Absorbed (Devoured, #1.5)(19)

“You came here to stop me from eloping with that guy I met this morning at the blackjack slot machine in my hotel, didn’t you?” I tease.

“I f*cking love you, beautiful.”

It had taken him so long to say those words to me that it still causes me to shiver. “I love you too, McCrae.”

Backing away from me, he starts to release my hand, but I tighten my grip on his fingers. “You should get back to Heidi,” he says.

My eyebrows tighten together into a frown. “You’re leaving?”

“Going back to my room at the Venetian. At least until you and Heidi are done here. I’m flying back with you tomorrow night.”

I let out a huge breath. “Thank god. For a moment, I thought you flew in only to say sorry.“

He leans down so that his mouth is level with my ear. “Actually, I flew in to marry you.” As he walks away, he grins at me—at the way I can’t quite get my mouth to shut. “But I figured I should get the sorry out of the way before I told you that, beautiful.”





Chapter Thirteen


Lucas Wolfe





Something is going on with Kylie.

For the first time in god knows how long, she’s avoiding me. She has been since she got back from Las Vegas a week ago and she immediately asked for a few days off. Like a dumbass, I agreed and told her to take as long as she needs. And the only thing I’ve heard from her since is the seven-worded response to the text I sent asking her to bring my award when she comes back to work: Hell no. You can have the next. ;)

That was a couple of days ago, and I’m worried about her. So worried that I’m on the verge of calling McCrae—who I haven’t seen much of either—and asking him what f*cked up thing he’s done to her this time. Or just go by her shoebox apartment. As soon as I’m done with today’s music video shoot.

I’ve made it a point to stay out of their relationship, but if he’s f*cked up again, I’m done.

There’s a tentative knock on the door, and an assistant pokes her head into my dressing room. “Mr. Wolfe?” she says, and when I realize she’s not going to respond until I tell her to, I nod for her to continue. “Mr. McBride is ready to begin shooting.”

I check the time on my phone, 1:55 PM. I’ve worked with Karl McBride on several of the band’s music videos, and as usual, he’s right on time.

Staring down at the dressing room’s carpeted floor, the assistant works her bottom lip between her teeth. “Should I tell Mr. McBride that you need more time?” Shaking my head, I stand up. She’s wide-eyed as she lifts her gaze to follow me. “I mean, it absolutely wouldn’t be a problem. Mr. McBride wants to make you—” But her voice trails off as I pull the door all the way open and step past her.

“Happy, I know,” I say. McBride’s assistant continues to look at me like she’s about to sprint off in the other damn direction. Am I that f*cking intimidating? “I need to get this over with.”

“Yes, of course.”

I follow at a slow pace behind her as she speed-walks in the direction of the set. Once we’re there, McBride breaks away from a group of crewmembers to come speak to me. Grinning, he claps me on the back.

“Never thought the day would come when you’d want to do something short notice but we’re all in. It’ll be the best YTS video to date,” he promises.

“Solo,” I remind him. “This is for my own album.”

He smacks his palm up against his tan forehead. “Damn, sorry. I think of you and I always automatically think the band.”

“Still with the band,” I say. “Just trying my own shit right now. Which is why we’re”—I gesture at the set, which is a simple backdrop with nothing but a high stool in front of it—“here today.”

McBride releases a noise of relief. “Then we’re ready to begin.” He glances at his watch. “Melanie?”

The assistant who came to get me a few minutes ago scurries over, keeping her eyes downcast. For a brief moment, this woman gives me a vivid reminder of my first meeting with Sienna a couple of years ago. Red had jumped at just about every word I said, had flat-out avoided me at all costs, and I’d never been more drawn to anyone in my life.

I’m not drawn to Melanie—not even close—but she sure as f*ck makes me want Sienna more.

“Yes, Mr. McBride?” Melanie’s got a pen and a little notepad out, but McBride’s instructions are simple.

“Tell Christina if she’s not out of her dressing room in the next five minutes—” he starts, but I quickly stop him. That name, Christina, sounds familiar. And not the good kind of familiar but the kind that puts a foul taste in my mouth.

“That psycho who worked with me on the “All Over You” video?” I demand, and he nods. “Why the f*ck would she be here?”

“Your love interest, Lucas.”

The last f*cking thing I need in a music video to apologize to the woman I’m in love with is another woman crawling all over me, especially Christina. I jerk my head from side to side. “Fire her.”

McBride is suddenly just as flustered as his assistant. “I can’t just get another actress out here right away, Lucas. Not even for you. We can reshoot in a day or two maybe or even in—”