Devoured (13 page)

“Sam Adams,” Lucas says in a very deep voice that makes me give a tiny snort. 

Jessica grins, bows her back a little and tilts her head trying to get a good view of his face. When he tucks his chin closer to his chest, she purses her lips and stalks off.

“This isn’t going to work.” I warn him and he glances up at me.

“Well, no. It typically never does.”

Feeling my temperature rise, I study him. He’s so full of contradictions. One minute he’s talking about wanting peace and quiet and the next he’s craving the adoration that comes with his world, his fame. It’s enough to make my head dizzy. When I gather up the courage and say this to him, he grins. 

“I just wanted enough peace to finish my solo project and I’ve—” His voice breaks off and he traces a heart that someone has carved into the table. 

“You’ve what?”

Snapping his hazel eyes up, he tells me in a barely controlled voice, “I’ve written enough goddamn material on it the past few days for two or three albums.”

“Ah . . . I see.”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

Confused and tired of playing a game of words with him, I change the subject back to his reasons for wanting to come here tonight. “So why risk being noticed and groped by your fangirls just to see a cover band?” 

“You never Googled it, I see.”

I shake my head. “It wasn’t a direct order, sir.”

His face breaks out into a smile and he tilts his head back and laughs. It’s one of those full-bodied expressions that sends warmth pouring into my belly. “God you’re so frustrating it’s fucking with my head.” He regains control, slumping down in his chair and getting an unfocused look in his eyes. “When I was in high school, me and Sinjin Fields and Wyatt McCrae had this god-awful cover band. It was how we were discovered eventually—us and Cilla.”

Cilla. Why do I feel a pang of jealousy every time I hear or see her name? It’s ridiculous because I’ve never met her—all I know is that she and Lucas are friends. What exactly the word “friend” entails I’m not sure nor do I think I ever want to find out.

“So you’re here to discover Jessica’s boyfriend?” I question.

He shrugs, and corrects me, “I’m here to say I appreciate them.” Then his eyebrows knot together. “But I’ve got to admit, they’re really fucking awesome and I don’t mind dropping their names to a few of my contacts.”

Lucas’s drink slides across the table and he looks up, meeting Jessica’s curious stare. “I knew it was you,” she whispers excitedly. She plops down in the chair beside me, directly across from him. I watch fascinated because she’s on the verge of salivating and her eyes are practically glittering under the dim lights.

“Before or after you eavesdropped on the last minute of what we were saying?” he demands, taking a giant swig of his beer.

Jessica’s naturally tan skinned flushes but then she quickly regains composure. “Sorry about that, but. . . . Dude, you’re Lucas-Fucking-Wolfe. You’re in my parents bar and sitting at table with me and I’m about to freak out.” The way she says his name, whispering it reverently brings out the panty-slaying smile. Turning to me, Jessica says in an accusing voice, “You didn’t tell me you know him.”

“He’s my boss,” I murmur.

“Your work involves going out to bars with him at 10 at night. Ugh . . . I need to become a wardrobe person. I’m in the wrong field, I—” Then she bites her bottom lip. “You’re going to play, right?”

“Wait, he’s—” I start but Lucas shoots me a warning stare.

“Fuck yeah.”

I’ve got no other choice but follow them as they weave their way through the crowd toward the front of the bar where the band is rocking out to “Lucky You’re Wasted.” Jessica bounces on the balls of her feet as she waits impatiently for them to finish up. When they’re through, she waves the bassist over to her. He bends his head, attempting to brush his lips across her lips but she shakes her head, too excited to deal with her boyfriend. I watch as her lips move rapidly and she gestures over to me and Lucas. 

His eyes widen—and I swear to this—at least three sides. After he gets over the momentary disbelief, he nods and crosses the stage to have a powwow with the rest of the band. At some point, I can clearly hear one of them say “Holy fucking yes.”

The crowd’s going crazy at this point, wondering what’s up, if the band is calling it quits early but then the lead singer saunters back up to the microphone. He’s grinning and his voice is shaking as he gives Lucas the only introduction someone like him needs: “It’s the real Lucas-fucking-Wolfe, people!”

