Page 27 of The Viper
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.
