Chapter 13
LEXI
Lucas stayed in the guest room.
That was the official version of events.
The reality was that I spent half the night lying awake, staring at the ceiling, listening for any sound from down the hall—the creak of a floorboard, the quiet shift of sheets, the low timbre of his voice if he was on a call. Nothing. He’d been a perfect gentleman. Which was almost worse.
I’d wanted recklessness.
Instead, I got discipline wrapped in temptation.
Once or twice, I nearly gave in—nearly padded barefoot down the hall, knocked softly on his door, whispered something that would have destroyed every boundary he’d been trying to hold.
But every time I sat up, heart hammering, I pictured his face when Hannah had walked in.
That mix of humor and control. The way he’d said another time.
So, I stayed put.
And dreamed of what I didn’t do.
By morning, he was already up, dressed, and making coffee like he’d lived there for years.
Hannah gave him a look that could’ve stripped paint, but she didn’t say much—probably too tired or too resigned to fight another battle. I just smiled into my mug, pretending I didn’t notice how his hand brushed mine when he passed me the cream. It was positively electric. Every single touch was.
He was all calm focus, perfectly professional—no lingering glances, no teasing remarks. Just Lucas in work mode. Which only made me want him more.
By the time we reached the set, James Island had already started to steam. The marsh glowed gold under the early light, gulls cutting across the sky, the crew moving like clockwork to catch the day before the heat settled in.
Franklin greeted me with his usual brand of controlled chaos—half genius, half meltdown waiting to happen.
“Morning, starlet,” he said, thrusting a call sheet into my hand. “Let’s try to avoid any viral moments today, yeah?”
“Define viral,” I said sweetly.
He smirked but didn’t answer, already barking at a grip about lighting angles.
I smiled like it was all a joke, but the truth was, I didn’t want to piss Franklin off. He had a temper that burned fast and forgave slow, and the last thing I needed was to give him a reason to use words like unprofessional or unstable in the next studio meeting.
I’d spent years building a reputation for being easy to work with—prepared, polite, on time. A director’s dream, a publicist’s relief. Whatever chaos swirled in my personal life, I kept it off set. I wasn’t about to let one shoot in Charleston rewrite that narrative.
Viral moments were currency for influencers, not actresses who wanted longevity. I’d worked too hard to be taken seriously—to be seen as more than a face with good lighting—to throw it away over a few gossip posts.
So, I took a breath and walked toward wardrobe with my head high. Professional. Composed. The picture of control.
Even if part of me still hummed with the memory of what had almost happened last night.
Lucas was stationed nearby, blending into the background as always, though everyone noticed him, anyway. There was something about his presence—contained but commanding—that settled the set. Even Franklin stopped snapping quite as much.
Benji was running late, which left me in wardrobe and makeup longer than usual. I didn’t mind. It gave me time to think—and to watch.
Lucas stood by the trailers, scanning the perimeter with that quiet vigilance that both annoyed and aroused me. Every movement he made was precise—like even his breathing was strategic. Black T-shirt again, dark jeans, boots that looked like they’d walked through hell and made it out fine.
“Lexi, you’re drooling,” Carrie said under her breath as she fixed my hair.
I smiled at her reflection in the mirror. “It’s hot out.”
“Uh-huh.” She tugged the last curl into place, smirking. “Just remember, you like bad ideas, but this one comes with a gun.”
“Technically,” I said, standing, “that’s part of the appeal.”
Carrie snorted. “Of course, it is.”
On set, everything clicked into place smoothly for once. No tech issues. No tantrums. No press lurking outside the gates. Just me, the camera, and Lucas somewhere behind the scenes—close enough that I could feel him even when I couldn’t see him.
We filmed two dialogue-heavy scenes before lunch. Franklin was in a rare good mood. “That’s the Lexi I remember,” he said, clapping his hands. “Raw, radiant, a little dangerous. Keep it.”
Dangerous.
If only he knew.
By the time the crew broke for a meal, Benji still hadn’t arrived. A few whispers passed around, but nothing official. I ducked into the shaded corridor between trailers, wanting a minute to breathe.
Or maybe to find Lucas.
