“Luke?” I whisper tentatively, not sure what to expect.
The minute I say his name, he steps forward, his hands on my waist, his touch possessive, branding me, though it’s far from necessary. I’m his. I’ve always been his. It seems nothing can change that. I can never belong to anyone else. Still, I have no idea why he’s here. I back up, step out of his reach just enough for him to kick the door shut, but no more.
I don’t want distance from Luke. I don’t want to give him space one little bit. And he doesn’t complain. Instead, he stands there a moment, a few inches between us, staring down at me, his blue eyes smoldering.
“A fine line between love and hate, right, sweetheart?” he asks, softly.
“You heard what I said.”
“I heard.”
“I didn’t shoot you. The gun—”
“Fell. I heard it all.”
He catches my hip and walks me into him, his hand sliding to my lower back, molding me closer.
“So, what is it right now, Ana?” His fingers find my hair, a rough, erotic pull to his grip as he drags my mouth near his. “Love or hate?”
It’s a trick question when I can feel him hard against my belly. The familiar earthy scent of him seduces me, his warm breath fanning my lips, and I can almost taste his mouth on mine. In this moment, I both revel and loathe him as much as I do myself. He killed my brother, and I can’t live without him. It’s like a joke played on me by the universe. My fingers curl in his T-shirt, ball around the material as I whisper, “Both. I feel both.”
“Right now,” he says, “that’s good enough.” His mouth slants over mine, his tongue stroking long. I can taste his hunger and I wonder if he can taste mine. Because I am hungry for Luke, this man I once thought would be my husband.
I need him.
I need him so badly it’s a physical pain.
I don’t even try to find what is between us. I slide my hands under his shirt, the feel of his warm skin and hard abdominal muscles stirring that need inside me. He’s still so deliciously male, damn him. I shove his shirt upward, and he pulls it over his head, tossing it away. God, this is happening. It’s been so long that I swear I’m trembling.
We’re by the bed now and I don’t even know how we got here. It’s irrelevant. He’s the only thing that matters to me right now. His shirt has barely hit the ground when my hands run up and down his sides, but he’s focused on my shirt. It’s gone before I can blink, and my bra with it. Somehow, I’m against the wall by the fireplace—again the room just keeps fading in and out—and his powerful legs are framing mine, his hungry stare raking over my breasts.
“God, you’re still so damn beautiful,” he murmurs.
I laugh, an aroused choked sound and point out the obvious. “You say that when you’re looking at my breasts.”
He cups them, teasing my nipples in that perfect way he does, his eyes on my face now. “Like I said: so fucking beautiful.” His voice is low, rough, raw with emotion that I feel, too.
“Luke,” I whisper, unable to find my voice.
His hand is back on my face, tilting my gaze to his. “Is there someone else? Are you seeing anyone?”
My lashes lower, my fears over him moving on real and present. “Ana,” he presses.
I look at him. “No. I’m not. Are you?”
“I didn’t date anyone. I’m not dating anyone. But I sure as hell fucked everyone I could fuck to try and forget you,” he confesses. “It didn’t work.”
The idea of him with who knows how many women cuts deeply, but I try to force myself to think logically. I shot him, I almost killed him, I told him there was no us anymore. “Can you just kiss me and stop talking, please,” I murmur, catching long strands of his hair with my fingers.
He cups my face and looks down at me. “I thought you were done with me. I would never—”
“I know,” I whisper. “Believe me, I know. I handled everything horribly.”
“You were grieving. I shouldn’t have left you.”
“I shot you, Luke, and despite the fact that it was an accident, I held the damn gun on you. We both know you never point a gun you aren’t willing to shoot.” My voice softens and my hand presses to his face. “I needed someone to blame. I’m sorry.”
“You needed comfort. I wasn’t there.” His lips thin and he releases me, hands on his hips as he stares at me. “Did you and Darius—”
“God no, no, no. You think I’m not strong enough to survive life without someone in my bed, Luke?” I try to move away from him and he catches my hand but I don’t look at him.