Chapter 9
LEXI
He stood by the monitors, arms crossed, eyes hidden behind sunglasses.
Everything about him radiated control—the kind that didn’t need to announce itself.
The cut of his T-shirt stretched over a chest built for impact, not aesthetics.
His forearms, tanned and roped with muscle, flexed every time his hand shifted against his bicep.
Even still, he looked coiled, like something forged rather than born.
That calm, unbothered stance was its own kind of arrogance.
He didn’t fidget. Didn’t check his phone. Didn’t pretend to make small talk with the crew. He just was—a wall of quiet, masculine authority in a sea of chaos. The kind of man who could walk into a riot and lower the volume just by breathing.
It worked.
Lucas.
I didn’t say his name out loud. I didn’t even look directly at him for the first hour, though I felt him—his attention like a heat signature tracing every step I took.
No one else knew. Not Hannah. Not Carrie. Not Franklin.
And that was delicious.
I kept my expression professional, breezy even, as the crew reset the shot for the third time. But inside, my pulse was a traitor, drumming an uneven rhythm that had nothing to do with caffeine.
He’d saved me last night.
Now he was my bodyguard.
Some people might’ve found that humiliating.
I found it … electrifying.
“Let’s take it again from the dock,” Franklin called, snapping his fingers. “Benji, hit the timing tighter. Lexi, more vulnerability. You’re still a little too in control.”
If only he knew.
Benji gave me a sympathetic smile as he joined me at the mark. “You okay?”
“Always.”
He smirked. “Liar.”
Everyone always asked me that—you okay?—like I gave off some invisible signal that said otherwise. Maybe I did. Maybe that was what fame really was: a permanent projection of unease.
I knew Benji meant well—he was one of the good ones, sweet and steady in a business built on ego—but still, the question made me want to scream. What did they see when they looked at me? A woman holding it together, or one seconds from falling apart?
We hit our cues, the camera rolling. My bare feet pressed against the worn planks of the dock, the breeze teasing at my dress. The scene called for longing—a look across the water, a soft line of dialogue, a hand on his chest that wasn’t supposed to linger but always did.
I delivered the line, whispered, “You make it hard to leave.”
Benji’s hand closed around mine, steady and professional, but his eyes twinkled. “Then don’t.”
“Cut!” Franklin barked. “Perfect. We’ll get coverage.”
The crew scattered like startled birds. Makeup swooped in with powder, sound adjusted my mic, someone shouted for silence near the generator. The normal chaos of a film set—beautiful in its rhythm, predictable in its noise.
And through all of it, Lucas didn’t move.
He stayed at the edge of the platform, a shadow cut from muscle and restraint. Neutral stance. But I could feel him watching. Not ogling. Assessing. The difference between lust and awareness was thin as silk, and he lived right on that line.
I turned toward him under the pretense of fixing my hair, letting my eyes find his for just a heartbeat.
There it was again—that flicker. Recognition. Connection. The barest tilt of his chin, like he knew I knew.
Then nothing.
He looked away, hands clasped behind his back, the perfect picture of professionalism.
And it made me want to ruin it.
As the day wore on, the heat wrapped around the set like a wet towel. Franklin ordered umbrellas and fans. Wardrobe rushed to blot sweat from my collarbone. Hannah shoved a bottle of coconut water into my hand like I might die without it.
Lucas didn’t seem to notice the heat. He stood off to the side, scanning the crowd, calm.
I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Need something, Lexi?” Franklin asked, distracted by his monitor.
“Water break,” I said, before anyone could stop me.
I walked toward the shade where Lucas stood. He noticed me coming, of course—he probably noticed the breeze before it arrived. But he didn’t speak until I was right in front of him.
“Everything all right?” he asked, voice low, rough.
The sound of it slid down my spine.
“Perfect,” I said. “You’re very … good at standing still.”
His mouth twitched. “It’s part of the job.”
“Is it? Watching me all day?”
“Protecting you,” he corrected.
I tilted my head. “From what?”
He hesitated, then said, “You’d be surprised.”
That should have chilled me. Instead, it felt like a spark to dry tinder. “Maybe I’d like a surprise.”
He looked at me for a long moment. His gaze wasn’t invasive—it was deliberate. Controlled. Like he was searching for my tells and finding too many.
“I don’t think you’d like this kind,” he said finally.
I smiled, slow and practiced. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”
His jaw flexed once, barely there. “Not yet.”
The two words hit harder than they should have.
Not yet.
I wanted to say something clever, but Franklin yelled my name from across the dock, and the spell broke.
“Duty calls,” I said lightly.
Lucas nodded, but his eyes didn’t leave me as I walked away. I could feel them on my back—up and down.
Damn, that man was going to set me on fire. From the inside out.
Benji caught me between takes, leaning on a railing like he’d been waiting. “You’ve got that look,” he said.
“What look?”
“The look you get when you find something shiny you probably shouldn’t touch.”
I laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”
He glanced toward Lucas, who was checking something on his comms. “Oh, I’m ridiculous? You’ve barely blinked since they assigned you a walking wall with cheekbones.”
“Benji.”
“I’m just saying,” he said, lowering his voice. “He’s clearly into you.”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s clearly doing his job.”
“Right,” he said. “Staring at your mouth like it owes him an apology is definitely in the security handbook.”
I bit back a smile. “You’re imagining things.”
He grinned. “I’m an actor, babe. Imagining things is my job. But that guy? He’s not an actor, and he’s definitely not acting.”
I wanted to protest again, but the truth was too warm, too thrilling. Lucas had been watching me. And not just in the way security does—like an assignment. It was something else. Something almost … reverent.
Benji nudged my shoulder. “Careful, Lexi. That one looks like he bites.”
