Devoured
Lucas and I argue for what seems like an eternity before he clasps his hands together almost demurely and tells me to go pick up his dinner. By time I return from the part of town we've just came from, he's already dressed to go out to Jessica's parents' bar.
I've got to give him credit - he's managed to perfect his disguise. And I have a feeling that's all thanks to the fact that in Los Angeles, he doesn't get to enjoy the peace he's found in Nashville. During the video shoot for "All Over You" there were daily incidents of fangirls (and fanboys) finding ways to sneak themselves on set to try and hook up with members of the band, not to mention the diehard Your Toxic Sequel fans who'd camped outside the studio every day to get a glimpse of Lucas and the rest of the guys.
Tonight, Lucas is wearing his usual jeans, but instead of boots, he's got on old school Converse shoes. A black and white Henley covers every last one of his tattoos. His messy hair is covered by an oversized black beanie and he's wearing . . . glasses. Nerdy ones at that.
I stand at the door to his office for a moment, taking in the sight of him. No man should look that sexy in nerdy glasses.
"Borrowed from wardrobe?" I ask, making his head jerk up toward me. He bites his bottom lip and instinctively, I nibble mine too. "The glasses, I mean."
He beckons me to come into the office and I comply, sitting the Styrofoam platter of food on the desk. Up close to him, I realize that those glasses have to be - hands down - the sexiest thing I've ever seen him wear.
He laughs, "Not borrowed. A nearsighted bitch."
"You look . . . rocker geek."
Tilting his head to one side, he considers what I said for a moment then bites the tip of his tongue to suppress a grin. "You're not going to take pics and send them to the paparazzi, are you?" he teases.
"Only if you're doing this to humiliate my friend's boyfriend," I say. "You're not, are you?"
He's on his feet and towering over me an instant later, his eyes unreadable. "I'd never hurt my fans. There the reason I'm here and not in Atlanta strung out on something. But to answer your question . . . I've got a soft spot for cover bands."
"Why?" I ask.
"Google's your friend," he says, winking at me. "Now go get dressed - your clothes are on your bed."
I move to go and do what he's asked me to, but then ice travels down my body, freezing me. What am I doing? This is the first time he's issued me a command where my mind automatically compelled me to follow it, and that's a realization that frightens me.
"You want to get me dressed, too, Mr. Wolfe?" I demand, forcing a sugary smile when I say his name.
He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, and then blows a stray strand of hair away from my neck. "God, if only. You're thinking about it, aren't you? We're only three days in, and you already want to give in to me." Despite his words, there's not the slightest hint of mockery behind his voice. It's teasing - yes - but so full of promise. I back up until the desk hits my bottom. My fingers curl around the wood.
"If I did?" I whisper breathlessly.
He thinks for a moment and then grants me a look that's so delicious it sends heat spiraling through me. "At this point I'm not sure if I'd fuck you or spank you with that drumstick over there." He motions to a set of signed sticks on the opposite end of the desk. "Maybe both. Maybe just tie you to a chair and taste you 'til you can't move or think or breathe."
"And after?"
"There are seven more days," he reminds me. "There's so much I can teach you, so much we can do, and after that . . ."
I roll my eyes, but I can't deny that he's affected me by what he's said and the way he's looking at me. It should be illegal for any man to have such a magnetic, irresistible effect. "I'm good," I say.
"For now."
"No, for - " In twenty years if you ask me who initiated the kiss, I still wouldn't be able to tell you. It's that sudden, that breathtaking, and all-consuming. Lucas's tongue glides across my lips, tracing the outline of them - once, twice, a third time and then once more. I cry out and my backside slumps onto the desk behind me because my legs are trembling so violently. He makes a noise that's part curse, part moan, and enough to send me over the edge. I splay my hands out on either side of his chest, digging my fingertips into the soft fabric of shirt, into his skin, and pulling him to my body.
His hands are locked behind his head because he's so determined to make me beg before he uses them on me.
My lips part easily the moment his tongue probes the space between them. I'm wet. Wet and moaning and rubbing my body against his. Yet he still doesn't move his hands.
Touch me. Touch me. But I can't bring myself to give into him. Not yet.
