Chapter 10
LUCAS
Noah handed me the keys to the armored SUV, clapped my shoulder, and left me standing on the dock with Lexi Montgomery. When we got to the lot, the vehicle loomed like a tank in the fading Charleston light, its black exterior absorbing the last rays of the sun.
Lexi tilted her head, eyeing it with a smirk. “Subtle,” she said, her voice laced with that teasing edge I was already starting to recognize.
I couldn’t disagree. The thing screamed warlord or crooked politician, all reinforced steel and tinted windows, built for battle zones, not Lowcountry film sets.
I was an under-the-radar guy—blend in, disappear, strike when needed.
First chance I got, I’d swap this beast for something plain, a beat-up sedan or a pickup that wouldn’t draw a second glance.
“Not my style,” I muttered, opening the passenger door for her.
She slid in, her sundress catching the light, and I felt the air shift, like static before a storm.
I climbed into the driver’s seat, the leather creaking under me, and started the engine.
The hum was low, powerful, but it did nothing to drown out the electricity crackling between us.
My skin prickled, the hair on my arms damn near standing on end.
She was right there, close enough to touch, and it was messing with my head in ways I didn’t have time for.
We drove in silence for the first few minutes, the waterway sliding past, its surface glinting like molten glass in the dusk. The tension was thick, heavy, like the humid air pressing against the windows.
Lexi reached over and flicked on the radio, her arm brushing close enough that I caught her scent—clean, fresh, like the beach at sunset, with a faint undertone of sweat from a hard day’s work. It hit me like a shot of bourbon, warm and dizzying, and my mind went places it had no business going.
Her skin, flushed from the set’s heat, the way her body might feel after a day like that—worked up, alive. I gripped the wheel tighter. Snap out of it, Dane. I was here to do a job, not act like some horny teenager who couldn’t keep his eyes off the pretty girl.
“What’re you thinking about?” she asked, her voice cutting through the southern rock twang spilling from the radio.
I lied, keeping my eyes on the road. “Trying to figure out what car to get instead of this warlord-mobile.”
She laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent a jolt straight to my gut. “Something flashy. A convertible, maybe. Red. Draw all the eyes.”
I glanced at her, ready to call it the dumbest idea I’d ever heard, but her smirk stopped me cold. She was fucking with me, those eyes dancing with mischief.
Damn it.
Was it going to be this easy for her to get under my skin?
“Funny,” I said, my voice drier than I meant.
Her phone dinged, breaking the moment. She glanced at the screen, her lips twitching. “My sister,” she said, typing a quick reply.
“Hannah?” I asked, remembering the name from Noah’s brief rundown of her team.
She nodded, sliding the phone back into her bag. “Yeah. Pain in the ass sometimes, but she’s blood.”
“You two close?”
“Close as you can be when one of you’s a control freak and the other’s a …” She trailed off, smirking. “Well, me.”
I snorted. “Sounds like family.”
“You got siblings?” she asked, her tone light but curious, like she was testing the waters.
For some reason, I wanted to tell her everything—about Caleb, Ethan, the whole Dane clan, the way we’d grown up wild in Montana, fighting and fishing and forging bonds stronger than steel.
But I didn’t.
“Yeah,” I said, keeping it short. “Brothers.”
She waited, like she expected more, but I didn’t give it. I couldn’t tell if she was disappointed—her face was a mask, practiced and unreadable.
She turned back to her phone, typing another quick message before slipping it away. “Can’t wait to get cleaned up,” she said, almost to herself. “Wash the day off.”
The image hit me unbidden—Lexi, naked, water streaming down her skin, steam rising around her. I clenched my jaw, willing the thought away. Stop it, Dane. She was a client, a job, not a fantasy. But the way her voice softened, the way her fingers brushed her hair back, wasn’t helping.
We didn’t speak for the rest of the drive, the radio filling the silence with some country ballad about lost love and whiskey.
James Island unfolded around us, quiet and green, the houses tucked among palmettos and marsh grass.
When we pulled up to her rental—a weathered blue two-story with a wide porch and white columns—I killed the engine and turned to her. “Stay put for a minute.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Gonna have a look around.”
“Really?” Her tone was skeptical, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes.
“Yeah,” I said, stepping out. “It’s my job.” I flashed her a grin, the kind I used to defuse tension. “I’m good at it, I promise.”
She rolled her eyes but stayed put, her silhouette sharp against the SUV’s tinted window. I moved quickly, circling the house first. The perimeter was quiet—no footprints in the soft earth, no signs of tampering on the windows or doors.
