Devoured (Devoured #1)

Devoured (Devoured #1) Page 5

As soon as the sense of feeling reenters my lower body, I bolt up out of the booth. Since I'm so tall, my knees bump hard alongside the table. Wincing in pain and bowing over in humiliation, my vision pings back and forth between Lucas and his sister. In order for me to be successful in my escape, one of them is going to have to move out of the way. Kylie's face is still downturned. She's not able to see the glare I'm casting her way, but Lucas -

He's standing a mere foot away, looking directly at me as he blocks my path out of the booth. He's calm and gorgeous, amused and completely animal. Right now, he embodies everything I want and everything I fear.

I will be so much safer if I forget ever wanting him, and once I arrive home, this whole night in general.

"Please take me home," I say to Kylie, accentuating every word. I'm livid that she tricked me into coming out just so Lucas could have dinner with me, just so he could more than likely try to convince me to go to bed with him afterward. But most importantly, I'm furious at myself for falling for it and being optimistic enough to hope that she really did have a solution to saving the house.

I feel like a complete fool.

"Kylie, please?" I whisper.

The few people sitting in the tables around us have pretty much given up on their meals and conversations. Now, they're leaning in toward us hoping to get a glimpse of what's going on. A lover's quarrel, perhaps? Or a man who's come to convince his girlfriend to come home because he thinks she's spent too much time with her girlfriend?

I try to tell myself I don't care what those people think of the situation because I'll never see them again, but I only succeed in making myself more ashamed. I notice how flushed my hands are when I wring them together, wishing it was Lucas's neck between them instead. Ugh, not very likely that will ever happen. I have better luck getting my wish that the floor will open up and swallow me whole.

"Sit down, Sienna," Lucas orders me in a low tone. Shaking my head stubbornly, I drag in a deep inhale through my nose. I grip the leather back of the booth in one hand and the edge of the table in the other.

"Please move so I can leave."

He bends his head down to mine, so near to me that I can feel his breath fanning my ear and smell spearmint from the gum he must have been chewing earlier. "For once, do as you're told before you shoot yourself in the foot."

I gawk at Kylie, who's as flushed as I am and staring down at her phone. Maybe she feels awful for luring me here. Probably not, though. If she's anything like her brother, she's more concerned about the scene we're making and the people who are pretending not to watch us than about hurting my pride. I shouldn't have fallen for her act with Gram either, but then again, I've never been the best judge of character.

Quietly, I lower myself until I'm sitting, staring daggers at Lucas all the while. He croons something in a pleased voice that sounds dangerously like "that's my girl", and then slides in next to me. The further I slip into the curved booth, the closer he comes. Finally, I just stop moving because there's no use trying to put any more space between the two of us. I'm unreasonably close to being right on top of Kylie. I move an inch or two in his direction and he calls me a good girl.  

Lucas has got me right where he wants me, with the length of his body hot and hard and extremely noticeable against my side.

If I just listen to what he has to say then I'll be able to leave and forget this night ever happened.

Yeah . . . right after he fucks with my head a little. Right after he tries to convince me to screw him.

My skin prickles all over.

"You'll be across the street?" Lucas questions Kylie. When she says she will, my mouth falls open and I look up to protest. Even though she sold me out, I don't want her to leave. She's the one who got me into this mess to begin with so what gives her the right to skip out?

"You can't go," I say, my voice deep.

But she gives me a guilty, almost sad, smile.

"Sorry, Sienna, but this one's between the two of you. I'll be the one to take you home, though." She reaches out her fingers to give my hand an encouraging pat but I knock them away. The sharp edge of one of the bronze skull rings she's wearing nicks the tip of my thumb and I press it between my teeth.

"Thanks." I say to Kylie, the word muffled. Not that it matters because I don't mean it.

Lucas clears his throat, and she ducks her head, shimmying out of the booth. "I'm so sorry," she murmurs. She glances back once, before she disappears from sight, but I pretend not to see her. I know it's childish but being an adult has gotten me nowhere in this situation.

"God, you look like sin," Lucas says as I pull my thumb from my mouth.

The edge in his voice sends a cold thrill racing through me, from the toes of my black pumps, to the top of my head, where I'd styled my long red hair into a messy up-do. My eyes flutter shut and silently, I countdown from 20.

It won't take much to walk away. No, it won't take anything. I can call a cab, or God forbid, Seth. I shouldn't stay here with Lucas because he's about as bad for my mental health as I am for his music.

17, 16, 15 . . .

But if I just leave without hearing him out, I'll seem weak. He'll know I can't take being around him. He'll figure out how big that part of me that can't resist him really is. And I want to think that he can't use that against me, but he can. Lucas is the type who will exploit any weakness to get what he wants.

