“You’re not leaving already, are you?” Kylie wrinkles her nose and then shoots a look toward Cilla. “If she’s bothering you, I swear I can get rid of her. I mean, there’s a pool right over there...”
Cilla doesn’t respond, and I wonder if she’s losing her taloned touch. She had no problem chiming in with snarky responses when I tagged along on their joint tour this summer.
“We have plans,” he eventually informs his sister.
“And here I was thinking we’d celebrate Christmas like all those TV families. Thanks for letting me down, asshole.” Letting out a dramatic breath, she starts to get up, prompting Lucas and I both to step forward to help her. She grips the edges of her seat and blows a blue streaked strand of hair from her eyes. “You both realize that I’m not that knocked up, right?”
When Cilla mutters something that sounds like “I can’t tell,” I give Kylie a little smile. “Maybe I just wanted a reason to touch your stomach,” I say as we walk back toward the house and she throws her head back, laughing.
“Touch it anytime you want but be careful.” She leans forward, glancing around me to give her brother a meaningful look. “It might be in the water.”
At her mention of me ending up pregnant, I feel my face redden, and even though I’m staring straight ahead, I can see his grin out the corner of my eye. Her words have definitely brought up a good point, though. Lucas and I have never actually sat down to talk about kids in our future, and it’s obviously one of those important subjects that needs to be approached before the “I do’s” are said.
I’m deep in my thoughts for the remainder of our time at the party, but when we’re in the car on the way back to the hotel, I turn to him and immediately blurt out what’s on mind.
His grin from earlier returns, and I feel the pit of my stomach clench. Damn, the way he’s looking at me always manages to screw with my senses. “Hell, yes, I want children with you, Sienna.” He touches my thigh and strokes his thumb over my smooth skin, causing my breath to catch. “Was there ever a doubt in your mind?”
“No. Yes, I—”
His hand moves a little higher, his fingers hooking under the fabric between my legs, and I squeeze my legs around his wrist. “Do you want a baby with me, Red?”
“Yes.” It comes out almost pleadingly, and I quickly correct myself. “After the wedding, I mean. After—”
Lucas’ knuckles brush my clit, and I grip either side of the leather seat. “I know what you mean,” he says, and I can feel his stare burning into the side of my face. “So, in the meantime, I’m going to spend every second I can getting as much of you as possible.”
He strokes my center a little harder, and I bite down on my tongue. “Starting now?” I say at last, sounding like I’m seconds away from floating away.
He chuckles, and I feel the car accelerate, feel his fingers move faster too. “That’s the plan.”
Every inch of my body is on fire by the time we reach the hotel, and I’m shocked I can still stand upright while he guides me through the lobby. He’d spent every second of the ride back teasing me to the point of a massive orgasm, and the moment I was about to let go, he’d conveniently pulled the car up to the valet. Leading me past the check-in desk, he touches the small of my back, his expression unreadable as someone—obviously one of his fans—takes a photo of us from afar.
“That doesn’t bother you?” I question softly, which causes the corners of his mouth to lift into a smile that makes my heart skip a few beats.
“What bothers me is the fact your panties are still on.”
God, he knows how to make my throat go dry with just a handful of words. Staring up at him from under my lashes as we enter an elevator that’s currently occupied by another couple, I huskily reply, “Honestly, I’m surprised they’re not in your pocket.”
His laugh is low and inviting, and I don’t miss how the woman standing in the corner lifts an eyebrow appreciatively at him. I grip his elbow a little tighter; position my body so that I’m partially blocking her view.
“Next time,” he promises.
The other woman releases a little cough, and I press my lips together to hold back the smile threatening to split my face. Finally, the couple exits the elevator, and as soon as the doors close, Lucas grabs me to him, his large hands cupping my ass through my slinky dress.
“I hate you in clothes,” he complains, resting his forehead to mine. His messy hair falls into both our faces, and I can’t resist pushing it back.
