Chapter 17
LEXI
He didn’t hesitate. “My place,” he said, voice low, still rough. “It’s called The Palmetto Rose. In Charleston.”
I laughed softly, breathless. “A hotel?”
“Technically,” he said, pushing wet hair back from his forehead. “A suite that’s temporarily mine.”
“Perfect,” I murmured. “If you can sneak me in.”
His mouth curved in that half-smile that always meant danger was about to sound like a good idea. “I can sneak anyone in.”
“I bet you can.”
I reached for my phone, shielding the screen from the rain, and texted Hannah.
Me: Don’t wait up. I’m fine. Long day. Out late. Lucas has me.
The three dots appeared almost instantly.
Hannah: Has you?? Lexi, tomorrow’s another fourteen-hour day. Please don’t do anything stupid.
I typed back, Define stupid, then deleted it before sending. Instead—
Me: Promise I’ll be ready. Love you.
Her reply was a single eye-roll emoji followed by a heart. Typical Hannah—half assistant, half sister, all exasperation.
When I looked up, Lucas was already beside the SUV, the storm’s mist clinging to his skin. “All clear?”
“Except for my reputation,” I said, tucking the phone away. “But that’s been fragile for years.”
“Come on.” He opened the passenger door for me. “Let’s test my stealth credentials.”
The Palmetto Rose looked like money and secrets.
Sleek where I’d expected old, it was clearly one of those Charleston hotels that had been redone to impress the kind of people who used “restored” as a verb.
Brass gleamed under the porte-cochère, the marble steps spotless, not a scuff or ghost story in sight.
He parked beneath the arch, handed the valet his keys, and nodded toward a side entrance.
“No lobby,” he said. “Too many cameras.”
I followed him through a service corridor. My dress was still damp, clinging to my knees. His hand found the small of my back, guiding me with quiet certainty.
We slipped past a side hallway that opened toward the main atrium, and for a heartbeat I caught sight of a couple by the elevators—tourists, probably, sunburned and smiling.
The woman’s head turned just enough for her eyes to flick over me, widen, then dart back to her phone like she was pretending not to look.
My pulse jumped. Maybe she recognized me.
Maybe she only thought she did. Either way, I moved faster.
I didn’t ask Lucas how he knew the place so well. I was starting to accept that he had a key to everywhere.
When we reached his floor, he paused, listening. Then the key card slid through the reader with a soft click, and the door opened on a suite half shadow, half lamplight.
I exhaled. “So, this is the secret headquarters.”
“Don’t be disappointed,” he said, locking the door behind us. “No hidden weapons cache.”
“Yet.”
The room smelled like him—cedar, rain, and something darker that lived between those two. I kicked off my shoes, my feet grateful, my heart still drumming from the adrenaline of the night.
He started to say something, but I reached up, catching his face in my hands, and kissed him before words could ruin it.
The kiss deepened, slow and sure. His hands found my waist, then my back, sliding higher until my whole body leaned into his. We moved toward the bathroom without planning to, drawn by instinct, laughter catching in our throats when we hit a wall and then the doorway.
The lights in the bathroom were soft, golden. Steam curled from the shower he switched on without looking. Water hissed against marble, filling the air with heat.
I traced a finger down the line of his chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath. “You sure you want this complication?”
“I stopped being sure the second you walked into that bar,” he said quietly. “But I’m not walking away.”
The rest was motion—buttons undone, wet fabric peeled away, skin meeting skin under the steam. The water washed away salt and sand and pretense. His hands framed my face, his mouth found mine, and for a long time, there was nothing but heat and breath and the sound of the storm returning outside.
When we stumbled to the bed, wrapped in towels that didn’t stay on long, it wasn’t the hunger of the beach anymore. It was slower, deeper, the kind of wanting that asks who are you when no one’s watching?
I lay back against the plush hotel sheets, my breath hitching as Lucas's eyes devoured me, tracing every inch of my skin with an intensity that made my pulse thunder.
