Devoured (Devoured, #1)(17)

Chuckling, he places his elbows on the table and links his fingers together so that he can lean his chin against his hands. The sleeves of his gray and black Henley roll up just slightly and I find my eyes drawn to the tattoo on his left wrist, an ornate skeleton key surrounded by barbs.

“It’s just a house,” he says. I hope he doesn’t see the way I flinch just slightly. But inside, I feel like he’s reeled back and slapped me across my face with every ounce of force he’s capable of. What’s merely a house for him is something else entirely to my grandmother, to me and Seth. “It’s just money,” he adds, with a nonchalant shrug of his broad shoulders. His unruly hair brushes his neck.

“A lot of it,” I hiss. “It’s a lot of money.”

“And I have a lot more of it. I’ve blown what I spent on your grandmother’s house on parties and strippers and booze in a month.”

For some reason, I’m not at all surprised if not more than a little disgusted. Shaking the thought of him raining enough money to buy a home on a spray-tanned pole dancer named Candi, I say in an even tone, “But what do you have to gain by this? If you don’t want me to have sex with you, why make this kind of offer?”

“Do you know what I realized about you?” he asks, seemingly changing the subject. When I don’t answer, he keeps talking, “You are infuriatingly submissive to everyone around you . . . except me.”

And it hits me. Why he kicked me out of his house two years ago. Why he wants me right now. I am a challenge. “You want me to submit to you,” I whisper, and I’m not sure if I’m disgusted or turned on.

“I want you to do it willingly, yes,” he says.

“And if I say no?”

“Then you finish your dinner, and leave, no strings attached.”

“Except I won’t get the house.”

He ignores my statement, offering the servers who bring our next course—shrimp and steak—a crowd-winning smile. From the way they’re looking at him, they’ve got to know who he is and that he’s using this restaurant as a setting for shady business deals. By the way they keep their eyes down and say very little, I don’t think they’re about to put up a complaint about what he’s doing. He’s probably paid them well for minimal interruption and autographed napkins for them.

I push my food around the plate with my fork. I’ve lost my appetite and all I want to do is finish this so I can go home and take a shower. Yet, I hear myself ask, “You won’t make me have sex with you?”

God, why am I even questioning him? I should be running away, not continuing the conversation. Everything about this conversation just screams escort.

Lucas’s lips curl in a sneer. “I don’t have to pay girls to sleep with me, Sienna, and I’m not going to start with you. I just want you with me, for ten days, answering to my every need. My band’s coming so we can record the last couple songs for the new album. I’m doing a documentary with a film crew. Going to a birthday party where I’ll perform in Atlanta for a very close friend. I need someone to keep me organized.”

“And that person is me because you want to make me your little—”

He leans forward, pressing one finger over my mouth. Instinct kicks in and I try to lick my lips, grazing his flesh instead. “Assistant,” he says. “And yes, it is you. It’s always been you. You do this for me, I hand you the deed to the house and your grandmother doesn’t get evicted. I’ll go back to California and everyone will be happy.”

“And no making me do sexual favors?” I ask one final time.

His lips curl up into a hungry smile and I know there’s a caveat. “Oh, we’ll f*ck Sienna. Believe me, it’s been bound to happen since I first laid eyes on you. But this time it’s going to be because you beg me. Not the other way around. And when you do beg me, it’s because you’re consensual and ready to completely give yourself to me.”

Squaring my shoulders, I sit back stiffly on my side of the booth, glaring down at my plate full of food. “I see.”

He slides a folded square of paper across the table. I open it to reveal his name, a phone number, and a time written in precise handwriting.

9:00 pm.

“The offer’s on the table until tomorrow night.”





CHAPTER SIX





There’s not much else to discuss after Lucas gives me his ultimatum, so once again I ask to be taken home. This time he chooses to grant my request. Lucas sends Kylie a text message and true to her word, she comes back to the fondue restaurant to drive me back. She chats nervously to me as she steers the Escalade through the stop-and-go traffic on West End. I’m hesitant to talk. She’ll only turn around and snitch to Lucas. If I say anything to her, every word that comes out of my mouth will be filed into the mental folder he’s keeping on me.

That’s the last thing I need right now.

Releasing an exasperated moan, Kylie punches a button on the radio, cutting the rock song that’s blasting through the SUV off in the middle of the guitar solo. “Would you just say something? Cuss me out and call me a vicious bitch if you want, but don’t ignore me.” I hear the flick of a lighter, smell the menthol scent of her cigarette. I exaggerate a cough, even though I grew up around smokers and had gone through my Marlboro stage in high school. “My ex-husband used to do that ignoring shit, and it sucks. Bad,” Kylie tells me, sniffling.