When he drags his mouth away from mine, I catch his lower lip gently between my teeth. He winces as my teeth rake over the tender flesh before releasing it. Then a sexy smile creeps across his face. "You a biter, Red?"
He knows I hate it when he calls me Red, just like he knows he's gotten me too flustered to complain at the moment. "Lucas?" I murmur against the side of his mouth. Suddenly brave, I kiss his upper lip, his strong chin. I draw his lower lip between my own and suck it.
"Mmmhmm?"
I lean back and gaze up into his hazel eyes. "Is it really inescapable - this . . . us?" I challenge, running my hands down the front of his chest. He trembles.
"Always has been."
Our mouths meet one last time. I can't fight the temptation to skim the tip of my tongue across my lips, tasting the places he touched me after he pulls away, reluctantly. "Go on and get dressed - no shower, leave your hair down. Don't even think about fucking yourself."
I turn to leave the office and go to my bedroom, but a thought occurs to me. Glancing over my shoulder, I speak again, my voice so low I can barely even hear myself. "Why'd you remember me? Why when you fucked so many of the others?"
"Because you're the one I didn't."
A few minutes later, when I'm in my bedroom shrugging on my clothes and staring into the bathroom at the bathtub I've been forbidden to use, I decide I'm satisfied with his response.
Before I leave the bedroom, I let my hair fall loose.
Jessica's parents' bar - a little dive called The Beacon - is filled to capacity when Lucas and I show up. I'm ready to turn around and head back to the Cadillac when the big, red-bearded doorman tells us we'll have to wait, but Lucas shakes his head. "Get us in now," he says.
Of course that's an easy order for him to give. All he's done since we stepped out of the vehicle is shove his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and look down at the ground so as not to be noticed. He was right when he swore up and down that nobody would recognize him, though. He exudes shyness, the complete opposite of the Lucas I know, and irritatingly similar to myself.
"You should be in movies," I hiss as I stalk back toward the door with him in tow. "Mr. - "
He stops me with a promise I'm certain he'll actually keep. "Say it and I swear the second you do I'll spank your ass with those drumsticks."
Tossing my hair over one shoulder I gaze back at him, grinning. "Sir."
"I've got a personal invitation from" - then, I see Jessica's small body grinding on the dance floor several feet away, and I take in a deep breath. Screw it - "Jess! Hey, over here!" I yell at the top of my lungs. Several people passing by turn to cock eyebrows at me, but the yelling works. Jessica pushes her way through the throng of people in the bar and pokes her head out the door.
She gives the doorman a pouty look. "You're not being a dick, are you, Nicky? She's with me."
Begrudgingly, Nicky stamps my and Lucas's hands and moves his giant body aside so we can go in. I almost want to give him a triumphant smile but even a small victory isn't enough for me to press my luck.
Hundreds of Your Toxic Sequel fans surround us - their hips swaying and their sweaty bodies gliding together. I glance up at Lucas. His eyes are still downcast, but his face says it all. He's in heaven right now, witnessing all these people who've come out to pay homage to his band.
How much cockier can he get?
Jessica finds the only empty table in the whole place and leads us to it. "Here, sit here and I'll go and get you - "
"I'm good," I say, and she gives me a skeptical look. "I'm DD."
"Sam Adams," Lucas says in a very deep voice that makes me give a tiny snort.
Jessica grins, bows her back a little and tilts her head trying to get a good view of his face. When he tucks his chin closer to his chest, she purses her lips and stalks off.
"This isn't going to work." I warn him and he glances up at me.
"Well, no. It typically never does."
Feeling my temperature rise, I study him. He's so full of contradictions. One minute he's talking about wanting peace and quiet and the next he's craving the adoration that comes with his world, his fame. It's enough to make my head dizzy. When I gather up the courage and say this to him, he grins.
"I just wanted enough peace to finish my solo project and I've - " His voice breaks off and he traces a heart that someone has carved into the table.
"You've what?"
Snapping his hazel eyes up, he tells me in a barely controlled voice, "I've written enough goddamn material on it the past few days for two or three albums."
"Ah . . . I see."
