Consumed (Devoured, #2)(38)

I shake my head. “And Sin would hear—and comment—on everything he hears.”

He takes a step backward and then another, offering me a miserable, forced smile. “Exactly. And nobody else will give us a moment of peace either.” As if to reiterate his point, someone bangs on the door. Groaning, Lucas places his forehead against mine. “When this is all over, I’m taking you home with me, and there won’t be a goddamn thing that’ll make me let you go.”

Ugh. Only Lucas could confront me while I’m angry, diffuse the situation (for the time being) and end the conversation by leaving me anxious and anticipating our future.

“You done in there?” Sinjin yells, and for the first time, I witness Lucas gritting his teeth together.

“Frustrated, Mr. Wolfe?” I flick my nail over his nipple, but he catches my wrist, sucking the tip of my finger into his mouth.

“You’ll find out when we get to St. Louis Wednesday.”

Shooting my eyebrow up, I step aside so he can open the door. A dozen flashes and voices seem to greet him all at once, but he’s still able to hear me when I ask, “What about Sinjin’s party?”

Giving the crowd a cocky grin, he responds to me in a low voice. “We’ll go. After we’ve done what we need to do. Just know that while I’m in here doing this tonight, I’ll be thinking about how many ways I’m going to f*ck you. How I’ll show you why it’s impossible for me to even think of another woman.”

With those words, he steps into the hospitality room, his stride confident and sexy. I stay where I am for a couple more minutes to catch my breath. Once I’m no longer flustered, and my face is cool to the touch, I walk out after Lucas. He’s in the center of the room, signing autographs and talking to the press, so I find a place in the corner away from the camera flashes.

When I scan my eyes around the room, I’m not shocked to see that Cilla has left. Nor am I surprised that when Sinjin and I look at each other, he’s wearing the most satisfied expression that I’ve seen him manage during this tour.





For the next 48 hours, Cilla stays clear of me. The only close encounter that we have is backstage in Chicago, when Maggie asks for my help again. After I pick out and deliver wardrobe to Your Toxic Sequel, she tasks me with taking a box of vintage-looking necklaces to Cilla’s dressing room.

I dread doing it.

I loathe conflict—I witnessed enough arguments growing up to want to have any of that in my adult life. And people like Samantha and Cilla—they’re the type I’ve always avoided under all circumstances.

But surprisingly, when Cilla opens her door, she’s somewhat civil. She’s wearing nothing but a strapless lace bra and lace boy shorts and has no problem showing off her body as she poses in the doorway giving me a pointed stare. “Yes?” she drawls.

I hold the box out to her, and she looks at it skeptically. “Maggie wanted you to have these. She said you wanted to wear them tonight.” As soon as I say that, she snatches the box out of my hands, opens it up and squeals like a little girl.

“Etsy is my crack.” She dismisses me with a flick of her hand, but before she slams the door in my face, she pokes her head out and says, “Tell Maggie I said thanks, Pepper.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, “You’re welcome.”

“You know,” a voice says from beside of me, and I look over at Cal who’s guzzling an energy drink. “She’s not the norm for female musicians.”

“So, you’re telling me that passive-aggressiveness and crazy mood swings aren’t the norm?”

“Only if you’re Cilla Craig.”

“Ouch! You sound almost as negative as Sinjin when it comes to her.”

“No, not negative. But there are—and I shit you not—diseases that I’m more drawn to than Cilla.”

Not negative my ass.

“Gross,” I mutter.

Opening the door to the band’s dressing room, he motions for me to go inside. “I speak nothing but the truth,” he says, following behind me. He stops short as soon as he seeks Lucas on the couch.

“I swear if you’re still on her about that f*cking body shot—” Lucas growls, but Cal quickly disappears inside of the restroom before he can finish. Lifting his hazel eyes to me, Lucas jerks his head slightly, motioning for me to come over. As soon as I reach him, he pulls me onto his lap so that we’re facing each other, and I can feel his heartbeat drumming against my chest.

“Sin and Wyatt could come in at any moment,” I point out. “And there’s Cal, too.”

He gives the sensitive spot on my sides a sharp squeeze, and I move my hips against him. He groans. “God, you better be ready for St. Louis tomorrow.”


“No show, hotel bed, and a giant tub? Yes, I am.”

“Remember what I told you in Dallas?” He presses thumb presses against the side of my breast. I suck in a little breath between my teeth. “About the thoughts running through my head?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Lifting me off of him, he gets up, and I slide back against the couch cushions. He walks out of the room, singing “Handcuffs”— one of the YTS songs I was introduced to earlier this year. Lucas had written the song about our first encounter with each other. I’m glad Cal’s in the bathroom, and Sinjin and Wyatt are nowhere to be found, so they can’t see how hot my face is.