For the next month, Dom pursued Sissy like a man possessed. It appeared that not only did the shot she took to the face wake up the protective, hot-blooded, Italian husband but Sissy’s bitchy attitude was turning him on. Big time.

He ended up kidnapping her.

Which meant I ended up calling in Luke and the boys (again).

Luke and Vance found them in a condo in Vail but he came back sans Sissy.

“Why did you leave her there?” I demanded when he arrived at my place in the dead of night, woke me up and told me he found Sissy but didn’t have her.

“Babe,” he said, sitting on the bed and taking off his boots.

I waited for him to say more. He didn’t.

“Luke!” I snapped.

He twisted, angled onto the bed, landed full on top of me and my breath went out in a whoosh.

“They worked it out,” he told me after I’d sucked oxygen back into my lungs.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “She thinks he’s scum.”

“They worked it out,” he repeated.

“I don’t believe that.”

“Trust me, they worked it out.”

“How do you know? Did Sissy say that? Sometimes Dom can be –”

“Babe, trust me. I wouldn’t leave her there if I didn’t think it was a good thing.”

That shut me up because Luke really wouldn’t do that.

“Oh, all right,” I finally grumbled.

“Now.” His eyes were ink. “Let’s talk about what you owe me for finding her.”

I didn’t quibble. I’d learned that quick payback for the many times I fell in debt with Luke was definitely the way to go.

Anyway, every single time I was pretty certain I got more out of it than Luke did.

Second up, just as he promised, we had stayed at my place until the blinds were put in at the loft then we moved to his. We still weren’t sure which way to go. I liked my back porch and funky office. Luke liked the loft’s security and central location. In the end, Luke told me to do what I had to do to make the loft mine, thus the dining room table (so Tex, Mr. Kumar, Uncle Vito and I could play euchre which we did, quite a bit) and a variety of girlie things for the kitchen (but not too girlie, I bought all the KitchenAid appliances in black, the rest in black or red). Luke had my furniture moved into storage and had an agency rent out my place. The plan was we’d keep both properties, if we decided to move to my place later, we’d still have it to move to.

It was a decent compromise.

Even though I didn’t share it with Luke, I didn’t really care where we lived, just as long as we ended the day, and started a new one, in the same bed.

Last, the New Mom and apparently the New Marilyn and Sofia were driving me up the flipping wall. They had let me into the Barlow Bombshell Club which meant daily phone calls, lots of unsolicited advice on everything under the sun and constant getting into my (and Luke’s) business. At first, I thought it was kind of cool. Then I found it kind of annoying.

When I complained about it to Luke while lying full out on the couch, Luke on his back, being Zen, me pressed into his side, not reading the book I had propped on his chest, Luke said, “Gotta choose, babe, they are who they are. Either you’re in the club or you’re out.”

I sighed. He was right yet again. In the club it was.

I got out of the shower, did the whole celebration preparation on body (the peony-scented lotion, Luke’s favorite), hair (loose and wild, Luke’s favorite) and makeup (party time drama, no other choice, it was party time) and turned to my shopping bags.

I’d brought in the shoes but grabbed the wrong bag of clothes. My party dress was still on the dining room table.

To save time (which was slipping away fast), I tugged off my robe, put on the undies and strapped on the shoes (Tod found them at Nordstrom’s, metallic purple, high, spike-heeled, strappy sandals) and ran out to get the dress.

I stopped in mid-run. Luke was standing in the kitchen, head back, muscular throat on display, finishing a beer.

He had on a charcoal gray suit, a shirt the same color, throat exposed at the collar. I hadn’t seen him in a suit since his father’s funeral.

Luke looks good, Good Ava breathed, hand at her neck.

No, Luke looks GOOD, Bad Ava was fanning her face

They were not wrong. Luke didn’t look good, Luke looked good.

“You look good,” I told him.

His head came down, his gaze came to me and he went still.

“Jesus,” he muttered, eyes doing a body sweep.

I came unstuck from my Luke-Looking-Good Fog and ran to the dining room table.

“I grabbed the wrong bag,” I started sorting through bags then asked Luke, “Can you grab my perfume?”

He didn’t grab my perfume. Instead, I felt his heat at my back, he leaned forward and I had no choice but to lean with him. He did an arm swipe, the bags went flying and I felt his hand pressing in the middle of my back.

“Luke,” I said, my eyes on the bags on the floor, my voice stunned.

Then he pushed me down toward the table as the thumb of his other hand hooked into my panties, yanking them down to just below my hips.

Oh wow.

My special girlie parts quivered.

“Luke!” I gasped.

He didn’t answer. He kept me pressed to the table even though I tried to come up. His hand was moving at my bottom, I heard his belt clink, his zipper, then without warning, he slid inside me.

I stopped trying to rise and my arms, of their own volition, slid straight out in front of me, palms flat against the table, my bottom pushing into Luke’s hips.

“Luke.” It came out a lot different this time, his hand left my back and both went to my hips, holding me still as he moved.

My breath started coming heavy.

Like everything with Luke, this was hot.

I moved with him, made happy noises low in my throat then he slid out, swept my panties down to my ankles, twisted me around and lifted me onto the table. He pulled the panties, which were tangled at my shoes, free, tossed them aside and moved between my legs, lifted my h*ps and slid inside me again, bending his torso over mine.

I lifted my head, one of his hands stayed at my hip while he slammed into me, the fingers of his other hand slid into my hair and he kissed me, long, deep, wet and lots of tongue.

“We’re going to be late,” I panted when his mouth disengaged.

“Don’t f**kin’ care,” he said back, his voice rough.

My hands came up, one curled around his neck, the other went to his jaw, my thumb trailing his ‘tache while my hooded eyes stayed locked on his mouth.