Consumed (Devoured, #2)(3)

“Give me an hour to get ready,” Sienna whispers, walking backward into the house. “I promise I won’t be long.”

It only takes her half the time. After I load her luggage into the trunk of my car, which I’ve driven closer to the cabin while waiting, she slips into the passenger seat next to me. Dragging in a shaky breath, she lays her head back against the leather headrest and then turns to look at me as I put the car into drive. “I love you, Lucas.”

“I love you too.”

She frowns when I slam on the brakes near the top of the driveway, but then I produce a wide red strip of fabric from the center console. The corners of her mouth slide into a smile. “Another one of your attention exercises, Lucas?” she questions as I cover her eyes with the fabric.

“No, but surprises are your new best friend.”

For once, she doesn’t protest.





Sienna



Lucas’s car comes to a slow stop and he cuts the engine, stopping Cavo mid-song. At the sound of his door opening and closing, the air flies out of my lungs. I embrace this moment of breathlessness, the sudden burst of uncertain excitement that hums through me.

Where are we, and what have I gotten myself into?

Grasping the hem of my shorts, I run through a list of places he might have brought me. I rule out hotel or airport. We’ve been on the road for what seems like hours, and Gram’s house is only a stone’s throw from Nashville’s airport.

Exasperation kicks in, and I bring my hands up to my blindfolded eyes, but the passenger door swings open. Lucas clears his throat. Though I can’t see him, I swear I can feel his hazel eyes burning against the side of my face.

“We’re here,” he announces.

“I figured as much. Where exactly is here?”

His calloused fingers close around my wrists, and he tugs me out of the car toward him. I stumble a little, the front of one of my flip-flops bending enough that the warm pavement brushes the tips of my toes. Lucas steadies me, placing his other hand on the curve of my hip. We’re chest to chest. Late night breeze whispers against our skin, but I’m not cold. Not when he’s so close I can practically taste the spearmint on his tongue as I breathe him in.

And no matter how many times I’ve attempted to convince myself otherwise, I have missed breathing this man in.

“Lucas.” My voice is strained. “Where are we?”

Letting go of my wrist, he moves both of his hands up my body, not stopping until he touches either side of my face. “You ask so many f*cking questions, Sienna.” He works his fingers beneath the silky blindfold and dips his mouth to my ear. “Just enjoy the moment.”

“Hard to when I can’t see a damn—” I begin, but he lowers the fabric from my eyes.

“You look stunned.”

What did he expect after everything that’s happened between us just in the last several hours? “I doubt that’ll go away any time soon.”

A new emotion passes over his features—one that makes me uncomfortable—and I look away. Beneath the pale glow of moonlight, there’s nothing but mountains and lush trees as far as I can see. The only house around is the one we’re parked in front of, a massive three-story cabin—twice as large as my grandmother’s place in Nashville—with floor to ceiling windows on the second level.

“We’re still in Tennessee?” I ask.

“Gatlinburg. I needed you all to myself, Si. I needed these two days without interruption, to win you back and make-up for my f*ck-ups the right way.”

“All to yourself, huh?”

A few locks of messy, dark hair fall over his hazel eyes when he nods. “The way I should have done months ago.” Spinning me around so that I’m by his side, he runs his palm down the inside of my arm, lacing our fingertips together.

I hold on to him tightly, not wanting him to release my hand, to release me.





While Lucas takes our luggage out of his car, I explore the cabin’s main floor. Other than the ceiling-height stone fireplace in the center of the living room, the house has none of the usual rustic charm. From the black sectional couch that surrounds the fireplace, to the equally dark furnishings, and even to the gleaming black countertops in the kitchen, something moody and sexy pulsates through the atmosphere.

It’s definitely familiar.

I rest my back against the stainless steel refrigerator, my eyes scanning the open, state-of-the-art kitchen.

Then it hits me: this house reminds me of Lucas’s place in Los Angeles. I’ve only been there once, more than two years ago when he took me there for what had been a catastrophe of a date, but it’s impossible to forget.

I return to the living room but stop short as the front door closes. Running my fingertips across the blindfold still hanging around my neck, I look at Lucas, who’s standing in the foyer. His back is turned to me, but even under the dim lights, I’m able to admire him—too-long, too-messy dark hair; olive skin and muscles that any sane person would envy; and the intricate tattoos that cover more of his body than not.

Simply put, Lucas Wolfe is beautiful

The sound of me pushing my hands into the pockets of my shorts catches his attention. He turns his face slightly, giving me a clear view of his profile. “You hungry?”

“No.” I step in his direction. “This place is absolutely amazing.” Two more steps closer, each one wider, each one making the pit of my belly clench a little more. “I’m guessing it belongs to you.”