Devoured: A Novel(55)

“She didn’t send any of that champagne, did she?” he teases, and I force a grin.

The mood in the Wolfe’s home is happy, easygoing, but I find myself withdrawing. I have to remind myself that I have Gram, that my grandparents were just as wonderful as anyone else’s parents, as I witness Lucas interacting with his folks.

Somehow, I manage to keep the feeling of jealousy at bay.

When we leave, both Mr. and Mrs. Wolfe give me a hug goodbye and embrace Lucas. “Before I forget,” his mom says, stopping him before he gets into the limousine. “Sam’s been trying to get in touch with you. Said it was—”

“Already taken care of,” Lucas tells her, his voice tight, rude. His face is drawn into a harsh frown as he hugs his mom one last time. Whoever Sam is, I bet money he’s one of those things keeping Lucas from coming to Atlanta regularly.

Sam is Lucas’s version of my Rebecca.

?



When we ditch the camera crew and I have Lucas all to myself in the limo, he tells me to come into his lap. I climb across the seats a little too eagerly, sliding my bottom down on top of him. He splays his hands out on either side of it and bounces me up and down, grinning at how I squirm in agony.

“I want you doing that over my face later,” he whispers as he squeezes my bottom.

“How much later?”

“Lunch with Cilla won’t take long and then we’ll—”

I freeze as soon as he says we’re having lunch with Cilla, the rest of his words drowning and suddenly becoming a warbled mess. Pulling away from him, I hug my arms around my stomach. “I didn’t know Cilla Craig was in Atlanta.” Despite all my best efforts to control myself, there’s a hint of wariness in my voice.

He opens my arms, spinning me around so that my back is to him. Positioning my arms behind his neck, he caresses my breasts, flutters his fingers softly against my nipples and then twists them just enough to send vibrations through me. “That’s what we’re here for,” he says between strokes, between kisses on my neck. “Besides the documentary, the only other reason I came to Atlanta is for Cilla’s birthday party tomorrow.”

“Oh,” I say.

He doesn’t seem to notice how angry I am by the time we arrive at the restaurant, or how my hand goes slack in his as he guides me inside. I almost want to retract my invitation to let him touch me even though I know doing so would be silly and a waste of time—he would simply refuse to stop.

Though I’m hoping that Cilla’s beauty is a product of Photoshop and M.A.C, she turns out to be just as stunning as she is on all the magazine covers and music videos. Lucas introduces me as Kylie’s temp, and she nods at me, giving me a hint of a smile. Cilla’s got this husky, sexy voice that turns heads when she laughs and she orders Bud Light and a messy cheeseburger.

Cilla doesn’t say much to me—she’s mostly focused on Lucas—but at one point, she tosses her mane of black hair over one shoulder and stares me down. “So, Pepper, how’d you get caught up with Luke?” she asks. “Because I didn’t even know Kylie knew what a vacation was. That kid works way too much.”

Lucas answers for me. “Sienna worked on the set of one of my music videos a few years ago. She does wardrobe in L.A.”

“Fun,” Cilla says, though she doesn’t look like she means it and I’m glad I never had to work on a Wicked Lambs music video.

The rest of lunch seems to drag by uncomfortably. Each second I spend watching Cilla and Lucas catch up is difficult. Finally, I excuse myself. I linger in the restroom longer than appropriate before going out to face them again. When I reach the table, Lucas is paying the check.

Cilla grins up at me. “I was just inviting Luke—and you, of course— to come over and—”

“I’m good,” I say, not even willing to hear what she’s got to say. Lucas’s hazel eyes narrow into tight slits. I look away from his face.

We’re quiet during the limo ride back to the hotel, sitting on opposite sides of the backseat with our bodies stiff with tension. But the moment we walk through the door of the suite, he drags me to him, pinning my hands above my head and forcing my lips apart until my knees go slack.

He pushes me away from him. Keeping his voice level, he points to the chair by the desk. “Sit down, Sienna.”

“No, I’m not going to—”

“Sit,” he repeats. I’m fuming and my body is trembling, but I sink down, my bottom hanging off the edge of the chair. Then he demands to know why I was so rude to Cilla. I turn my face away from him when I answer him.