Devoured (6 page)

Her head pops up from the cheese and she stares at me blankly. I’m already making quick, jerky movements struggling to get myself out of the booth and away from this situation. To just leave her sitting here alone before drama ensues. 

Then she starts to laugh hysterically. 

That’s it. First thing in the morning, I would find a way to contact Lucas to tell him to keep Kylie the hell away from me.

Blinking back tears, she grabs my hand and pulls me back down. My knees lock up and I have no other choice but sit. I’m wheezing like I’ve just run a half marathon when she finally manages to squeeze words past her amusement. “No, don’t go, it’s just that what you said—
Dude
, so gross. I mean, I love Lucas, but that’s because I’m forced to. Our parents would have my ass if I didn’t.”

“Wait—what?”

She smiles. “Yep, guilty. I’m Lucas’s kid sister but only by a couple years.”

My hands automatically fly to my face, covering my embarrassment. “I thought you were . . . your last name is Martin,” I mumble slowly because there’s a thickness in my throat. 

She holds up her left hand, placing it close to my face so that I’m able to see the tattoo circling her ring finger. She twists her hand, back and forth, so I can read the Old English text that clearly says
MARTIN
. “Eight years ago, the day I turned 18. His name was Bradley Martin and my marriage lasted about as long as the sex we had on my wedding night and was just as goddamn awful. Sorry, babe, you’re going to have to reevaluate your opinion of me because I’m not one of
those
assistants.”

How did I fail to notice what Kylie is to Lucas? Even though I’ve witnessed very few of their interactions with one another, it’s not like I’ve ever seen him treat her like anything other than his assistant.

I feel wretched for jumping to conclusions about her. I apologize, but she waves it away, grinning broadly. “Are you kidding me? You’re totally fine. You want to see real psycho assumptions, go and check out some of Lucas’s fan message boards. These people are devout fans, know exactly who I am, and still bash the hell out of me.” 

I swallow hard. “Anything else I should know?”

Her tickled grin gradually gives way to a sheepish look. I’ve always hated looks like this because it never indicates something pleasant. Then she drops her head, rearranging the silverware in front of her. “I hate fondue. Like really, really loathe it.”

“Then why did you ask me to come here? We could’ve gone somewhere else. I’m not picky. I’m not . . .” But I am sweaty and nervous. I’m not so naïve that I believe her shame face stems from a hatred of melted chocolate and cheese. No, Kylie’s withholding something else.

“Because you wouldn’t have come for him,” she whispers, pointing. I follow her fingers across the restaurant, to a smaller booth, to where Lucas is sitting.

My stomach pitches, and I cross my arms over it.

Why is he in this restaurant spreading his . . . ugh, rockstar charm? Why can’t I think or move or speak right now? The only thing I’m able to do besides hold my stomach and wish myself smaller is observe. Lucas beckons a pretty brunette waitress over to him, whispers something into her ear. She smiles down seductively at him, nods her head, and swishes her hair over her shoulder as she goes over to do his bidding.

He doesn’t spare her a second glance.

Now, he’s standing, walking toward my table. A scarlet haze stretches from the back of my skull and wriggles its way to the front of my face, making me unable to see straight for several seconds. That’s just how pissed I am at having been set up by Kylie and Lucas.

I’m still speechless, but now absolutely seething, when he comes back into focus. 

He towers over me, his intense hazel eyes blazing into mine as he waits for a response. 

As soon as the sense of feeling reenters my lower body, I bolt up out of the booth. Since I’m so tall, my knees bump hard alongside the table. Wincing in pain and bowing over in humiliation, my vision pings back and forth between Lucas and his sister. In order for me to be successful in my escape, one of them is going to have to move out of the way. Kylie’s face is still downturned. She’s not able to see the glare I’m casting her way, but Lucas—

He’s standing a mere foot away, looking directly at me as he blocks my path out of the booth. He’s calm and gorgeous, amused and completely animal. Right now, he embodies everything I want and everything I fear. 

I will be so much safer if I forget ever wanting him, and once I arrive home, this whole night in general. 

