Page 38 of The Viper
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.”
