Sing You Home by Ava Hunter

All the lights in the house are on when Lacey zips into the driveway of Wild Antler Farm. It’s late, near nine o’clock, and dusk has long given way to dark.

“I’ll get the bags. Go on in,” Lacey says to Sal. “I’m sure Luke’s pitching a fit I kept you out this long.”

Long’s an understatement.

Between lunch and shopping and the spa, it’s been a whirlwind of a day. But a fun one. Sal’s felt better than she has in a long time. Lighter, too. She chopped off her hair. Not too short, but in a chic lob above her breasts. She feels like a part of her, the lonely, frightened thing that lived with Roy is disappearing. Slowly. Surely.

Bounding up the porch stairs to the house, Sal picks up her pace. She hadn’t realized she was so eager to get home.

Home.

The thought has her smiling.

She tries the knob and finds the door open.

The hallway’s dim, the slow croon of country music on the record player. Luke paces in the foyer, his back to her, his phone to his ear.

Her own phone chirps.

Smiling, she accepts, puts it to her ear. “Hi,” she says into the receiver. “I’m here. Behind you.”

Luke stops his pacing, turns around. At the mere sight of her, relief fills his eyes. “I was worried,” he says, hanging up his phone and shoving it in his back pocket.

Then he blinks, relief replaced with stunned surprise.

“Your hair,” he says hoarsely.

He moves toward her, meeting her in the middle of the hallway. Instinct has him reaching for Sal’s hair to fiddle with the end of a long dark strand.

She stares up at him, dazed, her mouth dry as a bone. She can barely form sentences. Barely focus on the man in front of her.

“I chopped it all off,” she blurts when she finds her voice.

“I love it.” Luke’s warm brown eyes scour her face. Drinking her in, almost desperately. “You look beautiful.”

“You look beautiful too.”

Luke blinks again.

Because Sal can’t stop staring.

His beard is gone. His face is smooth, with just the perfect amount of stubble.

Jesus, he’s handsome. Even more so than she already thought he was. His jawline is chiseled and sharp. His warm dark eyes clear and focused and electric.

Sal’s knees go weak. She had liked the beard fine—but she likes this better. Somewhere deep down . . . this face. She knows it.

It’s hers.

“Your beard . . .” Sal steps closer, unable to pull her gaze away. “You shaved.”

Almost self-consciously, he scrubs a lean hand down his chin. “I thought it about time I clean myself up.” Grief stains his voice, but so does determination.

She stares up, smiling. “You look . . . smooth.”

Luke cocks a brow. “I take it that’s a good thing?”

“Yeah.” Her breath catches. “You look so handsome.”

She can’t stop herself. Standing on tiptoes, Sal reaches a hand up to slide her palm over Luke’s smooth cheek. The touch of him is like a shot of sunlight in her bloodstream. So warm. So natural.

Under the curve of her hand, Luke’s become a statue. His eyes closed, his chest so still, she wonders if he’s even breathing.

Then his eyes open.

The way he’s looking at her—so desperate, so hungry—God, does she even say this, so mad in love—has her clawing at the edge of sanity. Of something stagnant and tired, warming inside of her, aching for a release.

Still on tiptoes, Sal angles her body to Luke’s. She shudders as his lean, muscled hand comes out, branding the small of her back. Steadying her. Cupping him to her.

“Sal.”

Her name on his lips is ragged. A plea in need of reckoning. The want in his eyes staggering.

Kiss me, she thinks. And her heart beats faster.

Sal closes her eyes, tilts her face up, exultant.

Kiss me, Luke.

God help him, Luke’s a man coming undone.

Sal stares up at him, her gaze searing, green eyes searching, her head tilted in a question. A question she looks like she wants Luke to answer.

He can do that. He sure as hell can.

Taking her face in his hand, Luke whisks a thumb across the high arc of her cheekbone. She leans into him, hot as a furnace, long lashes lowering as she closes her eyes.