He appeared like I’d conjured him—silent as ever, sunglasses off now, eyes sharp and unreadable. “You shouldn’t wander off alone,” he said quietly.
I leaned against the trailer wall, smiling. “You always this bossy?”
“Only when I have a reason.”
I tilted my head. “And do you?”
He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. “Plenty.”
My pulse jumped. “Name one.”
He didn’t. He just looked at me—really looked, like he was memorizing my face, my mouth, the way my breath hitched. Then his hand came up, brushing a stray curl from my cheek, and suddenly the world went very still.
It happened again, that pull I couldn’t fight. One step, one breath, one glance too long—and then his mouth was on mine.
The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was hours of restraint breaking open. His hand slid into my hair, his body pressing me against the wall, and I melted, helpless against the onslaught of wanting him.
He tasted like coffee and heat and danger. My hands fisted in his shirt, dragging him closer, the tension between us snapping tight as wire. He groaned low in his throat when my tongue met his, a sound that made my knees weak.
“Lexi,” he breathed, his forehead resting against mine, voice rough. “You’re gonna make me—”
“Good,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the edge of his jaw, the stubble that scraped my skin.
His hands roamed lower, gripping my hips, lifting me until my toes barely touched the ground. The trailer wall was warm behind me, his body unrelenting in front of me, every muscle alive and straining with control.
I broke the kiss long enough to catch my breath. “You want me.”
The proof was already between us—hard, unyielding, pressed against my thigh through the thin layers that did nothing to disguise what he wanted.
His restraint trembled under the weight of it.
Every pulse of his body felt like a confession, and the low sound that left his throat hit somewhere deep inside me.
He didn’t hesitate. “I’ve wanted you since the bar.”
The honesty hit harder than the kiss. I swallowed, my heart pounding. “Then why didn’t you—”
“Because I don’t take advantage.”
“Even now?”
His eyes darkened. “You have no idea how close I am.”
My laugh came out shaky. “Then maybe stop talking and—”
A shout cut through the air.
We both froze. The energy shifted.
Another shout, louder this time, followed by the crunch of gravel near the parking area. Crew members started running toward the sound.
Lucas was gone before I could blink—one second pressed against me, the next striding down the path, every line of his body switching from heat to readiness.
I straightened my clothes, still dizzy, and followed.
When I rounded the corner, chaos met me. Benji stood by the security tent, shirt torn, face scraped, a cut blooming red across his cheekbone. One of his bodyguards was talking to the local cops, and another hovered near him like a nervous shadow.
“Jesus, Benji,” I said, rushing to his side. “What happened?”
He gave me a sheepish smile, wincing when the motion tugged at his split lip. “Some lunatic decided he didn’t like my face. Told me I was a sinner selling lust.”
“Charming,” I said, my heart still racing.
Benji shook his head, the movement small and careful.
“Happened outside my rental,” he said quietly.
“Guy was just there—waiting. I went out on the back deck to drink my coffee, and he came out of nowhere. Ranted about Hollywood filth, about how I was ‘leading good women astray.’ My security heard the noise and chased him off, but not before he got a few hits in.” He gestured toward his face, then his ribs, grimacing.
“Didn’t even take anything. Just wanted to make a point, I guess. ”
Lucas was already talking to one of the officers, calm but sharp, his tone clipped and professional. Whatever he said made the man straighten immediately.
Benji followed my gaze. “Your new shadow’s intense. I like him.”
“Yeah,” I said under my breath. “He’s good at what he does.”
More squad cars pulled up, lights flashing across the lot.
Franklin stormed out of the director’s tent, cursing about insurance and schedules.
Crew members huddled in clusters, whispering.
Someone from production was already spinning this into a “security incident,” which sounded much tidier than attack.
A uniformed officer approached, his badge catching the sunlight. He was tall, maybe early forties, with the kind of easy confidence that comes from being both local and respected.
“Ms. Montgomery? Mr. Dawes?” he asked. “I’m Officer Eric Norton, Charleston PD.”
I nodded. “Lexi’s fine.”
“Benji, too,” Benji added.
The officer smiled faintly. “Heard a lot about you two. My wife’s a fan.”
“That sounds dangerous,” I said, forcing a smile.
