All Over You (7 page)

“Mmmhmm.”

His fingers slides into my panties, and
watching my face carefully, he glides two inside of me. My body
convulses around him. Before I can stop myself, my teeth slide
together. Lucas bends, so that his mouth is next to my ear. To my
disappointment, he pulls his hand away from my body. “Don’t grind
your teeth, Sienna,” he growls.

“Yes,” I say in a husky voice that surprises
even myself. “Lucas, I want—”

The buzzing noise starts up again, and he
flinches, rolling off of my body. He sits on the edge of his bed
with his back turned to me, and pulls his cell phone out of his
pocket. His head lowers, and I hear his finger gliding across the
smooth screen. Cautiously, curiously, I watch as each of the
muscles in his back go tight under all of his tattoos.

What the hell is going on?

“Is everything alright?” I ask, and when he
turns to me, a smirk replaces the look of desire that was there
only moments before. My throat goes dry, but I manage to add,
“Lucas?”

“I’m fine. Lie down.”

I shiver at the coolness in his voice, the
sudden detachment in his movements, but I rest my back to the
pillows, waiting for him to say or do something. Instead, he
disappears into the adjoining bathroom. I hear Lucas shuffling
around, and a moment later, he returns, dangling something shiny
from the tip of his finger.

When he comes to the side of the bed, looking
down at me, my heart skips a beat when I realize what he’s
holding.

Handcuffs.

Terrifying, and very real, handcuffs.

I scoot away from him, my throat starting to
constrict.

“Sienna,” Lucas says in a controlled voice.
“I’m going to handcuff you.”

What the fuck?

Panic surfaces in the pit of my stomach,
making its way up into my chest to suffocate me as I shake my head
violently to each side. “No. I mean, you’re not going to make
me—”

Holding up his hand, he cuts me off. “I can’t
make you do shit. You’re going to let me.”

I scramble off the bed to stand on the
opposite side of him and cross my arms tightly over my chest. “No,
I’m not.” And he can’t possibly expect me to. Not when I barely
know him. Not when he has that asshole-ish look on his face.

Lucas’s hazel eyes glance from me to the
handcuffs hanging on his finger. Finally, he tosses the metal to
the center of the bed, and my body relaxes. “So I guess we’re—” I
begin.

“Get the fuck out,” he growls.

I take a step backward, my chest clenching
painfully. “What?”

This time, he speaks slowly, emphasizing each
word, and it makes me feel like he’s shaking me as he does this.
“Get the fuck out. I’m sure you know the way.”

He doesn’t give me a chance to respond, to
demand an explanation for this complete 180 before he disappears
into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. I stare after him
for what seems like eternity, my stomach churning hard when I hear
his shower turn on.

My hands are heavy and numb as I grab my
dress from the side of the bed and drag it back on. I jerk the
zipper up, not caring that it catches midway. I don’t check my
appearance in the mirror attached to the dresser, because I know
what I’ll see. A red-faced, humiliated woman. I find my bag and
leave Lucas’s bedroom, gripping the bannister tightly as I walk
down the stairs, the sound of running water following me. I don’t
turn around until I’m at the bottom, and by then I’m breathing
heavily.

“Screw you too, Lucas,” I whisper in a broken
voice before I let myself out.

I don’t call a cab until I’m a block away
from his mansion. By then, I’m nothing but runny mascara and the
taxi operator has to ask me for my information three times.

In my whole life, I’ve had three regrets.

The first is the shit that Sam will hold over
my head until one of us is gone—or until it no longer benefits her
to screw me over with it.

Number two would be Samantha herself.

And number three is the fact that when I come
out of the bathroom—still seething, but at Samantha and
myself—Sienna is gone.

I’ll be there in an hour, shithead,
Sam’s last message had said, and I’d lost it.

Letting the towel fall from my waist to the
floor, I sit down on the bottom of my bed and squeeze the bridge of
my nose. When my phone rings a minute later, I know exactly who it
is. I start to throw it at the wall, but I grab the next best
thing—a pair of handcuffs—and hurl them instead. Then I answer,
finally giving Sam exactly what she wants.

“You’re in Los Angeles?” I demand.

“Took you long enough to answer,” my ex
slurs. “I was about a day from coming to you.”

My vision suddenly goes red. “You’re still in
Atlanta?”

“Wait? Did you really believe that shit about
me being there? Why the hell would I come to you?”

She’s not here. Sam’s not fucking here and
I’d just sent Sienna away for nothing. I squeeze the phone,
listening to the sound of the plastic cracking beneath my grip.
“You’re fucking crazy,” I snarl. Sam only laughs because she knows
it’s true. Not like she gives a shit about what I think anyway.

