“You two,” Lucas says, flicking his eyes from Kylie to Cal. “Get out.”
This man is used to getting exactly what he wants because the moment the words come out of Lucas’s mouth, they’re both already on their way to the door. Cal shoots me a half-smile, c.o.c.king his head to one side. “You’re going to do measurements and s.h.i.t on me too, right?”
“Of course I will,” I say at the exact same time that Lucas releases a groan and mutters, “Don’t even try that s.h.i.t.”
Before she closes the door behind them, Kylie pokes her head back inside and gives me a sympathetic look. To Lucas she scrunches her face and says, “Should’ve eaten the donuts I brought you this morning. Then you wouldn’t be such a f**kstick right now.”
He flashes Kylie a scathing smile, but she slams the door on him before he can retort. I look over at him, running my tongue between my teeth, and he shrugs. “I’ve been meaning to fire her for years.”
“Oh,” is all I mumble and he narrows his eyes into tight slits.
Jabbing one of his fingers to the chair that Cal was sitting in before, he says, “Sit.” I comply, placing the clipboard in my lap.
Trying to keep my hands steady, I flip to an empty sheet of paper and pull the pen tucked behind my ear down. “Do you have any ideas about—”
He comes to the edge of the couch and leans forward, resting his tattooed forearms on his knees. My eyes are instantly drawn to a row of black stars, but Lucas clears his throat, demanding my attention back to his face. “I don’t give a f**k,” he says.
Wait—what? When I c**k an eyebrow and flick my tongue across my lips, he adds, “You can dress me in any thing you want.”
“Then you don’t need me?”
He shakes his head slowly to either side, a smile creeping across his face, making him look irresistible and so dangerous it makes my chest contract. “Not for wardrobe. I wanted to be around you.”
There’s so much implication behind his voice that the full meaning of his words. .h.i.ts me hard, causing the tiny hairs on my arms to stand on end. “I’m not like that,” I say.
One of Lucas’s dark eyebrows lifts up. “Not like what?” he asks in a perfect imitation of my southern accent that should p.i.s.s me off, but only manages to make my nerve endings tingle.
“I don’t sleep with people I don’t know.”
He smirks. “What? No one night stands?” he demands, and once again, I hear his song lyrics in my head. When I don’t immediately answer him, or give him a physical response, he continues to probe. “So you’ve never taken someone home you met at a bar.”
Is he kidding me? Are we really having this conversation? And most importantly, am I really shaking my head right now? “No, I meant that—”
“You what?”
“Am I being Punked?” It would make sense. Lucas Wolfe writes a song about a one-nighter and then he lures me to his dressing room to talk about men I’d sporadically hooked up with in the past.
His c.o.c.ky grin widens. “Think we’re a few years too late for that to be the case, don’t you think?” He leans back, stretching his long arms up and linking his fingers together behind his head. My eyes follow his every movement, and I press my palms together in my lap. “f.u.c.k it, how about this—tell me about you.”
“You want to know about me?”
“You from L.A.?”
I shake my head. “Nashville.”
He laughs, this deep s.e.xy sound that reaches me to my core, curling the pit of my stomach into knots and making that sensitive spot between my legs ache. “That explains it,” he says. I twist my lips to the side, waiting for him to explain. He watches me for an uncomfortably long moment before he shrugs. “That G.o.dd.a.m.n accent.”
“It’s not that bad,” I say defensively.
“Never said it was. It’s s.e.xy—gives me ideas.” He’s silent for a few seconds, once again waiting to see how I’ll respond to what he just said. I give him a polite smile despite the fluttering in my stomach. “How long you been here?” he finally asks.
I open my mouth to respond, but then I catch myself. I’m supposed to be here talking wardrobe with him, not about myself. Not about s.e.x. And I sure as h.e.l.l shouldn’t be having this sort of physical reaction to him.
“Not long,” I answer, and he lets out a frustrated groan. I barely have time to react when he comes forward again, sliding forward on the couch cushions until our knees touch. I draw back, but he shakes his head. He furls his hand into the hair at the nape of my neck, and I don’t miss the way he seems to skip a breath.
“Tell me about yourself, Sienna,” Lucas says, his voice soft but completely demanding.
My back goes rigid and I squeeze my fingertips together. I try to pretend like he’s not right in front of me, touching me. “There’s not much to tell,” I reply shakily. “I’m twenty-one and up until a couple years ago I lived in Nashville. What else do you want to know?”
“You want honesty?”
He’s staring at me like he’ll swallow me whole, like if I so much as move an inch, he’ll pull me to himself and show me exactly what he meant a minute ago when he said the sound of my voice gives him ideas. No, I’m not at all sure if I really want the truth from this man, but I hear myself whisper, “Yes. Honesty.”
Chapter Five
Lucas
Sienna waits patiently for me to tell her what I want from her, her body tense, those pink lips that I need wrapped around me pressed tightly together.