"No, I don't think you do."
Confused and tired of playing a game of words with him, I change the subject back to his reasons for wanting to come here tonight. "So why risk being noticed and groped by your fangirls just to see a cover band?"
"You never Googled it, I see."
I shake my head. "It wasn't a direct order, sir."
His face breaks out into a smile and he tilts his head back and laughs. It's one of those full-bodied expressions that sends warmth pouring into my belly. "God you're so frustrating it's fucking with my head." He regains control, slumping down in his chair and getting an unfocused look in his eyes. "When I was in high school, me and Sinjin Fields and Wyatt McCrae had this god-awful cover band. It was how we were discovered eventually - us and Cilla."
Cilla. Why do I feel a pang of jealousy every time I hear or see her name? It's ridiculous because I've never met her - all I know is that she and Lucas are friends. What exactly the word "friend" entails I'm not sure nor do I think I ever want to find out.
"So you're here to discover Jessica's boyfriend?" I question.
He shrugs, and corrects me, "I'm here to say I appreciate them." Then his eyebrows knot together. "But I've got to admit, they're really fucking awesome and I don't mind dropping their names to a few of my contacts."
Lucas's drink slides across the table and he looks up, meeting Jessica's curious stare. "I knew it was you," she whispers excitedly. She plops down in the chair beside me, directly across from him. I watch fascinated because she's on the verge of salivating and her eyes are practically glittering under the dim lights.
"Before or after you eavesdropped on the last minute of what we were saying?" he demands, taking a giant swig of his beer.
Jessica's naturally tan skinned flushes but then she quickly regains composure. "Sorry about that, but. . . . Dude, you're Lucas-Fucking-Wolfe. You're in my parents bar and sitting at table with me and I'm about to freak out." The way she says his name, whispering it reverently brings out the panty-slaying smile. Turning to me, Jessica says in an accusing voice, "You didn't tell me you know him."
"He's my boss," I murmur.
"Your work involves going out to bars with him at 10 at night. Ugh . . . I need to become a wardrobe person. I'm in the wrong field, I - " Then she bites her bottom lip. "You're going to play, right?"
"Wait, he's - " I start but Lucas shoots me a warning stare.
"Fuck yeah."
I've got no other choice but follow them as they weave their way through the crowd toward the front of the bar where the band is rocking out to "Lucky You're Wasted." Jessica bounces on the balls of her feet as she waits impatiently for them to finish up. When they're through, she waves the bassist over to her. He bends his head, attempting to brush his lips across her lips but she shakes her head, too excited to deal with her boyfriend. I watch as her lips move rapidly and she gestures over to me and Lucas.
His eyes widen - and I swear to this - at least three sides. After he gets over the momentary disbelief, he nods and crosses the stage to have a powwow with the rest of the band. At some point, I can clearly hear one of them say "Holy fucking yes."
The crowd's going crazy at this point, wondering what's up, if the band is calling it quits early but then the lead singer saunters back up to the microphone. He's grinning and his voice is shaking as he gives Lucas the only introduction someone like him needs: "It's the real Lucas-fucking-Wolfe, people!"
For a moment, everyone in the audience is utterly unclear of what's going on and they're hushed, murmuring among themselves. But as Lucas strides across stage, taking the lead's guitar and bowing his head graciously, the silence turns from confused to stunned. Lucas calls out "All Over You" and then the hell-raising guitar intro begins.
Nicky, the giant grumpy doorman, and another bouncer who Jessica says keeps watch over the bar make their way to the stage, but none of Lucas's fans tries to bum rush him or anything. Everyone's too entranced by the music, myself included.
I'm so spellbound that it takes me a moment to realize that at certain lines of the song, Lucas's eyes drag to the far left of the stage, seeking me out. Making me feel like I'm the only person in this crowded bar. When I grind my teeth together in frustration, Lucas's eyes narrow a fraction and he shakes his head slowly to each side.
Drawing in a deep breath, I do the only other thing I can do. I sing along with the rest of the crowd. I ignore the wetness that has built up in the lacy black panties I'm wearing.
Panties that Lucas himself had touched and laid out for me to put on.