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her more than the scent of liquor that wafted from him or the scruff of beard on cheeks more hollow than she’d remembered. He leaned, one hand on the newel post and one heavy boot propped on the bottom step.
    â€œI should’ve called first. I’m sorry.”
    â€œNo. It’s okay.” Celia looked at her flannel jammies, thinking that if he had called, she might’ve put on something a little more substantial. Or at least sexier. “Come on in.”
    She took him straight to the kitchen, not through the living room and definitely not through the dining room. There she waved a hand at the table and watched him take a seat while he still avoided her eyes. Without asking, she put a beer and a plateful of cheese and crackers in front of him. He opened the beer and took a long drink, but didn’t touch the food. When she sat in the chair next to his and took his hand, she felt the twitch and flex of his fingers, but he didn’t pull away.
    â€œI was hoping I’d see you again.” She’d meant to sound playful and sexy. Light. She missed the mark by quite a bit, sounding sad instead, yet somehow unembarrassed that he might think she was the sort of desperate woman who clung to a one-nighter like it meant something more. Celia passed her fingertip lightly over Luke’s knuckles. They were rough and bruised, and she kept the touch gentle. She looked at his face and waited until he met her eyes before speaking again.
    She had to wait for what felt like a long time.
    â€œI’m glad,” she said quietly, “you came to see me.”
    Then she was on his lap, straddling him, his face cradled in her palms as his mouth opened beneath hers with a desperation that might’ve been scary if it hadn’t been so fucking sexy. Luke broke the kiss with a small moan, but Celia didn’t let him turn his head. She put her forehead to his, her hands holding his jaw as she used one thumb to caress his bottom lip. He closed his eyes, but that was okay. His cock pressed her through his jeans, she could feel that just fine, so whatever was stopping him had nothing to do with a lack of desire.
    She rocked a little, pushing herself against the bulge in his jeans. The chair creaked as Luke gripped it on both sides. He hissed out a breath and moved to kiss her again, but Celia held his face tight in her hands and kept his mouth from hers. By the barest centimeter, sure, but still. She held him still until he opened his eyes and looked into hers. Celia brushed her lips on his, and when he again tried to kiss her hard, she pulled away just enough so that he could feel her breath on him, but not her touch.
    Luke drew in a slow, shuddering breath. He let go of the chair and put his hands on the small of her back, pressing just barely as she rocked once more against him. When she added a small grind of her hips, he let out another tortured breath and swallowed hard. He pressed his face to the tops of her breasts, the skin bared by the opened buttons of her top. Heat pressed her, then moisture when he kissed her there. It was her turn to moan at the touch of his tongue along her collarbone, then the wet, firm pressure of his lips tugging at her tight nipples through the thin flannel.
    She found the back of his neck, his skull, her fingers sliding through his short dark hair until she gripped, tight enough to make him mutter. She tipped his head back to look into his eyes. Luke’s mouth was wet, his dark eyes fathomless and creased in the corners with more feathery lines than she remembered. The hair at his temples had gone silver. He’d aged in six months, from some sort of pain, that was clear enough, but it sat well upon his face.
    â€œI’m glad,” Celia repeated slowly, voice low and steady, her gaze never shifting from his, “you came to see me.”
    Luke shuddered, his every muscle going tight and then loose against her. He was bigger, could so easily have pushed her off