Operation 19 Targets in Spotlight
Xander Vale
Two weeks later…
Xander stood in the middle of his bedroom surrounded by people touching him from every angle, but somehow he couldn’t stop smiling.
His bedroom had turned into a temporary styling suite with garment racks lined along the far wall, rolling cases open across the floor, steam rising from a portable steamer near the balcony doors, and so many hanging garment bags it was as if his team was dressing an entire band instead of just him.
His bed was covered in velvet trays of cufflinks, watches, lint rollers, silk socks, two backup shirts, and three emergency sewing kits because apparently the road to an awards show was paved with clothing malfunctions.
His wardrobe team moved around him with the precision of a NASCAR pit crew. Elliot was downstairs managing arrivals, deliveries, guest credentials, and whatever crisis came with dressing a movie star for the biggest night of his career.
One woman knelt at his feet checking the length of his tuxedo trousers. Another adjusted the hem on his second wardrobe change’s pants. Someone from grooming dabbed beneath his jaw with a sponge. His manicurist had already threatened him twice for moving his fingers before the clear coat dried.
And in the middle of it all, Malik stood behind him with a comb in one hand, staring at him with a teasing smirk. “What are you grinning so cute about?”
Xander blinked at his own reflection. “Nothing.”
Malik lifted one brow. He’d been styling Xander’s hair for almost four years, which meant he’d come to know him better than most. He was tall and lean, with warm brown skin, a perfectly shaped beard, and a habit of wearing gorgeous silk scarves tied around his waist-length dreadlocks.
“That smile is not nothing,” Malik said.
Xander tried to settle his mouth, but he couldn’t. “I’m excited for the show.”
“Nah.” Malik leaned closer to the mirror, studying him. “I’ve styled you for plenty of shows. Premieres, festivals, magazine covers, last year’s charity gala where your smile looked more like you were constipated than excited. You’ve never smiled like this.”
“Shut up, Malik.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re damn near glowing.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know all, honey,” Malik hummed. “I also know love when I see it.”
Xander felt his face heat. “Shh. Don’t jinx it.”
Malik’s grin softened. “Okay, now you have to spill it.”
“No.”
“Xander.”
“No!” He laughed. “We’re keeping it between us for now.”
“I’m wounded.” Malik pressed his hand dramatically to his chest. “And here I thought we were close.”
“We are close.”
Malik stared at him.
Xander stared back.
Malik popped him on the shoulder with the back of his comb.
A low warning growl came from near his knee.
Malik froze. “Easy Cujo. It was a love tap.”
Xander chuckled. “It’s okay, girl. At ease.”
Roxie sat beside him, black-and-tan ears pricked, dark eyes fixed on the comb in Malik’s hand.
The four-year-old German Shepherd had been silent for most of the morning, lying near the foot of the bed while the wardrobe team worked, but apparently shoulder-popping crossed a boundary in her world.
Xander reached down and scratched behind her ears. “He’s a friend.”
Roxie didn’t look convinced.
Across the room, Ranger lifted his head from where he lay in front of the bedroom door. The second shepherd was larger and darker in appearance.
Xander still hadn’t gotten used to the Fort Knox security system Free and Tech had built into his home, but the dogs he’d taken to instantly.
Free said dogs were the best security a person could have, so he’d adopted Roxie and Ranger from the LAPD K9 program. Neither had been selected for patrol work, but both had gone through the rigorous testing and training, leaving them obedient, intelligent, and protective in the way he needed.
He was already in love with them.
Roxie followed him room to room, placing herself between him and any new person who entered. Ranger always sat near whichever open door or window he wanted.
God had allowed him to go back home a little over a week ago, and he did feel a lot safer than before.
Not fearless, but safe.
Things had been quiet since he’d resumed filming, so that helped, but God and Day insisted his detail remain on high alert until the police made an arrest.
Cassidy had been staying in the guest room…except at night.
Cassidy would work late sometimes, reviewing reports in the reading chair near the window while Xander pretended to watch television and not him. Some nights they talked and others, they touched.
They hadn’t made love yet, which was still a mystery to him.
The desire between them was so real.
Every accidental brush, late-night kiss that started gentle and ended with him breathless beneath Cassidy, fingers buried in his hair, aching with want.
Cassidy knew exactly how to make him lose his damn mind. He knew where to put his mouth, how much pressure made him arch into it, when to slow down, when to stop, when to wrap a hand around the back of his neck and murmur against his skin until Xander forgot where he was.