His muscular frame, still damp, loomed over me, broad shoulders flexing as he lowered himself, his calloused hands skimming my arms with a gentleness that contrasted his raw power.
Every touch ignited sparks, like electricity arcing between us, my body humming with anticipation.
His fingers trailed fire down my sides, and I shivered, amped up by the way his skin felt against mine—hot, commanding, yet so careful, as if I were fragile glass he worshiped.
“You’re mine now, Lexi,” he growled low, his voice vibrating through me, possessive and unyielding, sending a thrill straight to my core.
I wanted to be his. More than anything.
I nodded, my hands reaching for him, fingers tangling in his hair as he captured my lips in a kiss that was slow, deep, savoring every second.
His tongue danced with mine, teasing, exploring, building the heat until every nerve ending was alive and begging for more. He pulled back just enough to whisper against my mouth, “No one else touches you like this. Ever. You hear me?”
I nodded again, eagerly.
The obsession in his words wrapped around me like chains I craved, his hands sliding lower, cupping my breasts with reverence, thumbs circling my nipples until they peaked under his touch, sending jolts of pleasure racing through me.
He kissed a path down my neck, the day’s stubble grazing my skin in a delicious scrape, teeth nipping lightly to mark me as his.
I arched into him, my body responding to his every move, the air thick with our shared breath.
His possessiveness shone in the way he held me—firm, unapologetic, like he’d fight the world to keep me.
Yet his care was evident, too, in the pauses where his eyes met mine, checking, ensuring I was right there with him.
Lower he went, his lips brushing over my collarbone, down to my breasts, where he lavished attention, sucking one nipple into his mouth while his hand teased the other.
The sensation was exquisite, waves of heat building, my hips bucking involuntarily.
He chuckled against my skin, the sound dark and satisfied, before continuing his descent, kissing along my stomach, his hands spreading my thighs with gentle insistence.
I gasped as he settled between my legs, his breath hot against my pussy.
“Look at me, Lexi,” he commanded, his voice rough with need, and I did, locking eyes with him as he leaned in.
His tongue flicked out first, a tentative taste that made me moan, my body jolting with the electric surge.
He groaned in response, the vibration adding to the intensity, and then he delved deeper, his mouth covering me fully.
He licked slowly at first, savoring, his tongue tracing circles around my clit, building the pressure with deliberate strokes.
Every lap sent shocks through me, my fingers clutching the sheets as I fought to stay grounded.
He was meticulous, attentive to every gasp, every twitch, adjusting his rhythm to what made me writhe the most. His hands held my hips steady, firm grips that kept me in place, thumbs stroking soothing circles even as his tongue drove me wild.
He sucked gently on my clit, then harder, alternating with flat, broad licks that had me panting, my body amped up to a fever pitch. The electricity between us crackled—his touch igniting me, my responses fueling his obsession.
“Mine,” he murmured against me, the word a claim that vibrated through my core, pushing me closer to the edge. He slipped a finger inside me, then two, curling them just right to hit that spot, pumping slowly in time with his tongue.
The combination was overwhelming, pleasure coiling tight in my belly, every nerve electrified by his careful, sensual assault.
He watched me the whole time, his eyes drinking in my reactions like they were his alone to savor.
I cried out his name, my back arching as the orgasm crashed over me, waves of ecstasy pulsing through me, leaving me trembling.
Only when I came down did he rise, his body aligning with mine, cock hard and ready. He entered me slowly, inch by inch, filling me with a tenderness that belied his strength, our bodies moving in a sensual rhythm. His thrusts were measured, deep, each one electrifying, building us both higher.
“You feel so perfect,” he rasped, his forehead against mine, greedy hands roaming my body. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, lost in us.
Afterward, we stayed tangled in the sheets, the world finally quiet. The rain had faded to a whisper against the windows, and the city below felt far away.
