Screw sleep.
Sal’s got to know. She wants to knock down these walls between them. She’s asked everyone but Luke. She’s gotten Seth’s answer. Lacey’s. Now she needs Luke’s. She trusts he’ll give it to her straight.
“Luke?” Sal’s soft whisper floats between them.
His eyes open, flick to her.
Sal lifts up onto her elbow. “Can I ask you a question?”
He rolls onto his side so they’re facing. Chin propped in his palm. Inches apart. Their warm breaths mingling, their eyes locking. “Shoot.”
Sal moistens her lips.
Just do it, chickenshit.
Then—“Do you love me, Luke?”
His breath catches on her question. A harsh, ragged hitch that stiffens his entire body.
Sal ducks her head, unsure what to make of his response. Fiddling with an edge of sheet corner, she fills his silence. “I’ve been gone so long ... I thought that maybe you didn’t feel how you used to.”
A primal exhale from Luke. “Christ.”
Sal lifts her face. Luke’s expression is one of agony. He looks angry at himself. So goddamn pissed off.
“Is that what you think? That I stopped lovin’ you?” he asks, disbelief staining his drawl.
She squares her jaw. “I don’t know.” Heat creeps slow onto her cheeks. “Everything’s so confusing. I’ve been trying to figure you out. Us. Our marriage. Wondering what you want and if I even—”
Before Sal can say anything else, Luke has her in his arms, has his lips on hers.
Starved. Pained. Searching.
Sal gasps into his mouth.
The kiss is twenty-four-karat, a short-circuit straight to her heart.
Luke’s hand plunges into her hair, cupping the nape of her neck. Then he pulls her into his solid body of muscle, molding her form to his. His lips taste of whiskey, of warm honey, and the blaze in Sal’s heart is enough to power the sun.
This kiss is her answer.
Oh yeah, Luke loves her. Big-time.
He’s missed her too much. Has been hurting for so long.
The kiss deepens, Luke’s mouth crushing hers. A needy moan escapes her, and she winds her arms around his neck. Her body cranking into overdrive, Sal slides her bare leg between Luke’s, losing herself in the kiss, in Luke’s big hands, his mouth a burning blaze on hers.
With a guttural groan, Luke grips the curve of her hip and drags her in close. Wonderfully close. His fingertips, calloused from guitar strings yet ever so gentle, slide over her stomach. Sal arches into him, closing her eyes, curling her fingers in Luke’s hair. Unwilling to break the kiss, unable to physically leave the nearness of him.
She needs this. God, how she needs this. Every part of herself is pulsing with want. Her body aching, her lips aflame, and her heart, her heart—
This time Sal’s gasp is one of pain, not pleasure. A swirl of dizziness overwhelms her. She reaches out, resting a steadying hand on Luke’s forearm.
He breaks the kiss, drawing back. “Your head?” he asks, grazing fingertips against her temple, and Sal marvels how well he knows her.
“Yeah,” she admits, surprised by how fast the migraine’s snuck up on her. Who can blame her, though? She eyes the man across from her. She had other things on her mind. Other things like Luke.
In an instant, he’s hopping off the bed, the soft pad of his footsteps headed to the bathroom. When he returns, he helps Sal sit up and hands over her medication and a glass of water.