“I—” I begin, but the elevator dings, signaling we’ve reached our floor. “Well, hell, looks like you won’t be hating my clothes much longer.”
Without warning, he picks me up, and I feel lightheaded when his mouth demands my attention, his tongue parting my lips insistently. Warmth pours through me, settling in my core. He pulls away, and it takes me a moment to realize we’re in the entryway of our room.
“I’m impressed, Mr. Wolfe,” I say as he sets me down and shuts the door. “You can carry me, turn me into a wobbly mess with your lips, and open a door all at the same time.”
“I’m fucking talented,” he drawls. “The best at everything I do.”
“Cocky bastard.” I start to straighten the hem of my dress, but he stops me. Nudges the fabric a little higher until it’s bunched around my waist.
“Don’t even waste your time with that.” Trapping me against the door, he reaches behind me, undoing my zipper carefully. My breathing is slow, pleading, and it only intensifies when his fingers splay across the bare skin of my back. In one quick motion, he drops the dress around my feet. Leaning away from me, he tilts his head to the side, his beautiful eyes examining me so carefully that I feel my skin flush under his scrutiny.
“What?” I ask huskily, glancing down at the paisley print carpet.
Grinning, he cups my face. “I’m trying to decide how I want you.”
“How you want me?” I repeat, taking a step forward so that my breasts press up to his fully clothed chest. He nods, and I shake my head. “What about how I want you?”
He sucks in a breath. “Fuck, Red, say that one more time.”
Clearing my throat, I throw my long red strands back and meet his gaze. “What about how I—” I begin, but my words are lost when he grabs my hand and presses it to his cock. Damn. “I swear, I hate clothes just about as much as you do.”
I watch as he sheds every inch of clothing, leaving them in a pile on the floor next to my discarded dress. “Better?” he says with a teasing grin, and I bob my head enthusiastically. “Good.” He lifts me up again, straddling my legs on either side of him, and I dig my fingers into the tattooed skin of his shoulders when I feel his thick erection against my center.
I breathe out a curse.
And he pushes a little deeper inside me.
“Is this how you want me?” he demands, and when I shake my head, he pulls my hips down slightly. I moan. Tighten around him. “How do you want me, Red?”
I feel my shoulders touch the door he had me pinned against just a moment ago, and I arch against him. “I want you—” Once again, he cuts me off by doing something that’s positively earth-shattering to my body—he rubs my clit with his thumb and forefinger, which makes my legs tremble around him. “Ohhhh.”
“You want me … ohhhh?” he repeats. Finally, he bucks his hips, filling me completely. I grind my teeth. He mocks me, “Fuck, Sienna, you’re so eloquent.”
“Smartass,” I manage to say despite the hum of desire spreading through my body. “I want you everywhere, Lucas. I want every part of you. And I want you to have every part of me.”
Keeping his eyes locked with mine, he takes control of my body, his thrusts rhythmic, hypnotizing, and I am lost in him. When I finally let go—with one of my hands gripping his shoulder and the other pressed against the door behind me—he kisses me long and hard.
His cock is still buried deep within me as he carries me to the bed in the center of our room, and I’m still shaking from t
he orgasm when he positions me on top of him.
When my lips part to speak, he presses his thumb against them and moves his head to each side. “You asked for everything, and that’s what I’ll give you. Merry Christmas, Red.”
Unlike the last time I went to Atlanta with Lucas, the rest of our trip goes down without a hitch. We have Christmas dinner with his parents and Kylie, and then the next day, he takes me on a tour of the places that shaped the early days of Your Toxic Sequel—the underground club where the band played their first show and the music store where he picked up his favorite guitar. When I leave him on the morning of the twenty-seventh, I’m alone, but I know we’ll be together again soon. As bummed as I am about returning to Nashville without him, I am thankful to be back. Not only have I received a ton of new emails about last minute wardrobe consulting for New Years—this is a big thing for me since I’d lost a couple clients early this fall—I also know it’s time I confront my mother about the entire ex-boyfriend-at-Christmas-Eve lunch fiasco.