For a moment, everyone in the audience is utterly unclear of what’s going on and they’re hushed, murmuring among themselves. But as Lucas strides across stage, taking the lead’s guitar and bowing his head graciously, the silence turns from confused to stunned. Lucas calls out “All Over You” and then the hell-raising guitar intro begins. 

Nicky, the giant grumpy doorman, and another bouncer who Jessica says keeps watch over the bar make their way to the stage, but none of Lucas’s fans tries to bum rush him or anything. Everyone’s too entranced by the music, myself included. 

I’m so spellbound that it takes me a moment to realize that at certain lines of the song, Lucas’s eyes drag to the far left of the stage, seeking me out. Making me feel like I’m the only person in this crowded bar. When I grind my teeth together in frustration, Lucas’s eyes narrow a fraction and he shakes his head slowly to each side. 

Drawing in a deep breath, I do the only other thing I can do. I sing along with the rest of the crowd. I ignore the wetness that has built up in the lacy black panties I’m wearing.

Panties that Lucas himself had touched and laid out for me to put on. 

There are at least twenty YouTube videos of Lucas’s performance circulating the Internet by time I wake up at 7am on the dot the next morning. There are already—and I shit you not—death threats about the “red-headed cunt” Lucas was serenading on one of the Your Toxic Sequel fan sites.

And I find out about all of this because Tori sends me links, messages, and enough texts to make me want to turn off my phone.

Finally, I just suck it up and answer. It’s 5:30am in California. “There are pictures of you with Lucas Wolfe online,” she says in a monotone voice. “Why are there pictures of you with Lucas Wolfe on the Internet?”

“I-I . . .” I’m stuttering ridiculously, staring down in horror at my computer screen at the video of Lucas performing, and wondering who else has seen these videos. You know, besides every rabid Lucas Wolfe fan. For once I feel fortunate that Tomas, my boss, is such a media snob and refuses to read gossip magazines. I don’t need this getting back to him—not when I’m supposed to be here in Nashville to take care of my Gram. Not when—

I feel a sinking feeling in my chest, and I ball my hand into a fist, massaging it over my heart. What if my grandmother sees this? It would literally break her heart.

“Sienna, talk to me,” Tori says pleadingly.

“I . . . I work for him,” I admit.

And just as I expect, she starts freaking out. She starts doing the exact thing that made me avoid telling her about my deal with Lucas in the first place. “Since when? Why? Sienna . . . he’s trying to take your grandmother’s goddamn house away. How could you work for him? Why would you work for hi—”

“For the love of God, shut up for just one second so I can think,” I snap. I hear a sharp gasp for air on the other end, and I immediately feel horrible for barking at her. In all the time that I’ve known Tori, I’ve never once raised my voice at her. 

I’ve never spoke to anyone like that besides Lucas Wolfe.

“Tori . . . I’m sorry,” I whisper.

She sounds dazed when she speaks. “I’m actually hovering somewhere between really fucking irritated you told me to shut up and being impressed. Sienna, what’s really going on? Please . . . I’m your best friend.”

I cry as I tell her. I leave nothing out except for Lucas’s sexual habits, and when I’m done all she’s able to say is “Wow” over and over and over again until I tell her that she’s giving me a headache.

“You’ve got to be the most . . . selfless and ridiculously awesome person I know. To be doing something like
that
with someone like
him
.”

I don’t like the way her tone implies that he’s a bad person. Hell, I don’t like the way I’m so willing to jump to his defense, but I do it anyway. “He’s not all bad,” I say, my voice sounding totally convincing.

“Oh. My. God.”

Thinking that there’s been a new article put out about me and Lucas, I frantically refresh Google news search I have open on my screen. “What? What?”

“You’re in love with him.”

The second those words come out of her mouth, sounding like an accusation and a curse and a crime all at once, I wish she had said there was a new set of rumors instead. I’m not in love with Lucas. Completely in lust, yes, but not in love. 

Never in love.

“That’s ridiculous I don’t know him well enough to love him.”

“Then, he’s got to have the most—” Tori’s words are cut off mid-sentence by the sound of my cell phone beeping. I pull it from my ear and my heart launches into my throat, gagging me, when I see that it’s Seth. God, this can’t be a good thing. 

I promise Tori that I’ll call her back and she warns me that she’ll fly to Nashville tonight, spending our rent money and leaving us homeless, if I don’t. When I click over to Seth, he’s already cursing. Seething.

