Consumed (Devoured, #2)(4)

He turns all the way around just as I step into the foyer. I’m struck by the soft look in his hazel eyes. Lucas Wolfe has never been the type to do emotions—well, none except for anger, disinterest, and lust. But tonight?

Tonight he’s mind-f*cked me.

“It’s for you,” he says.

“What?”

He inches closer to me. “This house. I bought it for you. I—“ He clears his throat and rubs the palm of his hand over the gorgeous angles of his face. “I lost my last vacation house in a bet. So this is for us, Sienna.”

For us.

Those words catch me off guard—wrap around my heart and give it a firm squeeze—but he doesn’t seem to notice because he turns his attention to the alarm system on the wall by the front door.

Just a day ago, if someone had asked whether or not I’d ever see Lucas-Fucking-Wolfe again, I would’ve laughed off the question. Lucas and I were through; he hadn’t wanted me—at least not enough to make us work—and besides, I had no place in a rock star’s world.

Lucas had sent me away just when I realized that I had fallen in love with him.

Now, standing inside of a house that he says is meant for us, I decide it’s a good thing nobody has ever asked me about the future of Lucas Wolfe and myself. My answer would’ve been wrong.

The alarm beeps twice. His thick eyebrows knit together. “You okay, Si?” he asks. I nod, but he doesn’t look convinced. “Because, you’ve got that f*cking look.”

“What look?”

The soles of his black Converse squeak on the hardwood as he takes two long strides to reach me. I’m ridiculously tall for a woman—five foot ten— but he’s several inches taller than me. I have to I tilt my head far back to stare up at his face.

“It’s that look like you’ve got something you want to say,” he finally says.

I cross my arms over my chest, but he grabs both my wrists, pulling my body hard against his. This is the first time he’s put his hands on me since he removed the blindfold, and I crave more of his touch.

Less than five hours with him, and already he’s like a drug to me.

“Answer me, Si.”

I shrug. “I’m shocked you didn’t try to screw me on the way here.”

“Oh, I wanted to f*ck you, but the steering wheel got in the way, and I wanted to do this time the right way.” Without warning, he pulls the bands out of my high ponytail, breaking the rubber with his fingertips. He says something under his breath when my red hair falls in tangled waves around my shoulders. He’s always had a thing for my hair. “Anything else you got to say?”

“No.”

He places his rough fingertips over my lips, working the tender flesh between his thumb and forefinger before cupping the sides of my face. “Talk to me.”

Closing my eyes, I swallow and count to five to collect my thoughts. The last thing that I need to do is ramble and come off sounding like a blubbering idiot. “You sing a song about me,” I start tentatively. His thick hair sweeps back and forth across my forehead as he nods. “Don’t get me wrong, “Ten Days” has got to be the most ridiculously romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me. But then you show up at my grandma’s house. You tell me that I owe you two days and that you’ve got somewhere to take me. You bring me here, to the mountains.”

“Yes.”

“And you told me you love me.” The last two words come out in a fierce whisper.

“Open your eyes.” When I don’t immediately obey him, his fingertips thread into my hair, pulling gently. Electricity hums through every part of my body. “Open your eyes.”

This time I listen. He gives me a crooked smile and slides a few locks of my hair between his fingertips.

“I brought you here because I didn’t have the patience for Los Angeles, where I should’ve taken you months ago. You’re here because I plan to enjoy every inch of your body and f*ck you speechless without interruption.” His mouth is just a mere centimeter away from mine. I can smell the spearmint from the gum he chewed while he was driving intermingling with the scent of the cologne he uses. It's intoxicating, and suddenly, my mouth is dry.

“I brought you here because I do love you. Because I plan to love you on my terms—at least for the next few days. And you came, Sienna. Don’t ever forget that.”

But he’s already lost me. What exactly does he mean by on his terms?

I jerk away from him and walk backwards to put enough distance between us to give myself a chance to think clearly. I stop when my ass hits the bannister. He cocks his head to the side, and I reach behind me, squeezing the wood for support.

“What about my terms?” I ask as calmly as possible. “You’re not going to pull a bunch of shit on me again, Lucas. You’re not going to use me for two days, or two weeks, or however long and screw me over. I won’t let you.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Because, if you tell me to leave again, I . . . ” But my voice gives. I don’t actually know what I’ll do if Lucas pulls a repeat of what had happened in February. Or what happened in Los Angeles two years ago.

What I do know is I’d rather not have him at all if a repetitive loop of break-ups and make-ups will be the bitter reality of our relationship.