“I need a favor,” she says.

When Sam’s done telling me exactly what she
expects from me this time, she makes a comment that stays in my
mind for the rest of the night, and for the weeks afterward, like
so many of the things she’s said to me over the years.

“You can’t control everything, Lucas.”

“Someday,” I respond coldly, and she
laughs.

***

I go to wardrobe the next morning, unsure of
what I need to say to Sienna but knowing that I need to say
something.

I’m a dick.

I messed up.

I don’t do relationships, but, fuck, I want
you.

When I let myself into the wardrobe room,
which is no bigger than a closet, though, the only person I find is
Sienna’s loudmouth boss. “Is the other wardrobe girl here?” I ask,
stepping inside. She looks up to give me a sugary smile.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wolfe, but I had to let her
go.”

My face pulls into a frown, and I wait for
her to explain. When she doesn’t say shit, my impatience gets the
best of me. “What do you mean you had to let her go?”

The woman—Amber is what I think Sienna had
called her before—shoves a bunch of sketches into a pink folder.
“She wasn’t a fit for this assignment.”

“That sounds like a load of bullshit to
me.”

Amber sighs, facing me full on this time.
“Ms. Jensen spent the majority of the few days she worked for me .
. . unavailable.” She gives me a pointed look, and I suck a sharp
breath through my teeth.

Not only had I run Sienna off last night, I’d
fucked up her job too.

“Well hire her back,” I order.

“She’s already disconnected her number.”

An hour later—after I’ve called Sienna’s
phone to find that Amber was right, it has been disconnected—Kylie
comes into my dressing room, playing the part of concerned little
sister. She sits on the coffee table, biting her bottom lip.

“Spit it out,” I growl.

“You know where she lives,” Kylie says, as
she tucks her hair behind her ear.

“I’m not going to grovel.”

Kylie gives me a disgusted snort. “God, Luke,
I want to kick you in the balls sometimes. I don’t know what
happened”—she holds up a hand, squeezing her eyes together—“and I
don’t want to know, but I’ve got a feeling you were a shithead.
Saying sorry for being that . . . Well, it’s not groveling. If you
care what she thinks about you, make things right.”

“And if I don’t care?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Then be yourself.”

That night, I stand outside of Sienna’s
apartment ringing the doorbell like an idiot until her tiny
roommate answers. Leaning her weight against the doorframe, she
glares up at me. “Yes?”

“I need to see Sienna.” The words sound
awkward coming from me.

“She left.”

“To do
what
?” I ask in a clipped
voice.

The woman pushes away from the door, backing
up into the foyer as she rolls her eyes. “She moved.” As she starts
to shut the door in my face, I shove my foot inside. “Just so you
know I’m not above calling the cops. Not even on Lucas Wolfe.”

“Nobody picks up and moves their life in 24
hours,” I say. When the woman cocks her eyebrow, I add, “Is she
fucking in there?”

“No, she’s not.” The woman’s expression
doesn’t change, not even when a noise comes from the back of my
throat. “Yeah, it’s dramatic if you ask me, but who knows what I’d
do if I was screwed over like that.”

“I’m here to say . . .”
I was a dick
because I was scared to fucking death about what Sam would do to
Sienna if we were together. That even I lose control sometimes.
I decide against it. “Look, if you talk to her, just tell her to
call me,” I say.

The woman nudges the door closed until
there’s only a crack in it. “You don’t have to shout it. I’ve
already told you she’s not in here, but yeah, I’ll let her
know.”

I bet she fucking will.

As I drive home—my car unusually silent
because I mute the satellite radio—I add one more regret to my
short list.

***

Sienna doesn’t call or text, though at first
I expect her to.

A year and a half after my night with her,
when I’m so burnt out that I can’t come up with good music to save
my life, Kylie suggests a change of scenery.

“Go home to Atlanta,” she suggests over
lunch, and I shake my head. Samantha is in Atlanta, and I won’t be
within 100 miles of her.

“Nashville,” I tell my sister.

Kylie asks me a thousand questions about why
I’d choose Nashville of all places, none of which I provide an
answer to. But a couple months later when she brings me a listing
for a foreclosure—a luxury cabin owned by some construction company
owner’s widow who can’t pay the big ass house payment anymore—I
tell her I want it.

When I put in the bid, I think of the woman
with the red hair and wide blue eyes from Nashville who flushed
every time I spoke to her.

Sienna.

My fourth regret.

I hadn’t gotten to make things right with
her.