“You lied to Gram so you could go fuck the douchebag who bought her house?” 

“Seth, I—” 

But he doesn’t want to let me get a word in.

“You’re disgusting. Guess you’re more like
her
than you let on, huh? Don’t worry . . . what you’re doing won’t ever be big enough news to reach Gram and I sure as hell won’t tell her. Maybe if you’re lucky he’ll—”

My heartbeat picks up wildly when Lucas plucks my phone out of my hand and jabs the END button. “You’re going to sit there and let him talk to you like that?” he demands. “That’s your brother, right? The skinny little prick with the big mouth from court?”

I never realized Seth had ever said anything to Lucas, and I glance down at my lap, at my hands. “He was angry,” I whisper.

“That’s no excuse for him treating you like shit.”

“We’re all over the Internet,” I say. “You and I are everywhere because of last night.”

Even though he shrugs, I can tell it gets to him, too. That he regrets having ever looking at me while he sang. “It’s not a big deal. And stop changing the subject. We’re talking about your brother speaking to you like you’re nothing.” 

“He’ll—” I want to say that Seth will get over it, but I don’t even know how to defend him to someone like Lucas. My brother hadn’t even said very much to me but somehow managed to take a pair of scissors to my self-esteem.

Lucas kneels down in front of me, on his knees, and places his forearms on either side of my body so that they’re almost brushing my hips. He bends his head toward my lap and a primal ache stretches across my belly. “Call him back and stand up for yourself.”

I shake my head, my long hair sweeping back and forth over his face when he looks up at me. “No,” I whisper.

His eyes narrow. “You’re going to have to one of these days. Stand up to your brother and your mom. You don’t have to take shit from people. You don’t have to try and explain yourself.”

He climbs to his feet, looking down at me with almost sad hazel eyes. “Today’s the first day of filming for the documentary and I’ve got some studio work that needs to be done. Take the day off.”

“Bu—”

“Take the day off,” he orders. “I can’t—you can’t expect me to be able to be around you like this when I want you so bad. When you’re not willing to let me have you.”

And now—now I think I fully understand why he’s encouraging this. Because Lucas Wolfe thinks that if I take on the things and people that I always back down to, I’ll allow him to conquer me.

†

The sound of a piano awakens me a little after 1am. I had stayed up until a few minutes short of midnight waiting up for Lucas and texting Tori as she hopped from night club to night club.

After I slide a short cotton robe over my t-shirt, I follow the noise down to the lowest level of the house. Once I hit the bottom step, I let the scent of what Lucas is smoking guide me. I’ve always hated the scent of pot because it reminds me of Preston, of the people who used to hang around my mom’s house, and I automatically wrinkle my nose. Lucas doesn’t look up when I open the door to the piano room, but I know he knows I’m in here because his back straightens and his shoulders tense up. I sag against the doorframe, listening to him, drinking this moment in. He’s shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans that ride low on hips. Lucas Wolfe is all muscles and tattoos and sexiness, but it’s his music that has a way of getting to me. It strips me down. 

Then devours me.

And I let it. The only difference is that now, it’s in person and once it’s over I’ll have to face the real Lucas Wolfe and not the poor excuse I keep in my nightstand drawer.

Lucas’s shoulders relax a little as he pushes out the last few chords. He scribbles something into a tattered blue notebook, reading over his notes a few times before he lifts sleepy, hazel eyes to mine. Locks of his messy, dark hair spill into one of them. “I didn’t call for you,” he says huskily. “What do you want?”

“I-I didn’t realize you played,” I whisper. God, where’s my voice? My nerve? Why the fuck do I come apart when I’m around him?

“Google is your friend.”

I feel my body ignite, but when I turn to leave, he says softly, “Stay. I don’t want to . . .” And though there’s a part of me that wants to take advantage of the vulnerability in his voice, there’s another part that’s reminding me of my deal with this man. I’m at his beck and call for the next five days. 

And now, he wants me with him.

Tentatively, I walk forward. The tile is cold under my bare feet, and I wish I’d never gotten out of bed. I stand next to the piano and cross my arms over my chest. “How long do you need me for?” I demand, glaring down at him.