7, 6, 5 . . .

No, I won't leave. Not until I find out -

His fingertips tangle into my hair, sending hairpins flying to the tabletop and onto the seat in a quick, gentle motion. My red hair spills into my face, around my shoulders, and both of us suck in our breaths at the same time.

"Your fucking hair . . ."

"What do want from me?" I ask

"Everything," he whispers, turning his head so that his lips touch my temple. He inhales the scent of me in before speaking again. When he does, he almost sounds intoxicated. "But for now . . . I want you to work for me."

He draws back and puts a - dare I say - professional amount of room between us. I'm stunned to realize that the cheese and vegetables have been cleared away and now there's a salad sitting in front of us. I was so wrapped up in the moment with Lucas that I hadn't noticed the server's return.

Damn Lucas for driving me to distraction over and over and over again.

And fuck myself for letting him. Why do I do this to myself?

Lucas spears a fork into his salad and takes a bite. I study the way he chews - slow, deliberate movements. Tiny flicks of his tongue that causes my body to burn. He turns eating, something that is so basic, into a seductive art. I catch myself sinking my teeth into my own lip as I imagine him drawing it in between his teeth.

"I'm offering you Ms. Previn's home in exchange for your . . . services. Ten days. My rules. And you have to cater to my every need. Then, I'll personally sign over the deed to your grandmother's home."

I let his words sink into my brain sluggishly, like spoiled molasses. Let the shame wash over me. "I'm not like that," I whisper, turning my face away from him so he doesn't see the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks and ruin the makeup I so carefully applied.

He catches my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to look at him. To face him. He gives me a sarcastic, pouty expression and I clench my fingers into the fabric of my dress so I don't try to smack it right off. "I never said you were. Just took you for the type who likes to work for the things she wants."

What he's just said - it takes everything cruel comment Preston ever made to me when we were dating, adds them together, and multiplies them. "I'm not going to fuck you for money, Lucas."

He doesn't try to stop me as I stiffly maneuver my way out of the booth.

I'm three steps away from the table, and struggling with the bitter urge to just break down bawling, when he says, "There's no fucking involved." His voice is so soft and cold, it makes me shiver, like a gust of wind has just swept through the room.

Warily, I take a peek over my right shoulder. He's pushed his salad away, and has his arm draped over the back of the booth, expecting me to sit back down. But what's surprising is his face. The sardonic look is gone, and is replaced by one that's apologetic - a look that's earnest.

"What?"

"Sit and we'll talk."

Another order, but he has my attention. He knows there's no way in hell I'm exiting this restaurant without finishing this conversation now. Quietly, I climb into the booth, sitting in a way that we're facing each other. I can feel his eyes blistering into me as I play with my fork, twirling it between my fingers while I wait for him to explain himself.

He lets me sweat for a couple minutes - allows me to think of so many scenarios that I'm squirming in my seat. I tap the toe of my shoes on the hard floor, beating out a staccato rhythm. He takes a breath and then, at last, he speaks.

"Kylie's going on vacation to New Orleans and I need a personal assistant while she's away."

"A personal assistant," I repeat, and he bows his head, smiling at me so politely I'm sure it hurts his face. Polite on Lucas Wolfe is about the same as aggressive on me - outright awkward.

"Mmmhmm, and naturally I want someone I already know. You."

Me - the same wardrobe girl who was banned from ever working on the set of a Your Toxic Sequel anything ever again. The same girl who'd shot him down after he tried to convince her to be bound to his bed.

The same girl he still wants to bind.

"You want me to work for you because you just want to have sex with me," I snarl. Blowing out a noisy breath, I continue, "You can call me a personal assistant all you want, but this is because of sex. So why not just ask me to screw you?"

He smiles that unsettling smile that makes me question my sanity for still being near him. The same smile that also makes me wonder why I'm not throwing my body into his arms right this instant. Because of what he'll do to you, that little voice in the back of my head warns me. He'll take everything and won't give a damn thing in return.

"I told you already," he says. "This is work of the non-sexual variety."

"And where does my grandma's house come into play?"

"Isn't it obvious? It'll be your paycheck. You play my game for ten days, I give you the house."

The sip of water I'm swallowing goes down the wrong way, and I choke on it, clutching at my chest. He moves closer, his face wrinkled with concern. Gasping, I manage to assure him that I'm fine. Then I squeeze the bridge of my burning nose as I try to give his words a chance to fully register.

He wants me to work for him. In exchange for Gram's house.

Ho-ly fuck.

"Are you smoking crack?" I demand, in a rough voice I've never even heard myself use before. His eyebrows arch, and the corners of his lips quirk up. "That's not even - is that even plausible? That would have to be the most idiotic business decision ever."

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 fuck 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."