The marsh stretched out behind, its surface still and dark, reflecting the last streaks of pink in the sky. A heron lifted off, wings slicing the air, and the cicadas started their evening hum.
Nothing out of place, but my instincts stayed sharp, that itch at the back of my neck telling me to check everything twice.
Inside, I did a thorough sweep, moving room by room. The house smelled like the kind of place that tried to feel like home but didn’t quite make it. Hardwood floors creaked under my boots, and the floor-to-ceiling windows let in too much light for my liking—too exposed.
I checked closets, corners, the back deck. In the bathroom, I froze, my eyes catching on a row of bras hanging on a rack—lace, silk, colors that didn’t belong in my head. I looked away, heat creeping up my neck, feeling like a damn idiot.
Focus, Dane.
Satisfied the place was clean, I opened the front door for her. She stepped out of the SUV, graceful as a princess, her sundress swaying as she moved.
“All clear?” she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice.
“All clear,” I said, holding the door. Her hand brushed my arm as she passed, a light touch to say thank you, and that damn spark hit me again—electric, sharp, like a live wire. My pulse kicked up, and I told myself to get it together.
This wasn’t a game. She wasn’t a conquest. She was a job.
Inside, she dropped her bag on the kitchen island and turned to me. “Can you make us a drink? I’m gonna clean up.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You sure that’s okay? Me drinking on duty?”
She smirked, leaning against the counter. “I won’t tell if you don’t. Besides, I don’t want you getting in trouble.”
I almost laughed. A drink was the least of my problems compared to her.
“Yeah, one won’t hurt,” I said, heading for the fridge.
Vodka, gin, soda, a couple of limes—simple enough.
I was in a vodka mood, so I mixed two vodka sodas with lime, the ice clinking in the glasses.
The citrus cut through the air, sharp and clean, but it did nothing to drown out the sound of the shower starting down the hall. My grip tightened on the glass.
Damn it.
I took a sip, nodding at the balance—crisp, not too sweet.
It grounded me, but only for a second. The shower’s hum was a low torture, conjuring images I had no right to entertain.
I leaned against the counter, forcing my focus to the room—the sleek appliances, the view of the fading marsh through the windows, the faint creak of the house settling. Anything but her.
“Lucas?” Her voice came from the bathroom, soft but clear.
I straightened, setting my drink down. “Yeah?” I called, stepping toward the door.
“I need your help.”
My mind raced. A towel, maybe? Shampoo? Wasn’t that what assistants were for?
“What’s up?” I asked, my voice steady despite the way my pulse kicked.
“It’s hard to explain through the door,” she said. “Just come in.”
Fuck.
My hand hesitated on the knob. She was probably wrapped in a robe, every curve covered, nothing to worry about.
I pushed the door open, and steam billowed out, thick and warm, clouding the air. For a moment, I couldn’t see her, just the haze and the faint outline of the shower. Then she stepped forward, and my breath stopped.
She was naked. Completely, unapologetically naked.
Her skin glistened, water droplets tracing paths I couldn’t follow without losing my damn mind. She was beautiful—terrifyingly so—and for reasons I couldn’t name, that scared the shit out of me. My instincts screamed to back away, to run, to get the hell out before I did something stupid.
“Lexi,” I said, my voice rougher than I meant. “What—”
“I wanted to say thank you,” she said, her voice steady, her eyes locked on mine. She took a step closer, unafraid, her presence filling the room like a storm.
I froze, my back against the doorframe.
“For what?” I asked, even though I knew, my mind yelling at me to move, to leave, to do anything but stand there.
“For last night,” she said, closing the distance. “For stopping me.”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry despite the humidity. “You don’t need to—”
“I want to,” she cut in, her voice soft but firm. She was close now, too close, her scent—clean, warm, with that hint of sweat—wrapping around me like a vice.
My mind flashed to her sister, her assistant, the entourage that could walk in any second.
“Hannah,” I said, grasping for a lifeline. “Your people. They could be back any time.”
She shook her head, a faint smile curving her lips. “I sent them on errands. You know, big-time actress needs.” Her tone was light, teasing, but her eyes were anything but.
My blood roared. Was this what I was to her? A quick fix, a thrill to satisfy some Hollywood whim?
Fuck it, I decided just as fast. If she wanted to play, I was willing.
I closed the gap, my hand finding her waist, and kissed her—hard, hungry, like the world was about to explode. Her lips were soft, warm, yielding for a split second before she kissed me back, fierce and unyielding, and I felt the ground shift beneath me.