Devoured

I gasp, because for some messed-up reason, I can’t help picturing svelte women in G-strings grinding their asses against my grandmother’s furniture. It’s a ridiculous thought—even if he did install a pole, it’s not like Gram’s belongings would still be there. I’m still furious. “Are you f**king with me?”

Before I realize what’s happening, he moves forward, pulling my arms away from their protective position over my body and pressing me up against the wooden door behind me. His scent—a mixture of clean linen and sweat—fill my nostrils, makes all of my senses blur. He’s close. So close I can feel the fabric of his jeans scratching my bare legs and his lips brushing my right temple. My breath is ragged and to my surprise, so is his.

“Do you really think I’m that classless to put a pole in my living room?” When he tilts my face up and I glare darkly at him, he grins. “On second thought, don’t answer that.”

“Why couldn’t this have waited until after all this was over? Lucas, my grandmother is almost eighty. If something had happened to her, if you had gotten her upset . . .” I inhale deeply, until my lungs are about to explode, and then exhale. Hesitantly, he lifts his hand up and runs it along my cheek. A shudder that’s both agonizing and warm all at once ripples through my body. I squeeze my eyes together. Start a slow, mental count to ten.

My head is spinning so violently that I only make it to six.

“If something happens to my grandmother because of you, I will kill you,” I say. There’s a roughness to my voice that surprises me. When I open my eyes, I can tell he’s shocked too.

“Funny, I would’ve taken you for the passive type, but then again”—he leans backward, letting me go and crosses his arms over his chest—“there was that little incident you’re still so pissed off about. Guess you’re not very passive, huh?”

“You asked me to let you handcuff me to your bed. And sorry, Wolfe, but I’m not some f**king toy you can do with whatever you please.”

Snorting, he wrinkles his nose. By the way he’s skeptically looking at me, I know he’s about to say something mocking. “Um, don’t think that’s exactly what I said. I told you I was going to handcuff you to my bed, and you refused. Actually, I’m pretty sure you would’ve started screaming if I hadn’t asked you to leave.”

“Get the f**k out.”

His eyes narrow. “This is my house, Sienna. And technically, I’m not in.”

“No.” I shake my head so fiercely that my high ponytail shakes loose. He lifts a strand of my red hair, sifting it through his fingers, his eyes never leaving mine. It’s an intimate gesture, and I feel that frustrating need in the pit of my belly. Silently, I curse my body for wanting him so much in spite of everything. “You didn’t ask me to leave, you told me to get the f**k out,” I whisper.

“Well, I’m sure I wasn’t that—”

My voice is five times as strong as before when I say, “You were.”

“You know, I misjudged you.”

I’m getting sick of Lucas’s riddles, and we’ve spent a total of half an hour in one another’s company. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“The entire time we were shooting “All Over You”, you were very obedient and . . . ah, shit, let’s put it this way, Sienna—I didn’t expect you to say no to the handcuffs. I expected to have a long, healthy relationship with you, actually”

I’m not sure if he’s saying he mistook my being shy and overzealous to do my job as me being easy or submissive. Either way, I know I don’t like what he’s saying. Because there’s a part of me that wonders if he’s right—after all, I had gone home with him after knowing him for less than a week.

Glancing down at a spot of spot of earth that’s nothing but bright red mud due to the snow, I say, “Isn’t it time for you to leave?”

Lucas takes a few more steps backward, motions his arms out in an overtly grand gesture toward the hill that leads back up to the front of the house. I grit my teeth together, and shake my head.

“I thought I’d be polite and let you go first, but whatever,” he says. His voice doesn’t sound too polite. It’s rough and hard and dangerous. And just a few moments ago, his voice and words succeeded in completely getting to me. Giving me one last sardonic smile, he turns abruptly and stalks up the hill, tracing his fingers alongside the log siding.

But halfway to the front of the house, Lucas pauses. He doesn’t turn around to face me when he calls out over his shoulder, “You might think I’m shit, but I’d have never brought anyone up here to upset your grandmother. She’s gone every Tuesday, like clockwork.”

I’m not positive what’s more unnerving—the fact Lucas knows Gram’s schedule well enough to realize when is the best time to come around the house without disturbing her, or that my grandmother keeps the same schedule every Tuesday.

†

My grandmother always protects me, so if she’s going somewhere I should be concerned about, she would never tell.

When I was a kid and my mom and dad would argue, I’d go to my grandparents. They had spoiled Seth and me rotten. After my parents divorced when I was twelve and my mother just flat-out disappeared, my brother and I had been given the opportunity to go and live with Dad and his new wife.

It was a shitty opportunity.

Not that there was anything wrong with my dad or Margaret, but they’d moved to Bar Harbor, Maine—over a thousand miles from home. Luckily, even at eight, Seth was bullheaded. My brother told Dad that not only did he hate him and his new wife, but he’d rather be ripped apart by wild dogs than live with them in Maine. That’s when our grandparents, Mom’s parents, stepped in. Dad wanted to be with his new wife. Our grandparents wanted us. And we wanted to stay because it was the only thing we knew. And because we both were hopeful that Mom would come back someday.