Luckily, I don’t have to wait too long because Mom is smoking her Marlboro’s outside when the taxi driver drops me off at Gram’s cabin. My grandmother’s trusty old Mercedes isn’t in the driveway, which means I have Mom all to myself.
Good.
“Is this a habit of yours?” she calls out over the sound of the cab pulling off. Rocking the porch swing back, she takes a deep drag of her cigarette and narrows her eyes at me as I walk slowly up the front steps. When I raise an eyebrow, she elaborates, “Just picking up and leaving to chase after your rich boyfriend? It must get exhausting, baby girl.”
My hand freezes on the doorknob and my own eyes narrow into tight slits. “For starters, your hot and cold act is getting really old. And secondly, my rich fiancé is the reason why you get to spend your days chain-smoking. But to answer your question, yeah. I’m happy to follow that man anywhere.” When I enter the house, Mom is right behind me. She slams the door, and I suck in a deep breath. Turning around, I throw my oversized duffle bag on the hardwood foyer floor. “I’m sick of this. You’re acting like a child—a spoiled one at that. Do you realize that you’re an adult? That you have grown-ass kids? It’s time to grow up and stop the bull.”
“Aren’t we bitchy today. Can’t handle a little joke about—” Mom clears her throat before sarcastically whispering, “Lucas-Fucking-Wolfe.”
“Trust me, I can. But what I’m not going to deal with are your games.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I was completely blindsided when you invited Preston to lunch, and—”
“I was testing a theory.”
“Excuse me?”
She shoves her half-empty packet of cigarettes into her jacket pocket and hangs it up on the coat rack by the door. When she starts to walk toward me slowly, I brace myself for whatever bull she’s about to chuck in my direction. “You swore up and down Preston was the love of your life. I needed to see how you’d react to him, if what you have with Lucas Wolfe is nothing but hero worship.”
By the time the last word is spoken, she’s a few inches away from me—close enough for me to reach out and slap her, the way my palm is itching to. We’re both quiet, standing beneath the foyer lights, and what she’d just said tumbles around in my head. She was using something I’d said before I turned eighteen against me. And hero worship? She might as well have flat out called me Lucas’ number one groupie.
Before I can stop myself, I throw my head back and laugh. I’m still laughing when I turn away from my mom and head upstairs toward my attic bedroom—the one that she took over upon her return to Gram’s house. And I’m laughing when I start to grab some of my clothes—which are intermingled with hers—from the closet.
Of course she follows me, but I keep my back turned to her when she asks, “What are you doing, Sienna?”
“Where’s Gram?” I counter.
“If you leave, you’re gonna break—”
“Don’t even try that with me,” I snap, grasping a pair of jeans close to my chest. “I lived in California for years before I moved back home. The only thing that’s going to break Gram’s heart is if I stay here and end up strangling you.”
Mom gasps, though I’m not sure if she’s truly shocked or if she wants me to feel bad. At the moment, I don’t care. “Learn some respect, you little bitch. You can’t talk to me like that.”
“Right.” I grab my old Coach luggage from the bottom of the closet and begin stuffing items in it. “Because you raised me so much better than that. You’ll have to excuse the sass, Mom, but there’s only so much one person can take before they don’t give a shit.”
She doesn’t respond, but as I finish loading my bag, I hear her shuffling her feet. “She’s at a doctor’s appointment,” she finally says. Because I don’t acknowledge her, she forcefully repeats, “Your grandmother is at a doctor’s appointment.”
Hoisting the bag on my arm, I stand upright and turn around to face my mom with a steely look. Part of me had hoped to find regret or apology in her expression—even a little—but I’m disappointed to see her lips curled in a frown. A disgusted frown. The same look she wore time and time again when I was a kid. Back then, that dispassionate look would make me cry, but now I straighten my spine. My chest hurts—God, does it hurt—but I don’t want her to see that she’s affected me.
