“Have you—you don’t know much about the tour, do you?” There’s the faintest tinge of surprise, not to mention hurt, in his voice. It catches me off guard. When I don’t answer—or make any noise for that matter—he repeats his question, this time sounding like the ridiculously confident man I fell in love with. “I’m shocked, Red. Don’t you Google shit before you get yourself into it?”
After the incident in Atlanta, I did my best to put Lucas Wolfe out of my mind. I ignored the magazines with him on the cover in the supermarket. I changed the channel when anything Your Toxic Sequel came up. And I sure as hell didn’t look him up online.
“No, apparently Google is my worst enemy,” I say. “Lucas . . . Wicked Lambs is touring with YTS, aren’t they?”
I know the answer well before he confirms, but it doesn’t stop the tightness from spreading across my chest when he says, “I thought you already knew.”
Chapter 5
Lucas
To be honest, I truly believed that Sienna was already aware of Cilla being on our tour. Si’s surprise and irritation says differently, though. She’s hesitant now, giving me short, clipped answers. Yes. No. Fine. Okay. It drives me f**king insane, but I control the urge to threaten to spank her.
There’ll be time enough for that later.
We talk for another few minutes before she fakes a sorry ass yawn and tells me she has a wardrobe assignment in the morning. “I’ll call you later this weekend, okay?” she says.
Cilla and Wyatt are only a few feet away from me smoking, but I don’t hesitate to stop Sienna before she hangs up on me. “Wait!” Her breathing picks up on the other line. I sit down on one of the nightclub’s outdoor benches. A few feet away, Cilla paces back and forth with her middle and index finger making such a tight vice on her cigarette, the damn thing is close to snapping in two.
It’s not secret that I don’t want Cilla coming on tour with us, but because I don’t want to hurt her, I drop my voice to a whisper when I tell Sienna, “I love you. And I’m so f**king glad you’ll be with me.”
Sienna laughs nervously. I can almost picture her nodding her head briskly and skimming her teeth over her bottom lip. “I’m your wardrobe consultant, remember?”
The way she says wardrobe consultant—in a low, professional voice—makes my c**k harden. I start to tell her that I’ll be on the earliest flight to Nashville in the morning, but then I remember I’ve already made plans to fly to Atlanta.
It’s a trip that can’t be avoided if I don’t want to lose my mind anytime soon.
“I know exactly what you are,” I say. I catch Wyatt’s shit-eating grin, and I turn my body slightly so he can’t read my lips when I add, “And I’m going to have one hell of a time with you in and out of that wardrobe. Bending you over—”
Her voice is strained when she interrupts me, and I know she’s forgotten all about the Cilla and Wicked Lambs issue. For the time being at least. “You shouldn’t talk like that, Lucas.”
No, I shouldn’t. Because now, all I’ll be able to think about for the rest of the night and all through the morning on the way to Atlanta is the warmth of her skin beneath mine, the tiny beads of sweat on the small of her back and the sweet scent of her apple body wash lingering between her shoulder blades. When I go to sleep tonight—alone and with my dick throbbing—all I’ll be able to imagine is the way her bound hands reach out to me, grabbing at my hips so that she can pull me deeper into her.
Knowing that she belongs to me and that I don’t have to fight for her is worth spending a hundred nights alone. “Sienna?”
“Yes?”
“Later, when you touch your pu**y—because I know you will, and there’s not shit I can say to make you wait for me—I want you blindfolded. I want you thinking of me inside of you, tasting you. And after you’re done, after you’ve called my name into your pillow and you’re shaking, let me know.”
“You don’t know that—” she begins, but I cut her off with a rough noise that leaps from the back of my throat.
“Don’t play games.”
Cilla flags me down, and when I make eye contact with her, she juts her head in the direction of the entrance of the club, where her band’s party is happening, and gives me a bittersweet smile. She hobbles up the brick steps on her spiky red heels, and the doorman lets her inside. Her shoulders are trembling, and I stare at the club’s black metal door long after it closes.
“I love you, Lucas,” Sienna interrupts my thoughts. That strange feeling of warmth crawls through my body. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Don’t forget what I said.”
“And what if I don’t do what you’re thinking?”
“You will.”
For a moment after the call ends, I’m silent, oblivious to the world despite the Friday night traffic less than 50 feet in front of the club and the sound of Wicked Lambs’ newest music blasting behind me. When I finally decide to give a shit about the world around me, I realize Wyatt is sitting next to me on the bench.
“You smell like smoke,” I point out, and he shrugs.
“She didn’t take Cilla well, did she?”
“Did Kylie take any of the shit you did to her well?” It’s a low blow, but he doesn’t seem to be fazed. He stretches back and starts to light up another cigarette, though he knows I can’t stand the smell of smoke—at least not cigarette smoke. I give him a look, and he groans and shoves the cigarette back into the half-empty green and white box.