband of her jeans, dip down below, and Sal lets out a needy gasp.
“Instruments ain’t gonna unload themselves,” Mort barks impatiently from stage right.
“Yeah, yeah, we got it,” Seth grunts from somewhere up ahead.
Luke groans but doesn’t pull away, instead pulling Sal in closer.
“Mmm.” She smiles against his cheek. “Better listen to your boss.”
“C’mon, honey,” Emmy Lou chirps, popping up beside Luke, her blond bob swinging. “We got the best seat in the house.”
Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, Luke cups Sal’s face, asks, “You’ll be okay?”
“I’ll be fine, Luke.” She kisses him again. “You just play like hell.”
As he watches Sal disappear, arm in arm with Emmy Lou, the security team surrounding them in tight circles, Luke’s not sure if he’ll be okay.
He came close to losing her the other day.
The thought’s like a brick in his stomach, settling, weighing him down.
Then Mort’s hand is on his shoulder. “Let’s go, son.”
Luke and Jace follow behind Seth and Mort as they head into the backstage dressing room where they’ll wait until the show starts. Buckets of beer on the table. Chipped paint. A couch that looks like it’s seen better days.
Mort tosses the set list down. He’s already got a cigar between his fingers, his signature move that tells Luke he’s ready to go schmooze. “It’s a sold-out show, boys, so do me proud.”
“Don’t we fuckin’ always?” Seth grumbles as Mort exits.
Luke pulls his brother aside in the cramped dressing room. “What’s goin’ on with you?” Seth’s had a pissy scowl on his face all night. “Usually I’m the one arguin’ with Mort.”
The deep frown on Seth’s face smooths out. “Yeah, well, you got more important things to worry about.” He grins. “You nervous?”
Luke glances sharply at Seth, smiles. “If I’m nervous, you’re nervous.”
Sure, he’s nervous. Tonight marks the first time the Brothers Kincaid have played live since Sal went missing.