Devoured Book 0.5 - Page 11

“Does this always work for you?” I ask. When he c.o.c.ks his eyebrow, I add, “Telling someone exactly how it’s going to be. Not asking but ordering.”

My chest tightens when a smile inches across his face, as he moves his lips closer and closer to mine. He blows on the corner of my mouth, fanning my face with warmth, the scent of spearmint.

I want this man to kiss me. There’ve been so many times that I laughed about people falling head over heels for each other at first sight, but this is so different. This is head over heels in l.u.s.t. This is—

He finally gives me what I want, slanting his lips over mine and crus.h.i.+ng my body to his so hard it leaves me winded. I expect him to put his hands all over me, but instead, he simply cups either side of my face. And maybe it’s the way his tongue greedily probes mine, or the way his fingertips ma.s.sage my skin, but this is the most possessed by a man I’ve ever felt.

Lucas pulls away entirely too fast, too abruptly, and I’m left wanting more. He gives me an even look, as if he’s waiting on a response from me so I give in.

I give in because I want to let go, at least for a night.

“Yes. I’ll have dinner with you, Lucas.”

Chapter Seven

Lucas

After Sienna leaves my dressing room, her face flushed, claiming she’s got work to do, I decide I want wardrobe available on set for the shoot today. Kylie comes in a few minutes after I text her, and the moment she steps in, she sniffs the air.

“You wearing Bath and Body Works now, Luke?” she demands, c.o.c.king an eyebrow and racing her fingers through her multi-colored hair.

I lean against the table I’d had Sienna pinned against only minutes before, and match my sister’s expression. “Care to elaborate?”

Kylie crosses the room, plops down on the sofa, and props her feet up on the table in front of it. She’s too relaxed to be working, and I give her a tight look. She shrugs sheepishly. “Just saying this entire d.a.m.n room smells like Country Apple. You know the kind a certain redhead would probably wear.”

“I need you to tell McBride that I want wardrobe on set today,” I say, steering the conversation away from Sienna. I dig my hand into my pocket, flicking the guitar pick I shoved into it early this morning.

A s.h.i.+t-eating grin crosses Kylie’s face, and I groan. “Why would you need wardrobe to watch you guys shoot?”

I grant my sister a sardonic smile. “Why would you need to question it? Just tell him.”

Making an exasperated noise, Kylie shoves herself off the sofa. “I want a raise.”

“You make enough.”

“You’re a d.i.c.k,” she says, as she heads to the door. When she looks back, she’s still smiling. “n.o.body else would put up with you.”

How many times have I heard this from her? “Want to find out?” I challenge.

She rolls her brown eyes. “Go for it, but you’ll be calling me in, like, 24 hours saying”—she clears her throat and when she speaks again, her voice is dropped low, mocking me—“f.u.c.k, I screwed up, Kylie. Fix it.”

I cross my arms over my chest, glaring at her. “Just go give the message to McBride.”

Kylie shuffles off, whining about how she’d rather be in Cancun as she slams the door. At least she wasn’t pining over Wyatt. I’d rather hear her b.i.t.c.h about low pay any day of the week over that s.h.i.+t.

When she returns twenty minutes later to find me playing my guitar, she lets me know that they’re ready for me. I go out into the hallway, but Kylie lags behind.

“What?” I demand.

She hesitates, biting her bottom lip, before saying, “I’m not going to have any part in whatever you’re doing, Lucas.”

“Don’t be an—”

This time when Kylie speaks, she shakes her head violently. “I mean it. Not. Watching.” After I turn to stalk away, she adds cheerfully, “Have a good shoot.”

One of the security guards shadows me after I reach the end of the hallway, and when I reach the set, I realize that there are twice as many guards than there were yesterday. Wyatt had mentioned this morning that the place had been overrun by our fans, but I hadn’t noticed it.

I had been too preoccupied by Sienna.

McBride is shouting commands, telling us where to stand and as I step onto the set, which is nothing but a green screen, Sinjin gives me a half smile as he takes his drum sticks out of his back pocket. Make-up must’ve had a time with him, considering how f**ked up he’d looked first thing this morning with bloodshot eyes and an even s.h.i.+ttier att.i.tude.

“You and the redhead?” he asks, his gaze wondering to where Sienna’s on the sidelines with the loud-a.s.s woman who must be her boss. I shoot him a look.

“None of your business, Sin.”

“You send her my way when you’re through?”

Over the years, I’ve learned control. I know not to let the stupid s.h.i.+t that comes out of Sin’s mouth push me over the edge, but right now, I want to slam my guitar into his throat. I glance down at the floor, and my eyebrows draw together into a scowl as I say, “Let’s just get through the G.o.dd.a.m.n shoot.”

Sin shuffles away to his drum set, and Wyatt shoots me an apologetic look from a few feet away as he s.h.i.+fts his guitar around. I’m surprised he’s not b.i.t.c.hing about having to air-play—he whines every shoot—but he’s probably expecting a fist fight between me and Sinjin to start at any moment.

It’s not like it hasn’t happened before on a video shoot.

McBride steps in front of the green screen, gives us a few more instructions and we adjust where we’re standing accordingly. Fifteen minutes later, shooting begins and the pre-recorded sound of my own voice fills the studio.