Luke’s brain combusts. The soft curve of Sal’s hip, her trembling body melting against him, is enough to send him into oblivion. He hasn’t touched her like this in nearly a year. A goddamned lifetime. A torture Luke could barely withstand.

Too long. So damn long he’s been starved for Sal.

Heart thundering, he slides a hand into her hair, long dark strands hitting his skin like silk. Sal lets out a little gasp and inches closer.

Screw going slow. He wants her. She wants him.

After a second of hesitation, he dips his head, his breath blooming against hers. Sal’s soft lips are barely grazing his when—

The front door blows open.

The near-kiss dies a slow death as Lacey bangs in like a hurricane.

Goddamnit.

Luke groans and releases Sal. But she doesn’t quite leave his orbit. She stands in front of him, graciously giving him cover from Lacey.

Because Sal looks so good it hurts. Literally. He winces as his dick throbs viciously, a reminder of what they left unfinished.

Yeah, this is exactly what Luke needs. A full house when he’s trying to reconnect emotionally—not to mention physically—with his wife. Fucking perfect.

Shaking off his annoyance, Luke turns to fix his sister-in-law with a frown. Lacey stands in the foyer, shopping bags hanging off her arms.

When he glances down at Sal, she’s frowning too.

Luke can’t help but grin.

It’s Sal’s scowl. Her trademark look whenever Luke and Seth went off the rails.

Oblivious to what she’s interrupted, Lacey holds up a hand, seeing the irritation in Luke’s eyes. “I didn’t kidnap her, Luke,” Lacey grouses. She tries to kick the front door shut but fails, pivoting around like a wobbly Gumby. “I have her home before midnight.”

“So if that makes her Cinderella, does that make you a wicked stepsister?” a deep baritone rumbles.

Seth hangs lazily in the kitchen’s doorway, a Drumstick bar in his hands. He smirks as he watches Lacey struggle.

“Screw you, Seth,” Lacey bites out. She puffs a loose strand of hair from her face and looks at Luke and Sal in disgust. “I could use a little help here.” A heavy package pulls her arm down.

Seth bites into his ice cream and evaluates her. “Yeah, looks like you’re really fighting gravity there.”

Lacey’s mouth snaps open.

Luke closes his eyes, fighting to stay stoic. He’s not in the mood for a battle of barbs between Lacey and Seth. Not now. Not when he and Sal were so close to—to what? Christ, he’s barely been alone with her since he brought her home. The thought of missing out on his wife’s kiss has his blood pressure spiking.

“Are you okay, Sal?” Lacey’s stopped arguing with Seth, her attention turned to her sister. She closes the gap between them with sudden intensity and presses a hand to Sal’s forehead. “You look flushed.”

Sal laughs, swiping Lacey’s hand away. “I’m fine, Lacey. Stop it.”

Luke shoots a look at his brother.

Seth glances between Luke and Sal. Sees their nearness, sees Sal practically in Luke’s arms if it weren’t for Lacey.

Eyes widening, Seth’s mouth moves around the word fuck.

“Are you sure?” Lacey continues, peering at Sal. “You seem—”

Seth makes a buzzer sound with his lips, cutting Lacey off before she can really start mother-henning Sal. “C’mon, princess,” he says. “I’ll show you to your room.”

Lacey frowns in suspicion at his niceties but follows Seth with a huff as he hustles her and her bags up the stairs.

Luke’s eyes move to his wife’s face. She’s pale, despite the flush that’s crept over her cheeks. Damn near exhausted. He looses a breath and curses himself. Sal’s fresh from the hospital. What the fuck is wrong with him? He should be taking care of her, not trying to get in her pants.

As if she’s heard him, Sal raises her gaze to his. She moves past him for the kitchen. “I really do like the new look,” she says, her pillowy lips curving into a playful smile.

She disappears around the corner.

Luke buries his face in his hands and groans.

Fuck.

He’s done for.

Absolutely done.