“Not a rocker,” I remind him.
I hold one of the double glass doors open for him. Unexpectedly, he stops for a moment to bend his head to mine. He keeps his word by not kissing me, but murmurs against my lips, “Go ahead and give him my address. If he gets it out today, you’ll have them before we take off Saturday morning. Or I’ll just buy you new ones.” When I press my lips together and shake my head, he laughs and adds, “And I’m glad you’re not a rocker. Trust me, I like you better doing clothes.”
No, you like me better without clothes, I think, but I don’t say that as I follow him out to the parking lot to a black Jeep. It’s one of the enormous Wranglers with all the options, including incredibly high suspension. Even though I’m freakishly tall, it takes some effort getting in. He comes around before I close the passenger door.
“So about that kiss?” For once, I could care less where my voice has gone.
“Patience is a beautiful thing,” says the man with absolutely none to speak of. He pulls my fingers to his mouth, pressing them flat against his full lips, kissing the pads of my fingers. Each tiny movement of his mouth is delicate, sensual, and need flames through my body. “Let’s go home.”
He keeps his eyes glued to the road as he speeds down streets that I’ve driven many times myself, and others—the wealthier parts of the city—that I’ve rarely been in. When we pass a luxury condo community that I vividly remember seeing the only other time he brought me to his place, I release a little sigh.
This gets his attention. He turns his head slightly toward me, his eyebrow raised.
“What ever happened to the Maserati?” I ask.
“What?”
“The blue car you picked me up in that one time in? That’s what it was, right?”
He refocuses his gaze on the road, and I slide closer to him to see that he’s wearing the tiniest smile. “I remember it, just surprised that you do. Sold it a year and a half ago. It . . . wasn’t for me.” He turns left onto a street that’s a half a mile from his gated community. “Anything else?”
“Tori,” I say hesitantly. “My friend Tori still lives here, and I want to go see her tonight or tomorrow since we’ll be on the road so early Saturday morning.”
Sighing, he slows the Jeep down at the security gate but doesn’t rush to roll down his window. He pulls off his sunglasses, tosses them on the dash, and turns to me, his hazel eyes direct. “I don’t want you to misunderstand what this is.”
“Then please, fill me in.” Steel and absolute uncertainty laces my voice.
“You’re mine. You’re with me now, but you don’t need to get confirmation to see your friends. Invite her to the damn show and the after party if that’s what you want.” A self-assured grin tilts the corners of his lips, sending a sharp pang through my chest. Dear god, why does he have to look at me like that? “I want to possess you, not treat you like a child.”
We’re both silent as he lets down the window to punch in the gate code and drives through the neighborhood to his house. The only thing he says to me after parking is that we’ll come out and get my luggage later. When we step inside, he locks the door and then turns to me.
“Do you remember where the bedroom is?”
I glance at the top of the stairs before returning my gaze to him. “Is it possible to forget?”
“You’re blushing, Red,” he points out. “Which is why I’m not going to take you up there. Not yet.”
Without warning, he reaches between our bodies and cups my sex through my skinny jeans. I release a hoarse gasp and grab hold of his upper arms. As he shimmies my tight jeans down my hips, he drags his fingertips down my skin, the sensation causing my legs to tingle. My knees buckle.
“Lucas, I’m going to—.” But he stops my words with his mouth, pressing his lips against mine roughly, offering me that kiss he’d promised in the airport, taking my breath away. He tastes sweet—like spearmint—as his tongue darts in and out of my mouth teasingly. This is a dangerous game. I know that it’s impossible for me to win, but honestly, when it comes to Lucas, I don’t want to.
When he pulls me away from him, leaving my world spinning violently, he nods his head down to the floor. “Right here, Sienna. Right now.”
On the stair landing, I add silently. With the mid-afternoon light straining through the shutters in the foyer, and my luggage still waiting out in the back of his Jeep—this is the night we reconnected all over again. Aloud, I say in a shaky voice, “What happened to that ‘patience is good’ mantra?”
“Fuck patience—I’ll just have to try it again later. I just need you.” His fingers continue to nudge my jeans down my legs. “I’ve thought about nothing but you and this since you sent me that picture. You’ve worked your way into my goddamn head, into my soul and everything else.” He draws away from me for a moment to finish pushing my pants down around my ankles.
“Into your head, huh?”
Confirming my question with a slow nod, he kisses my left kneecap, and then the other before standing back up. “I’ve pictured every way I can enjoy your body, and believe me, there will be many. Don’t think that being on that tour bus will stop any of those.” The way he says this—in that growl he uses whenever he sings—sends electricity prickling through every vein of my body.
“Your poor band mates,” I tease breathlessly.
“I want you right here, Sienna—on top of me, bent over, beneath me. I want you in my bed and in my kitchen and in the fucking bathroom, but first, I want you here.”
I step out of my jeans, kicking off my shoes in the process. “You’re right.” I’m not ashamed to admit that I want this, too. “Screw the bedroom.”
Keeping our bodies pressed together, he spins us around until his back is facing the steps. I follow him as he undresses quickly—each step slow, each breath I take heavier with anticipation—until he stops right in front of the stairs. His expression is something that’s soft—that hurts my chest—as he eases down on the second step from the bottom.
“Get over here.” He tugs me to him using the first thing his hand makes contact with—my panties. As I slide down in front of him, he cups my face between his hands. “I want you to use your mouth,” he says.
“You get right to the point.”
“Always.”
He wraps my fingers around his cock, squeezing and moving my closed hand up and down his shaft until he’s rock hard. When I bow my head to circle the tip of my tongue slowly around his crown, my hair goes everywhere—against the sides of my face, in his lap, on either side of his thighs. He strokes the nape of my neck, his touch encouraging, so I lick him once more. And again, when he mutters a sharp curse.
“Don’t tease.” His voice is 75 percent commanding, the other 25 percent pleading.
I wrap my lips around his erection, keeping my gaze focused on his hazel eyes as I move my mouth and fingers from the head of his cock to the base, taking him completely into my mouth.
“Ah, shit, Sienna.” His voice is full of surprise as the fingers on my neck move up to tangle into my hair. “Do that again.”
My “yes” is nothing more than a little moan that causes a vibration against his flesh. I drag my mouth back up his length, running the hard tip of my tongue along it, and then draw him deep into my mouth again.
I don’t want to lose this moment, to lose him, but when I start to repeat, he stops me by tugging roughly on my red hair. “Put your hands down flat.” His tone is dangerously low. “No hands. Just that beautiful mouth of yours.”