“Not as dangerous as today’s situation,” he said, flipping open his notebook. “We’re just gathering statements right now. I understand Mr. Dawes was assaulted by an unidentified male.”
Benji nodded, grimacing. “Yeah. Security’s pulling footage.
Big guy, ball cap, weird accent. Eastern European maybe?
Hard to tell—he was yelling half the time.
Came at me on my back deck like he’d been waiting for me to open the door.
Said something about sin, about how we were ‘poisoning people’s souls.
’ I thought he was a drunk neighbor at first, but then he hit me. Hard.”
He touched his jaw lightly, wincing. “My team was inside getting breakfast, heard the commotion, and came running. The guy bolted before they could grab him. No car in sight, no plates, nothing. Just disappeared into the marsh like a damn wild animal.”
Norton scribbled something, then looked at Lucas, who had appeared by my side. “You’re Dominion Hall, right?”
Lucas gave a short nod. “I am.”
“Good,” Norton said, lowering his voice slightly. “Noah asked me to keep tabs. Said you might need local support.”
That name hit something in my memory—a conversation on set, a faint reference I hadn’t paid attention to. Dominion Hall. Whoever these people were, they had reach.
Lucas’s expression didn’t change. “Appreciate it. We’ll handle our end.”
Norton’s gaze flicked back to Benji and me, softer now. “We’ll tighten things up around here, folks. Whoever this guy was, sounds like he wasn’t just a random fan.”
My stomach dropped. “You think it’s serious?”
“Too soon to say,” he replied. “But we’ll find out.”
He moved on to question the crew, leaving me standing beside Lucas, the air thick with adrenaline and the faint scent of danger.
Benji was talking to medics now, brushing off the fuss, but his usual easy charm looked frayed. A bruise was already forming along his jaw.
Lucas’s hand brushed my arm—steady, grounding. “You okay?”
I nodded, though my voice felt far away when I said, “Yeah. Just … shaken.”
His eyes held mine. “You’re safe.”
I believed him. I didn’t know why, but I did.
Franklin called for an extended break—longer than usual—muttering about people needing to “get their heads on straight” before he’d roll another frame. “We’ll pick up again in an hour,” he said, already pacing toward his monitor.
Crew scattered in every direction, some lighting cigarettes, others on their phones, everyone pretending not to be rattled.
Benji’s team gathered around him with ice packs and bottled water.
The police cars finally pulled away, leaving behind the faint scent of exhaust and tension that clung to the humid air.
When it was just us—me, Lucas, and the whisper of the marsh through the reeds—I finally let out the breath I’d been holding. The world felt too quiet now, the chaos replaced by the slow thrum of adrenaline that refused to fade.
“Does this kind of thing happen a lot?” I asked softly. “People showing up. Losing it.”
Lucas’s gaze stayed on the water, his jaw flexing once before he spoke. “Not usually. But when it does …” He shook his head. “It can get ugly fast.”
I tried to laugh, but the sound came out thin. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
He looked back at me then, eyes steady, voice low. “No. Just telling you the truth.”
I nodded slowly, arms wrapping around myself. “It’s never happened on a shoot I’ve been part of. At least, not that I knew about. Maybe people were just good at keeping it from me.”
“Probably,” he said. Then, after a pause: “This isn’t my usual kind of gig, either.”
That caught my attention. “Meaning?”
He shrugged one shoulder, gaze still fixed on the horizon. “I’m used to higher stakes. Different kind of protection. More guns, less glam.”
I studied him for a beat. “So, why take this job?”
His mouth curved faintly. “Let’s just say it wasn’t about the scenery.”
I looked at him for a long moment, the weight of the morning pressing down. The image of Benji bleeding. The echo of Lucas’s kiss still on my lips. The questions I didn’t dare ask.
“Lucas,” I said softly.
“Yeah?”
“If this is what my life looks like now …”
He took a step closer, his hand hovering near my waist but not touching. “Then you’re going to need someone who knows how to protect it.”
The words were simple, but the way he said them—low, certain, threaded with something dangerous—sent a pulse of heat straight through me.
I should have been scared.
Instead, I felt completely alive.