I rolled onto my side, studying him in the lamplight. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that looked like peace and sounded like restraint.
“You’re thinking,” I said.
“Habit.”
“Bad one?”
“Depends what the thoughts are.”
I traced circles on his shoulder. “So, tell me one.”
He hesitated, then: “That you don’t belong in a world that chews people up for headlines.”
I smiled faintly. “I helped build that world.”
“And you hate it,” he said, not asking.
My throat tightened. “Sometimes. I love the work. The stories. The part where I get to disappear into someone else. But the rest …” I shook my head. “The noise, the scrutiny—it’s like living in a house made of glass. Even when you close the curtains, you can feel the eyes.”
He listened, really listened. “Then maybe you need to find the places where the glass doesn’t reach.”
“Those exist?”
He nodded once. “There are villages in the mountains of Nepal where no one would recognize your face. Islands in the Pacific that don’t have cell towers. I could take you there.”
I laughed softly. “You sound like a travel brochure for witness protection.”
“I’m serious.” His eyes were dark, steady. “You deserve to be just Lexi. Not the version they edit.”
Something in me broke a little then—not painfully, just open. “And what about you?” I asked. “Where do you get to be just Lucas?”
He stared at the ceiling for a moment before answering. “I don’t remember.”
I waited.
He exhaled. “Before this, I was halfway through an operation in China. The kind that doesn’t make headlines because it’s not supposed to exist. They pulled me mid-mission, told me my new assignment was stateside. No details, just a city and a name.”
“Noah,” I said quietly.
He nodded. “Didn’t know what I was walking into. Then the gig with the film showed up.”
“Lucky me.”
His voice softened. “What I didn’t expect was you.”
I swallowed hard. “Meaning?”
“Meaning I didn’t plan to fall for you.”
The words landed like heat—slow, spreading, undeniable. “You are falling for me,” I said, not quite a question.
He met my gaze. “Yeah.”
My pulse skipped. “Good. Because I’m falling, too.”
For a moment, neither of us breathed. Then he reached over, brushed his thumb along my jaw, and smiled faintly. “You sure it’s me you like? Not the mystery? Not the bodyguard fantasy?”
I smiled back. “Maybe a little of both.”
“Honest woman.”
“I try.” I hesitated. “Do you like her? The famous version?”
He shook his head immediately. “No.”
That stung until he added, “I like you. The woman who gets sand in her hair and laughs like she forgot to be careful. The one who challenges me every time I think I’m in control.”
I felt my throat close with something dangerously close to emotion. “That woman doesn’t get much air time.”
“Then maybe she should.” His hand slid down to my waist, thumb tracing slow patterns. “Maybe one day she doesn’t need cameras at all.”
I raised a brow. “What does that look like?”
He smiled—a small, knowing thing that made my heart stumble. “Maybe one day, she’s Lexi Dane. The real version. The one who gets to sleep in, drink bad coffee, and never check a trending page again.”
I blinked. “Dane?” I repeated, the name tasting new. “That’s your last name?”
His mouth curved. “You didn’t know?”
I shook my head, a laugh catching somewhere between disbelief and hope. “You’ve been guarding me, kissing me, nearly driving me insane—and I didn’t even know your last name.”
“Now, you do,” he said, eyes soft but unflinching. “Can’t protect you forever if you keep yours.”
“Is that a proposal or a threat?”
“Neither.” He leaned in, kissed my forehead. “It’s a promise.”
We talked until the night wore itself out.
About movies we loved and places he’d seen.
About my first audition and his first deployment.
About the thousand small ways life had carved us into who we were now.
Somewhere between stories, I realized how easy it felt—the way his laugh filled the room, the way his silence didn’t press for anything.
When sleep finally found us, I was curled against him, his arm heavy around my waist, our legs tangled under the sheets. For the first time in a very long time, I didn’t feel like a woman hiding from her own story.
I just felt safe.