“Maybe I bite back.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Honestly, if I were single—and if he were into guys—I’d be all over that. So, I’m not judging.”
I snorted. “You think he’s that good-looking?”
“Good-looking?” He gave me a look. “Sweetheart, that man is weaponized. Those shoulders alone could get him his own Marvel franchise. The sunglasses, the quiet, the don’t-mess-with-me energy—it’s catnip.”
I tried to hide my smile, failed miserably. “He’s … striking,” I admitted.
“Striking?” Benji rolled his eyes. “That’s what you call a sunset, not a man who looks like he’s built from classified blueprints.”
“Fine,” I said, laughing. “He’s handsome.”
“Handsome,” Benji repeated, savoring the word. “And probably military. You can smell the discipline from here.”
“Military?” I echoed, glancing toward Lucas, who was scanning the crowd with that same razor focus. “I don’t know. He’s too—” I hesitated. “Contained.”
“Exactly,” Benji said. “That’s what makes it hot. Men who’ve seen things, done things, but don’t feel the need to brag about it? That’s the dream.”
I shook my head, pretending to brush it off, but the idea lodged deep.
Military.
Discipline.
Control.
And suddenly, the way he’d moved last night—the speed, the precision, the way his hand had found mine like it was muscle memory—made perfect, dangerous sense.
Franklin shouted for quiet, calling us back to position. I smoothed my dress, still smiling to myself as I walked toward the dock again.
The rest of the day passed in flashes—lines delivered, retakes, wardrobe adjustments, the hum of cicadas in the marsh. Through it all, Lucas stayed close. Never intrusive, never overt. Just near enough that I could feel him.
When the camera turned toward us again, I caught him standing in my peripheral vision—arms folded, the faintest furrow between his brows as he scanned the crowd.
Protecting me, he’d said.
From what, though?
I thought about the Navy officer, about the drink I almost took. About how fast Lucas had moved.
Who was he?
Noah had called him Dominion Hall’s “security.” But that word felt too small. Men like him didn’t babysit actors; they dismantled threats.
And yet here he was, watching me.
Between takes, Franklin came over to adjust a blocking note. “Let’s have you two closer,” he said to Benji and me, gesturing to the narrow space by the railing. “Almost touching. I want tension without contact.”
Benji grinned. “Story of her life.”
“Shut up,” I muttered, but it broke the tension.
We ran the scene again. Franklin wanted yearning; I gave him ache. Every word, every glance felt laced with something unspoken. And when the take ended, I let my gaze slip toward Lucas.
He was watching. Always watching.
This time, he had taken off his sunglasses. When our eyes met, he didn’t look away.
The world seemed to narrow until it was just the two of us—the breeze off the marsh, the sound of gulls, and the pulse in my throat that wouldn’t slow down.
He held my gaze for three, maybe four seconds. Long enough to make me forget my next line.
“Cut!” Franklin barked. “Good, but let’s tighten the transition—Lexi?”
I blinked, forcing air into my lungs. “Sorry. Lost focus.”
Franklin frowned. “Don’t make me regret forgiving your nightlife.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, biting back the smile that threatened.
Benji leaned close, murmuring, “Totally worth it. You’ve got him rattled.”
“Franklin?”
“Not Franklin. Your guard dog,” he said. “He’s practically vibrating.”
I didn’t dare look again—not right away.
Finally, Franklin called wrap. Crew scattered, laughter rising like steam. I stepped off the dock, barefoot, shoes dangling from one hand. My feet ached, my skin glowed, and I felt alive for the first time in a long time.
Carrie appeared with a towel and a knowing smirk. “You look like you enjoyed yourself.”
“Maybe I did.”
“Even with the new shadow?”
I glanced toward Lucas. He stood near the trailers, silhouetted against the dying light. He was impossible to ignore.
“Especially with the new shadow,” I said before I could stop myself.
Carrie laughed softly. “Careful. Hannah will have a coronary if you start flirting with your protection detail.”
“She already had one this morning,” I said. “What’s another?”
“Lexi—”
“I’m kidding,” I said, mostly.
But when Lucas’s head turned and our eyes met again, something in my chest fluttered like it didn’t know better.
I found myself near him as crew packed up equipment. He was checking his earpiece, professional as ever, but his voice dropped when he spoke to me.
“You handled yourself well today.”
“That your professional opinion?”
His mouth curved slightly. “Personal observation.”
“Careful,” I said softly. “You might ruin your reputation for stoicism.”
He didn’t smile, but I saw it—the faintest flicker in his eyes. “You think I’m stoic?”
“I think you’re a mystery.”
“Those are dangerous,” he said.
“So am I.”
That earned the smallest tilt of his head. Respect, maybe. Or warning. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Noah approached then, breaking whatever fragile line had stretched between us. “Nice work today,” he said to me. Then, turning to Lucas: “We got the word. Twenty-four-hour coverage.”
Lucas nodded once. “Understood.”
The words shouldn’t have thrilled me, but they did.
Noah glanced between us, as if catching something he couldn’t quite name. “Try to keep it smooth. Less press attention, the better.” Then he was gone, already talking into his comm.
I looked at Lucas. “So you’ll be following me home?”
He met my gaze without flinching. “Correction. I’m driving you home.”
“Do I get a say in that?”
“No,” he replied, matter-of-fact.
The corner of my mouth lifted. “Good. I was going to say yes, anyway.”
For the first time, a real smile ghosted across his face—quick, dangerous, and gone before I could decide if I imagined it.
Maybe this assignment was supposed to make me safer.
But I didn’t want safe.
I wanted him.
And something told me, sooner or later, I’d get exactly what I wanted.