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Wrap it up. ;)
Chapter Nine
Lucas
For the millionth time in the last few days, my control is tested as I glance across the center console at Sienna. She’s everything I shouldn’t want—too f**king innocent—but I can’t resist wanting to pull over and drag her on top of me right here, right now.
I slam on the brakes at a stop light, and she c.o.c.ks an eyebrow.
“Please don’t crash,” she teases. “My boss will freak out if I don’t show up to work in the morning.”
I stare straight ahead. “Your boss can f**k off. You’re mine tonight.” I hear her breath catch, and I clench the steering wheel because it takes so much effort not to kiss her or touch her. She’s glancing down at her phone, smiling, and I want to know what she’s thinking.
Who the h.e.l.l she’s grinning about.
I’m deep in thought, and trying to pay attention to traffic, so when she switches the radio on, it catches me off guard. She sings along to some Britney Spears song about threesomes for a minute or two before I change the station using one of the b.u.t.tons on the wheel. Theory of a Deadman blasts through my car. “You into pop?” I demand, c.o.c.king my head to the side. She nods, and I snort. “Figures. Don’t worry, I’ll play you all the bubblegum s.h.i.+t you could ever dream of.”
“Planning to serenade me?” Sienna questions.
“All night.”
She blushes and I relax, satisfied.
When I pull into the long, winding driveway that leads to my home, she s.h.i.+fts in her seat, facing me. “I thought we were going out to dinner,” she says.
“Private dinner.”
“Oh,” she squeaks.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be good.”
Her shoulders shake with laughter as she looks down at her bag. “No you won’t.”
At least she knows what to expect from me.
I open the door for her again, skimming my hands down the sides of her body, loving the way my palms mold to her curves. She hobbles on those shoes that I’m determined to f**k her in, then curls her fingers into mine, glancing up at me with large eyes. I wait until I have her inside, in the foyer, to put her back up against the wall and claim her lips. Her hands press up against my chest, not pus.h.i.+ng me away. She starts groping at my shoulders, pulling me towards her.
“Where’d my shy little wardrobe girl go?” I demand when I break away from her mouth. Swallowing hard, she traces the tip of her finger around her swollen lips. That action makes me want to taste her lips again until she can’t stand, so I step back, taking her hand in mine. “Come on, let’s eat.”
She asks me questions about my awards room—a room Kylie’d decorated for me—as we go through it to get to the kitchen. “There are a lot of pictures of you with the singer from Wicked Lambs.” Her eyebrows pull together, like she’s trying to remember the right name so I give her a gentle nudge.
“Cilla Craig.”
“Right. Cilla . . .” Her voice trails off, as she waits for me to say something. I don’t normally explain myself—I don’t see a f**king point—but with Sienna, I want to.
“We grew up together,” I reply and her mouth falls open in a silent “Oh.”
We walk into the kitchen and cross the tile floor to the counter where dinner is waiting. “Informal but I’ve got construction s.h.i.+t going on in my dining room,” I say. My cell phone goes off in my pocket—a text—but I ignore it.
“No, it’s awesome,” Sienna murmurs. She glances up at me. “You do this for all the girls you bring home?”
I tighten my grip on her hand and lift my chin. “I don’t,” I say.
I rarely bring women here period—much less eat dinner with them. Sienna’s the first.
Sienna slides onto one of the bar stools behind the counter, and the little dress rides up her thighs, drawing my eyes to them. After a pause that’s not hardly long enough in my opinion, I meet her hot gaze and she licks her lips. I move closer, cupping her chin. Using the tip of my tongue, I trace the wet pattern she’s already made, before sucking on her bottom lip.
She moans, digging her fingers into my s.h.i.+rt.
“You can rip this G.o.dd.a.m.n thing off,” I tell her between kisses and the vibration of my phone continuing to go off like crazy in my pocket.
When we go upstairs, I’ll shut the thing off.
“Dinner,” Sienna reminds me, and I back away, my hands held up.
“Right.”
We talk about music as we eat—lamb and vegetables courtesy of some restaurant Kylie’d found for me. Sienna tells me she likes pop and cla.s.sical, so I lean back chuckling.
“What?” she demands through a mouthful of broccoli.
“Took you for the bluegra.s.s type,” I drawl in an imitation of her accent and she laughs.
“I don’t talk like that.” When I lift an eyebrow skeptically, she asks, “Well what about you. What does Lucas Wolfe listen to besides rock?”
I grin down at my plate. “Google is your friend, Red.”
We finish eating a few minutes later, and I tell her to hold still. Her eyes follow me as I leave the room and widen when I return with my guitar.
“You’re actually going to play for me?”
“I told you I’d serenade you all night, didn’t I?” Crossing the room, I point to a spot on the countertop, right next to our dessert. “Get up on the counter.”
She looks from the granite, to me, and then back at the counter again, s.h.i.+fting her eyebrows up. “You’re serious?”
