Devoured: A Novel(59)

And it’s there that I come to terms with the fact that I’ve fallen in love with Lucas Wolfe.

?



My dress for Cilla’s birthday party is the sexiest piece of clothing I’ve ever owned. It’s short and black, made of scalloped lace with a cutout back. When Lucas sees me in it, his eyes darken and he promises me that tonight, my dress will become binds for each of the four posters of the bed.

I get wet just thinking about it.

Cilla’s party is being held at a swanky night club, and I immediately recognize several of her guests from Fuse TV and my iPod playlists. Any other person would be star struck but I’m not. I only have eyes for Lucas. I play my part well, standing by his side as his personal assistant, but wanting him more than anything.

When nobody’s looking, he drags me into a corner with him, kissing me deeply and sucking on my ear. He wiggles his fingers inside of me, causing me to almost lose control on the spot.

“Soon,” he promises.

When Cilla’s boyfriend, the bass guitarist for an up and coming band from Ohio, seeks Lucas out, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. As I’m passing an empty lounge, a long-nailed hand closes around my wrist, slamming me up against a wall. I expect to see Cilla—she’s been prancing around drunk off her ass most of the bight—so I’m surprised when a different face hovers in front of me.

A woman with henna red hair and gray eyes. She’s beautiful, but so are most of the women here tonight. What really strikes me about this particular woman are her eyes. They’re unfocused and wild. Scary. “So you’re Luke’s little bitch?” she demands between clenched teeth, pressing all of her body weight—which isn’t very much considering she’s short and skinny—against me.

“I’m his personal assistant,” I say. But even then, the word doesn’t sound quite right or believable.

She opens her mouth to say something but then her face changes from furious to a look of understanding. “That wasn’t Kylie this morning, was it?”

I suck in a deep breath through my nose. “Sam?” I blurt out.

Her lips curl up into a sneer, and she bobs her head. “If you go near him again, I swear to God I’ll ruin you,” she says. “I swear to God I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” I demand, shoving her away from me. “And just who are you anyway?”

“I’ll ruin him,” she promises, choosing not to answer my second question.

That feeling of dread that I felt when Lucas was on the phone with this woman comes back to me, hitting me hard, and it’s impossible to get it to go away this time. Who the hell is she? And what does she have on Lucas that lets her provoke such a nasty response from him? That gives her enough courage to threaten me?

“Stay the f*ck away from me,” I warn, brushing her aside so I can leave. She grabs my arm again, this time, raking her nails into my skin. This time, I slam her up against the wall. So hard that the back of her head makes a loud thumping noise.

She laughs like a crazy person, shaking her head from side to side, and saying, “You have no idea who you’re talking to, slut.”

“Hey!” a voice shouts out. Both of our heads snap to see Cilla standing in the doorway, her eyes squinted and a shot glass in each hand. “What the f*ck are you doing in here?” She touches the earpiece that she’s wearing, hissing “Security!”

I almost expect Cilla to have me escorted away by the two bouncers who come back just moments after they’re called, but instead, it’s Sam she tells to literally f*ck off and burn in hell. Sam gives me one last look, shrugs off the bouncers, and stalks off.

I rub my hand across the spot on my arm her fingers clawed. “You alright?” Cilla asks me, and I shake my head.

“You know, I’m not your biggest fan because you’re with Luke, but nobody deserves to have to deal with people like Samantha,” she says.

“Who is she to him?”

Cilla’s beautiful face is suddenly surprised, but she recovers quickly. “His ex-wife.”

?



Lucas doesn’t waste any time taking me back to the hotel. It’s another one of those painfully quiet car rides. As we ride the elevator up to our suite, a horrible feeling slinks its way through my chest. As soon as we enter the room, he tells me to sit on the couch. I obey, wringing my hands together.

“Sienna . . . I can’t—” He heaves a sigh and glances away from my face at the marble flooring in the foyer. “You’ve got to go.”