“Please take me home,” I say to Kylie, accentuating every word. I’m livid that she tricked me into coming out just so Lucas could have dinner with me, just so he could more than likely try to convince me to go to bed with him afterward. But most importantly, I’m furious at myself for falling for it and being optimistic enough to hope that she really did have a solution to saving the house. 

I feel like a complete fool.

“Kylie, please?” I whisper.

The few people sitting in the tables around us have pretty much given up on their meals and conversations. Now, they’re leaning in toward us hoping to get a glimpse of what’s going on. A lover’s quarrel, perhaps? Or a man who’s come to convince his girlfriend to come home because he thinks she’s spent too much time with her girlfriend? 

I try to tell myself I don’t care what those people think of the situation because I’ll never see them again, but I only succeed in making myself more ashamed. I notice how flushed my hands are when I wring them together, wishing it was Lucas’s neck between them instead. Ugh, not very likely that will ever happen. I have better luck getting my wish that the floor will open up and swallow me whole. 

“Sit down, Sienna,” Lucas orders me in a low tone. Shaking my head stubbornly, I drag in a deep inhale through my nose. I grip the leather back of the booth in one hand and the edge of the table in the other.

“Please move so I can leave.”

He bends his head down to mine, so near to me that I can feel his breath fanning my ear and smell spearmint from the gum he must have been chewing earlier. “For once, do as you’re told before you shoot yourself in the foot.”

I gawk at Kylie, who’s as flushed as I am and staring down at her phone. Maybe she feels awful for luring me here. Probably not, though. If she’s anything like her brother, she’s more concerned about the scene we’re making and the people who are pretending not to watch us than about hurting my pride. I shouldn’t have fallen for her act with Gram either, but then again, I’ve never been the best judge of character.

Quietly, I lower myself until I’m sitting, staring daggers at Lucas all the while. He croons something in a pleased voice that sounds dangerously like “that’s my girl”, and then slides in next to me. The further I slip into the curved booth, the closer he comes. Finally, I just stop moving because there’s no use trying to put any more space between the two of us. I’m unreasonably close to being right on top of Kylie. I move an inch or two in his direction and he calls me a good girl.  

Lucas has got me right where he wants me, with the length of his body hot and hard and extremely noticeable against my side.

If I just listen to what he has to say then I’ll be able to leave and forget this night ever happened.

Yeah . . . right after he fucks with my head a little. Right after he tries to convince me to screw him.

My skin prickles all over.

“You’ll be across the street?” Lucas questions Kylie. When she says she will, my mouth falls open and I look up to protest. Even though she sold me out, I don’t want her to leave. She’s the one who got me into this mess to begin with so what gives her the right to skip out? 

“You can’t go,” I say, my voice deep.

But she gives me a guilty, almost sad, smile.

“Sorry, Sienna, but this one’s between the two of you. I’ll be the one to take you home, though.” She reaches out her fingers to give my hand an encouraging pat but I knock them away. The sharp edge of one of the bronze skull rings she’s wearing nicks the tip of my thumb and I press it between my teeth.

“Thanks.” I say to Kylie, the word muffled. Not that it matters because I don’t mean it.

Lucas clears his throat, and she ducks her head, shimmying out of the booth. “I’m so sorry,” she murmurs. She glances back once, before she disappears from sight, but I pretend not to see her. I know it’s childish but being an adult has gotten me nowhere in this situation.

“God, you look like sin,” Lucas says as I pull my thumb from my mouth. 

The edge in his voice sends a cold thrill racing through me, from the toes of my black pumps, to the top of my head, where I’d styled my long red hair into a messy up-do. My eyes flutter shut and silently, I countdown from 20.

It won’t take much to walk away. No, it won’t take
anything
. I can call a cab, or God forbid, Seth. I shouldn’t stay here with Lucas because he’s about as bad for my mental health as I am for his music.

17, 16, 15 . . .

But if I just leave without hearing him out, I’ll seem weak. He’ll know I can’t take being around him. He’ll figure out how big that part of me that can’t resist him
really
is. And I want to think that he can’t use that against me, but he can. Lucas is the type who will exploit any weakness to get what he wants. 

7, 6, 5 . . . 