“I don’t understand you,” I say through clenched teeth. “I want to. I want to be this big happy family, and I want us to work through all these problems because I don’t want to have regrets, but I don’t understand you.”
“Let me guess, you want to be like the Wolfe family?” she demands, stepping aside as I approach the door.
Squeezing the handle of my bag for support, I walk by her, making sure my blue eyes lock with her green when I say, “No, just a functional family. And for the record, my relationship with Lucas-Fucking-Wolfe is one hundred percent real.”
To my relief, Gram takes me moving out surprisingly well, particularly when she finds out that the hotel I’m staying at until I can find an apartment is less than a few miles from the cabin she’s lived in my entire life. When she quietly asks me if I’m okay with it—which I translate as her questioning if I think she’s choosing my mother over me—I let her know I love her and we’re fine. And I even go a step further by telling her I know she’d never do that, choose Rebecca over me, and vice versa.
The day my mom realizes the solidity of the bond between me and Gram, maybe things will change. If she ever realizes it. Because right now, I can think of a thousand other miracles that’ll probably happen before my mom comes around.
With my stress-free move knocked out, I spend the days leading up to New Year’s meeting with clients—both old and new—and trying to promote my business as a wardrobe consultant and personal shopper. When Lucas calls me New Year’s Eve to let me know he’s just touched down in Nashville and will be at my hotel as soon as he picks up his car, I’m ready for the break. I close my laptop and leave it on the coffee table before padding into the tiny bathroom to check my appearance. Dressed in yoga pants and a sweatshirt, with my long red tresses piled into a messy bun, I look like crap.
Even though Lucas has assured me he wanted to spend the evening at home—well, my hotel room—I still decide to change. I go for simple and casual, dark skinny jeans, an oversized sweater, and brown boots. I’m in the process of brushing the fifty billion tangles from my hair when my doorbell rings, and immediately, my heartbeat races in anticipation.
“Good God,” I say under my breath, leaving my brush on the bathroom counter before attempting to keep from sprinting to the front door. “Only a few days away from him, and I’ve already got butterflies before the man even steps inside.”
When I fling the door open, a delicious grin stretches across Lucas’ face, which instantly draws a smile from me. Especially when I take in the way he’s dressed. Like usual, he’s clad his incredibly tall, tattooed, and muscular frame in jeans and a black-and-gray long sleeve tee, but he’s wearing the same glas
ses he’d sported several months ago when we went to a bar together.
The sight of Lucas-Fucking-Wolfe in those glasses is just about enough to make me come undone.
When I don’t say anything, he finally teases, “Don’t tell me I’ve taken your breath away.”
“Absolutely not.” I step aside to let him in. “See, I’m breathing just fine.”
“Damn, Si. Way to fuck with my ego.” But the corners of his eyes crinkle as he continues to stand in the hallway. I motion for him to come inside, causing him to shake his head. “You look too beautiful, too perfect, for me to peel your clothes off right away. I’m taking you out. At least for a little while.”
I nod slowly, and when I walk backward to grab my things, he steps into the doorway, following my movements carefully. “What would’ve happened if you found me dressed in sweats? Would you have still taken me out?” I ask with a laugh while I swipe my purse and keys from one of the end tables.
“Yes.”
Returning to him, I shift an eyebrow and he feathers the pad of his thumb across my cheek. “You’re a brave man, Lucas Wolfe.”
He brushes his lips over mine and grins. “I swear this won’t take long and then you’ll have that night at home I promised.”
Navigating through the busy, end-of-the-year Nashville traffic, Lucas probes me about my week, taking care not to ask too many questions about my move from Gram’s place and focusing all his attention on my business. I’m probably a little too enthusiastic talking about clothes, but he doesn’t mention it. A moment after he takes the exit for Brentwood—a suburb just outside of the city—he turns to me and says, “I fucking love seeing you happy, Red.”
I wrinkle my brow in confusion. “I have been happy.”
“Uh huh.” He turns into a residential area. “Bullshit.”
Christmas with a Rockstar Page 25