But Cassidy never let hunger overrule him. He was so mature in a way Xander had never experienced.
Cassidy cared more about him and his well-being, before satisfying himself.
He cared if he was too tired to climb the stairs after a long day. On the nights he came home hollow-eyed and overstimulated, Cassidy kept his hands gentle and his voice low. He never demanded conversation from him when silence was all he had left.
One evening, Cassidy had taken one look at him, shut off the downstairs lights, and guided him toward the bedroom with a hand at the small of his back. He’d tugged off his shoes, peeled away the parts of the day piece by piece, and ran him a hot bath.
He cared whether he’d eaten after a long shoot day. Twice he’d cooked scrambled eggs and toast for him because that was all he knew how to make.
Cassidy hadn’t been lying when he said he couldn’t cook. The man’s oatmeal had almost choked him.
They jogged together three mornings in the canyon, though “together” was being generous because two of those days, he’d nearly passed out into a shrub at mile one. On the third day, he’d lost focus and face-planted into a patch of rough grass.
Maybe if he’d been paying attention to his own form and not Cassidy’s strong thighs in his loose running shorts, he wouldn’t’ve tripped over that tree root.
“Good Lord, Xander.”
Xander snapped back to the bedroom.
Malik was staring at him in the mirror as if he’d sprouted horns.
Xander’s smile returned so wide his jaws ached.
“What?”
Malik pointed the comb at his reflection. “Damn, you got it bad.”
“I do not.”
“You just floated away for like five minutes.”
Maya, another stylist, laughed near the garment rack.
Xander rolled his eyes. “Can we please finish getting me dressed?”
“Sure,” Malik said. “But I’m gonna figure out who your secret lover is.”
“He’s not my secret lover.”
“Then why are you blushing?”
“I’m warm.”
“You’re in underwear and socks.”
Xander groaned. “I’m firing all of you.”
Roxie got up when Xander moved toward the dressing platform, staying tight at his heel. Ranger stood from the window and followed at a slower pace, taking up position near the patio doors.
The tuxedo waited on a mannequin near the full-length mirror.
Dom Ford had sent a custom design for the Golden Crown Awards. The first was classic and fierce. Black tuxedo jacket, satin peak lapels, white dress shirt, black bow tie, and a subtle midnight-blue lining embroidered with silver thread.
The second change for the afterparties was Gucci, a bit sexier and daring, soft black velvet with a low-cut silk shirt and a long-line jacket.
Xander stepped into it with help from the team, letting their hands adjust, button, smooth, and doublecheck every inch.
Malik finished his hair last, brushing the deep blond waves back with just enough structure to keep them controlled without making him look manufactured.
When they turned him toward the mirror, the room became quieter for half a second.
Xander stared at himself.
Full-bodied, not some narrow, carved, fake-tanned thing Hollywood kept pretending leading men should be. He had pale skin, was soft along the jaw, his eyes brightened by the thinnest line of kohl possible on his tear line and clear mascara on his lashes.
His team had outdone themselves.
The tux made him look powerful in a way he hadn’t expected.
Malik’s voice gentled. “Just look at you.”
Xander swallowed around the sudden knot in his throat. “Do I look okay?”
Maya made a sharp sound. “Okay?”
Malik stepped up beside him. “You’ll illuminate that red carpet.”
“I bet you say that to all your clients.” Xander laughed, his eyes burning.
Malik shook his head. “No I don’t. It’s your soul, kid. That’s what makes you stunning. The tux is merely an accessory.”
Roxie pressed her nose against his hand.
He scratched her head as he took a few steady breaths.
By the time he walked out of the bedroom, his team had packed the emergency kit, the second outfit, and every product Malik insisted he’d need before the night ended.
Roxie and Ranger followed him, down the hall until Cassidy appeared near the top of the stairs.
Xander stopped.
Cassidy stood at his full six-foot-three height in a tailored black jacket, black shirt open at the throat, black trousers, and polished black dress shoes. His hair was brushed back, beard trimmed close, his whiskey-brown eyes moving first over him like a security scan…then…like a man.
The second gaze was slower. Hotter.
Cassidy’s focus traveled from his shoes to the line of the tux, up over his chest, his throat, and across his face. Something warm and hungry shifted behind his eyes before the professional mask locked into place.
“Problem?” Xander asked.
Cassidy leaned into him and whispered, voice was rough. “Plenty.”
That tone did dangerous things to his willpower.
Downstairs, the house was full of activity.