No, I won’t leave. Not until I find out—

His fingertips tangle into my hair, sending hairpins flying to the tabletop and onto the seat in a quick, gentle motion. My red hair spills into my face, around my shoulders, and both of us suck in our breaths at the same time.

“Your fucking hair . . .”

“What do want from me?” I ask

“Everything,” he whispers, turning his head so that his lips touch my temple. He inhales the scent of me in before speaking again. When he does, he almost sounds intoxicated. “But for now . . . I want you to work for me.”

He draws back and puts a—dare I say—professional amount of room between us. I’m stunned to realize that the cheese and vegetables have been cleared away and now there’s a salad sitting in front of us. I was so wrapped up in the moment with Lucas that I hadn’t noticed the server’s return.

Damn Lucas for driving me to distraction over and over and over again.

And fuck myself for letting him. Why do I do this to myself?

Lucas spears a fork into his salad and takes a bite. I study the way he chews—slow, deliberate movements. Tiny flicks of his tongue that causes my body to burn. He turns eating, something that is so basic, into a seductive art. I catch myself sinking my teeth into my own lip as I imagine him drawing it in between his teeth. 

“I’m offering you Ms. Previn’s home in exchange for your . . . services. Ten days. My rules. And you have to cater to my every need. Then, I’ll personally sign over the deed to your grandmother’s home.”

I let his words sink into my brain sluggishly, like spoiled molasses. Let the shame wash over me. “I’m not like that,” I whisper, turning my face away from him so he doesn’t see the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks and ruin the makeup I so carefully applied. 

He catches my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to look at him. To face him. He gives me a sarcastic, pouty expression and I clench my fingers into the fabric of my dress so I don’t try to smack it right off. “I never said you were. Just took you for the type who likes to work for the things she wants.”

What he’s just said—it takes everything cruel comment Preston ever made to me when we were dating, adds them together, and multiplies them. “I’m not going to fuck you for money, Lucas.”

He doesn’t try to stop me as I stiffly maneuver my way out of the booth.

I’m three steps away from the table, and struggling with the bitter urge to just break down bawling, when he says, “There’s no fucking involved.” His voice is so soft and cold, it makes me shiver, like a gust of wind has just swept through the room.

Warily, I take a peek over my right shoulder. He’s pushed his salad away, and has his arm draped over the back of the booth, expecting me to sit back down. But what’s surprising is his face. The sardonic look is gone, and is replaced by one that’s apologetic—a look that’s earnest. 

“What?”

“Sit and we’ll talk.”

Another order, but he has my attention. He knows there’s no way in hell I’m exiting this restaurant without finishing this conversation now. Quietly, I climb into the booth, sitting in a way that we’re facing each other. I can feel his eyes blistering into me as I play with my fork, twirling it between my fingers while I wait for him to explain himself. 

He lets me sweat for a couple minutes—allows me to think of so many scenarios that I’m squirming in my seat. I tap the toe of my shoes on the hard floor, beating out a staccato rhythm. He takes a breath and then, at last, he speaks.

“Kylie’s going on vacation to New Orleans and I need a personal assistant while she’s away.”

“A personal assistant,” I repeat, and he bows his head, smiling at me so politely I’m sure it hurts his face. Polite on Lucas Wolfe is about the same as aggressive on me—outright awkward.

“Mmmhmm, and naturally I want someone I already know. You.”

Me—the same wardrobe girl who was banned from ever working on the set of a Your Toxic Sequel
anything
ever again. The same girl who’d shot him down after he tried to convince her to be bound to his bed.

The same girl he still wants to bind. 

“You want me to work for you because you just want to have sex with me,” I snarl. Blowing out a noisy breath, I continue, “You can call me a personal assistant all you want, but this is because of sex. So why not just ask me to screw you?”

He smiles that unsettling smile that makes me question my sanity for still being near him. The same smile that also makes me wonder why I'm not throwing my body into his arms right this instant.
Because of what he’ll do to you
, that little voice in the back of my head warns me.
He’ll take everything and won't give a damn thing in return.

“I told you already,” he says. “This is work of the non-sexual variety.”