“Whatever. He’s probably moved on to the actress,” I say, feeling lightheaded at the sudden wave of jealousy that sweeps through me. It’s a bitter emotion that I haven’t experienced in a long time, and I hate that I feel it now because of Lucas Wolfe.
***
Luckily for me, I’ve never been big on gambling because by noon the next afternoon, I would have been thirteen hundred dollars poorer had I accepted Tori’s bet last night. The moment I walk past Lucas’s dressing room, he pulls me inside with him. There’s nobody else in here with us—no assistant or band members—and I swallow back the dryness in my mouth.
“I’ve got to work, Mr. Wolfe,” I say in a professional voice, drawing a heartbreaking smile from him.
When he backs me up against a high table with a row of vanity mirrors behind it, I swear I can hear my heart beat drumming violently in my chest.
“Have dinner with me, Sienna,” Lucas says, this time his voice more firm than yesterday. He smells intoxicating—Polo cologne—and I find myself reaching behind me to grip the edge of the table, ignoring the uncomfortable warmth pouring from the vanity mirror’s lights. “I don’t do . . . dates . . . often, but I want this with you.”
“Why?” I whisper.
“Because,” he says, a thoughtful look forming on his handsome face, “I want you for dessert.”
Warmth pools in the bottom of my stomach, spreading through the rest of my body. Lucas reaches behind me and tugs the hair tie out of my red tresses. He flicks the rubber band onto the surface of the table, as if it’s the most offensive thing he’s ever come across, giving me a warning look when I inch my hand toward it.
“You’re not subtle at all,” I whisper, unable to keep my voice from cracking.
“I tried that and it didn’t do shit for me. So I’ve decided I would be upfront with you. I want you eating the food I cook for you and afterward, I want you hot and sweaty in my bed, f**king me. I need to taste every inch of your body. I need to—” His gaze drops to my thighs, and the muscles in his neck go tense.
This pause—the way his body language does a total 180—evokes a strangled sound from the back of my throat. “What?” I question him in a hoarse voice. “What do you need from me?”
When he brings his hazel eyes back to mine, staring at me so intensely that I feel like he can see what I’m thinking—see through my layers of clothing to observe the effect he has on my body—I draw in an unsteady breath.
“I need to devour you.”
Those words manage to knock the air right back out of my lungs, and my head spins as one of his hands skims around my body. He splays it across the small of my back, pulling me closer to him, and leaning over until his lips are a centimeter from my collarbone.
“Sienna?” he growls, and I murmur to acknowledge him. “I’m going to taste you.”
He wasn’t asking me, he was flat out telling me what was going to happen between us, and yet I felt myself nod, felt my body mold against his the moment his warm lips sought out the center of my throat.
“You smell like apples,” he whispers harshly before his tongue darts out to trace the column of my throat. I moan, letting my head fall all the way back. “And you taste like the best kind of sin.”
The best kind of sin. God, I wish he wouldn’t say things like this—not when I was supposed to be delivering the wardrobe for today to Wyatt. And certainly not when I wanted to completely wrap myself around him.
Tori was right about another thing—it had been too long since I’d let myself go.
“You’re going to dinner with me,” Lucas says, trailing his full lips along the outline of my chin and causing my throat to go dry. “Tomorrow night. We may get naked afterward, we might not, but you’re going to eat dinner with me. And I’m sure you’ll go to bed with me, too.”
I pull away and the back of my head thuds up against the glass behind me. Lucas gives me a look of cold disapproval when I press my palms against his chest so he won’t screw with my head long enough for me to regain my senses.
“It’s usually a better idea to ask someone, not tell them,” I say, feeling a surge of defiance pulse through me. “How do you know I even want to go? And what makes you think I’ll wind up in bed with you?”
He entwines his strong fingers in my hair, drawing a sound that’s full of surprise and anger and to my surprise, desire, from me as he uses his other hand to effortlessly remove my palms from his chest. “Because you want me inside of you just as bad as I want to be there. Because you’re wet right now just thinking about one night with me.”
“One night stands don’t talk to each other like that,” I point out breathlessly.
“If you’d like I can meet you in a bar and we can do a little role play before getting down to it.”
God, what else was he going to suggest we do together? I begin to give him a hot reply, one that’ll probably get me fired from this shoot, but he releases my hair and brings his hand around to cover my mouth.
I don’t like the way he gently rakes his long fingers across my lips, so that my mouth wets his skin, or the way there’s a giant part of me that’s absolutely loving what he’s doing to me. That desperately wants to do this with him.
He’s right. I do want him inside of me.
“You’re not going to tell me no,” Lucas says, lifting my hand to his lips. He skims his straight white teeth across the tips of my fingers and delicious tingles race under my skin. “Not for dinner, at least. I don’t need to pressure a woman to go to bed with me, so after we eat tomorrow night, you’re free to go home.”