All Over You (3 page)

When I go still, she murmurs, “What do you
mean by that, Lucas?”

I look up at the camera closest to my face
and give it a dark look before I coldly reply, “Meaning I’ve got no
plan to take you home after we’re done here. Meaning that once I’m
through with you today, I’ll never see you again.”

“I don’t think you mean that. I know all
about you.”

She doesn’t know me from the camera guy, but
when I push away from her and stalk off of the bed, she’s still
giving me that look that would normally result in an hour of her
bent over my dressing room couch and me pounding into her body
until I release all my frustrations. Not today. Not when I’m still
thinking of Red.

McBride, the same director who’s worked a
dozen of my videos—throws his hands up in frustration. “What the
fuck, Lucas?” he demands.

“I hate her costume. Send for me after she’s
changed.”

One of McBride’s assistants is already
speaking into an earpiece as I leave the set, so I’m not surprised
when I skim past Sienna on my way out. She’s wearing that same
frazzled expression from earlier, her face flushed and her hair
flying behind her in a ponytail. I want to see it loose. I want to
see every part of her unbound, as I bind her to me. She shifts, and
I get a good look at what she’s holding—two hangers of lacy
lingerie.

And she’s grinding her teeth. When our gazes
snap together, and I feel that energy from earlier crack between
the two of us like lightning, she pauses, stops working her teeth
back and forth.

She’s the one I want in my dressing room with
me.

Even though I personally don’t give a fuck
about what brand of jeans and what tee shirt they make me wear in
this goddamn video, I shout over my shoulder, “Send someone to go
over wardrobe for the take tomorrow.”

Lucas Wolfe is staring me down again—that
same gaze that undressed me, unraveled me, earlier. He doesn’t say
anything to me directly, but I can feel his eyes following my every
move, even as I take the change of costume to Amber, who’s talking
to the director.

When I look behind me, though, Lucas is
already gone.

My boss takes the lingerie from me without as
much as a single glance and holds both hangers up for the director
obligingly, waiting for his seal of approval. “I picked this out
earlier as a standby,” she explains, her apologetic smile awkward
on her sharp features. Of course this is the same lacy outfit that
I had suggested to her a couple hours ago, but I’m smart enough not
to remind Amber of that.

The director gives his bald head a swift nod
and motions to the petite blonde woman who’s reclined against
mounds of pillows on the king-size bed with her legs crossed at the
ankle. Pouting, she shimmies to the edge of the mattress, knocking
the silky white bedspreads to the floor, and walks on the tips of
her purple-painted toes over to us.

“Lucas is being difficult, Christina,” the
director explains, and she tosses her shoulder length hair back.
“He wants you to change clothing and—”

She jerks the lingerie out of Amber’s hands
and gives the director a smile sweet enough to make my stomach turn
sour.

“Anything for Lucas-fucking-Wolfe,” Christina
says, drawing out each syllable and giving me a hard look as she
speaks.

I avert my gaze to the floor so she doesn’t
see my eyebrows shoot up.

I mean, it’s not like I’m a threat to this
woman, who looks like she belongs on the cover of Victoria’s
Secret. By the way she’s staring me down, though, you’d think she
was five seconds from going trashy talk show on me and slamming one
of the folding chairs a few feet away into the back of my head.

“It’ll look good on you,” Amber says, giving
Christina a head to toe onceover. Honestly, a Hefty bag would
probably look good on Christina, but when my boss clears her throat
and I lift my head to see the pointed look she tosses in my
direction, I murmur my agreement.

But the only good thing about Christina is
that after today, as long as everything goes well, I won’t have to
find lace or pleather underwear for her anymore. From what Amber
has told me, the rest of this video shoot will be solely based on
the band.

Knowing my luck, Lucas will complain about
this costume too, prolonging Christina’s time on set another couple
days so that he can continue whatever tryst the two of them have
already formed.

I bite the inside of my cheek at the thought
as Christina flounces away. When I start to leave to go back to my
small work station, Amber shakes her head, wiggling her finger as
she says, “A moment, Sienna?”

I’m by her side in an instant, and since
she’s short, I have to lean down so that my ear is level with her
mouth. She speaks to me in a hushed voice. “I need you to go
through the costumes and come up with a few alternates in case . .
.” She casts a wary glance to where the director had started
chatting with one of the crew members.

In case the boy shorts and camisole don’t
work for Lucas-
Fucking
-Wolfe.

I bob my head in understanding, but then I
hear my mother’s voice telling me that nobody can hear a damn thing
when I nod. I clear my throat. “Got it.”

Amber flashes me a thumbs up, her shoulders
sagging a bit in relief. “Good deal.” She hands me the clipboard
she’s holding and massages the bridge of her tanned nose. “And
start working on the costuming for Wolfe for tomorrow.”

This is something I don’t want to do because
even though Amber doesn’t directly say it, I’ll have to deal
directly with Lucas, and I’m so not in the mood for that today. I’m
not used to guys completely unnerving me with something as innocent
as a touch or in Lucas’s case, a softly spoken command.

“
Stop grinding your teeth.”

Of course, since I have no other choice if I
want to keep my job, I assure Amber that I’ll take care of
Lucas.

“Give him whatever he wants,” she warns
me.

As I slink away, I nearly choke on my boss’s
final words.

When I reach the door to Lucas’s dressing
room, I waver and try to gather my thoughts.
This will be
simple
, I tell myself.
I’ll go in there, ask him what he’s
looking for, and I’ll be out in a matter of minutes.

Simple . . . right.

Before I have a chance to even raise my hand
or contemplate knocking, the door creaks open just slightly. A
woman with short, blue and black hair stares out at me from
surprised brown eyes.

Her expression quickly changes to one of
irritation and she releases an exasperated groan. “Please tell me
you didn’t sneak past security?” she demands, and I shake my
head.

Apparently, there’ve been quite a few people
trying to get into the building to get a glimpse of the band. I’d
overheard a few of the security guards talking about the “girl with
the tits” earlier.

“No, I’m Sienna with wardrobe. I’m just here
to—”

“Let her in, Kylie,” Lucas’s low voice growls
from the opposite side of the room. Kylie rolls her eyes
theatrically but swings the door completely open. Tentatively, I
step inside and face Lucas.

He’s stretched out on a couch with his eyes
closed, and Cal, the only member of Your Toxic Sequel who hasn’t
managed to freak me out today is in the armchair across from it.
They both turn their gazes on me as I walk forward to stand in the
center of the brightly lit room, and the stressed look on Lucas’s
face seems to disappear, giving way to the sexy, mocking smile he’d
given me earlier.

“I’m here to go over ideas for what you’ll be
wearing tomorrow,” I say in a confident voice, despite feeling as
though my heart is seconds away from beating its way out of my
chest. Lucas nods his head quickly, his dark hair falling over his
hazel eyes. I clench my hands around the edges of the clipboard
because there’s a part of me that wants to rush forward and brush
his hair back from his face, just as he’d done to me two hours
ago.

“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, cocking his head to one side. “You’re going to do
measurements and shit 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
shit.”

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 fuckstick
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
fuck,” he says.

Wait—what? When I cock 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 hits 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 piss 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 cocky 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. “Fuck 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 sexy 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
goddamn accent.”

“It’s not that bad,” I say defensively.

“Never said it was. It’s sexy—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 sex. And I sure as hell 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.”

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.

Honesty
?

No, there’s no way in hell she’s ready for
that. I slide backwards, carefully pulling my hand out of her hair
and my legs away from hers so that we’re no longer touching. Her
shoulders slouch, and she stops twisting her fingers together in
her lap, relaxing.