Consumed(21)

12:16PM: Shit, are you serious, Red? Sit tight.

“Nice move, Wolfe,” I mutter under my breath. Tapping my foot rapidly against the floor, I wait for my suitcase to come around on the carousel. Once I locate it, I lug everything to a row of chairs nearby. It’s too hot for me to wait outside for some driver to arrive.

No sooner than my butt makes contact with the hard seat do I hear snippets of a conversation between two women who are walking in the direction of the taxi exit.

“ . . . I have all of their CDs. I could spot him from a mile away. It was definitely him, and you—you are stifling me!”

What the hell?

I twist around in time to witness the shorter woman with the black, asymmetrical bob narrow her chocolate brown eyes at the tall, leggy blonde. “And just last night you just said they’re on tour. So which is it, Kate? He’s is on tour, or he’s bullshitting around this place?”

“Or maybe,” Kate hisses, “Lucas is catching a flight because of his tour.”

Lucas is already here?

I clamber to my feet, allowing the argument between Kate and her friend fade into the background as I scan as far as my eyes can see for Lucas. There are couples reuniting all around me, and what appears to be an entire busload of people holding up signs that say “Welcome Home, Gloria,” but no sign of him. I’m about to grab my stuff and go look, but then I see him. Heading directly toward me. His stride a little faster than it normally is, his soft grin entirely too confident, his hazel eyes cocky and yet full of need.

God, that man and those eyes.

He’s wearing destroyed jeans and an olive green T-shirt that show off the green flecks in his eyes. His muscular arms hang relaxed by his side, but when he comes close enough for me to breathe in the clean, airy scent of his cologne, I notice that he’s worrying something between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. I squint down at it as the toes of his Converse brush up against my ballet flats.

“Well f*ck, Sienna. Looks like you’re more interested in my hands than my face.” But he opens his palm, holding it six inches from my face. My throat constricts when I realize what he’s holding.

It’s a guitar pick.

Holy hell.

“You’re grinding your teeth.” The volume of his voice is barely above a whisper and yet so powerful. “The things I want to do to you for that.”

Dragging my gaze up to meet his amused expression, I cross my arms over my breasts and rock back on the balls of my feet. “I almost feel you’re holding that just so I’ll do it.” He gives me a noncommittal shrug, and I run my tongue over my teeth. “I thought you said a driver was—”

He interrupts me mid-sentence by jerking me to him. I gasp, and no surprise, he smirks. “Did you really think I’d send a driver to get you? Did you really think I’d forget the exact moment you were due to arrive, Sienna?” He moves the tip of his guitar pick along my back, tracing the outline of the lacy bra through my shirt. “I’ll deal with any type of airport bullshit just to get to you first.”

“Suck up,” I say, glaring up at him. He slides the guitar pick across my shoulder blades, a look of sheer satisfaction taking over his face when my body curves against the contours of his. “But, I’m glad you did, I wanted to strangle you when you sent that text.”

He responds by dipping the pick dangerously low, tracing it along the deep-V of my white and yellow peplum blouse. “Did you just squeal?”

He would try to screw with my head, with my body, right in the middle of the freaking LAX. “If you’re going to kiss me, you should probably do it now before you draw a crowd,” I say.

“Oh, I’m not going to kiss you.” He backs away from me, and when he notices the look of disappointment, and surprise, on my face, he brushes his thumb over my slightly parted lips. “When I kiss you, I’m going to be the only thing on your mind. Not what’s running through the mind of everyone walking past us, do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Wolfe.”

“Smart ass.” Grinning, he stuffs the guitar pick into the back pocket of his jeans and examines my luggage. “You packed light.” He grabs the handles of my bag and carry-on in either of his large hands. “I expected there to be at least one more of these.” He jiggles the larger bag, and I laugh.

“I left a bag of shoes at Gram’s. Don’t worry, it’s carry-on size.” Though judging from what he just told me, he doesn’t really care how many bags I bring along for this ride. He gestures his head to the left of us, and I fall in step beside of him toward short-term parking. I resist the urge to brush hair away from his face. “My brother’s going to send them as soon as I know where we’ll be stopping for our first . . . off-night.”