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  Then Tom spun around and stomped off. Shealyn closed her eyes with a sigh. Tower approached from behind and whispered something Cutter couldn’t hear. They didn’t touch. He watched the pair carefully. Despite their proximity, nothing in their body language seemed intimate. Neither looked angry, but Tower seemed hesitant. Withdrawn. Did he have something on his mind? Or was he having second thoughts about his personal relationship with Shealyn?

  She turned to face her boyfriend. Cutter could only see her back now . . . and he tried not to stare at her shapely ass. She whispered something to Tower in return, then gave the muscle-bound actor a pat on the shoulder.

  To Cutter, the gesture looked as if Shealyn treated her boyfriend more like a pal or a brother.

  Tower tried to paste on a smile. It looked as cumbrous as the rest of him. The guy had bulked up so much that his head looked too small for his gargantuan body. He had a neck like a pro linebacker. In a suit, he looked like a puffed-up douche about to burst through his threads. Probably why the guy ran around barely dressed on the show.

  Cutter scowled. He shouldn’t hate on a guy he didn’t know well enough to actually dislike, especially for working hard to get his body in shape. But when the famous actor smiled and bent to brush a kiss across Shealyn’s mouth while the camera wasn’t rolling, fresh anger jabbed Cutter like a railroad spike to the gut.

  Fuck.

  So he had a hard-on for Shealyn. That wasn’t odd. A popular magazine had recently proclaimed her one of America’s sexiest women. He wasn’t jealous of the relationship she and Tower had; he’d simply like to be the guy sleeping with her. Since that wasn’t going to happen, he needed to pull his head out of his ass and think of her purely as an assignment. After all, he had Brea to worry about back home. And a TV star would never consider him anything other than the guy she paid to keep her safe.

  “Ms. West?” he called to her.

  She spun around. When she clapped eyes on Cutter, she blinked, lips parting in surprise. “How did you get in here?”

  Tower stepped forward and shuffled her behind him, protecting her with his body. Cutter tried not to laugh because, despite the actor’s size, he could absolutely take Tower Trent down.

  “I’m her bodyguard.”

  Tower scowled, then turned to her for confirmation. “Really?”

  She nodded. “Cutter Bryant, this is Tower Trent.”

  They shook hands warily. Her co-star sized him up more like he wanted to know what Cutter was made of, and less like a lover marking his territory. Interesting . . .

  “Good to meet you,” the other man lied.

  “Likewise.” Cutter’s tone was equally unwelcoming.

  “He, um . . . flew in last night,” Shealyn provided in hushed tones, glancing at the others on set as if she didn’t want to give them any reason to gossip or speculate.

  Too late.

  “What’s going on?” Tower asked immediately. “What haven’t you told me?”

  So Shealyn had kept her main squeeze in the dark about her troubles? Another surprising tidbit . . .

  “Nothing,” Cutter interjected to save Shealyn any explanation. If she had her reasons for not filling her boy toy in on her blackmail woes, then he would keep her secret. Hell, for all Cutter knew this guy was in on the scheme. He’d learned early in his career that when it came to money, suspect everyone. There wasn’t a person alive who wasn’t greedy about something. “I’m going to shore up the protection around her house and help make certain her day-to-day routine is as safe as it can be.”

  Shealyn looked relieved. “What he said.”

  Tower frowned. “I would have lent you Raoul for that. All you had to do was say something.”

  “You need Raoul. Cutter came highly recommended from a friend in Dallas. It’s fine.”

  Tower scowled. Yeah, he suspected Shealyn wasn’t leveling with him about something and he wasn’t happy—but he came across as concerned, not suspicious. Was he so secure in their relationship that he was willing to let something he believed was less than true slide? Or did he simply not care what Shealyn did?

  “All right. If you’re sure . . . I’m going to hit the head before Tom comes back and throws another tizzy.”

  Shealyn nodded absently. Once Tower was gone, Cutter sent her a questioning stare. Her boyfriend might not care what was up, but he sure did. His scowl must show that, too, because she looked away, biting her lip. She knew she’d pissed him off by leaving the house this morning without a word.

  “To answer your question, gaining access to the sound stage was easy,” he murmured. “But I shouldn’t have had to sneak in. I’m your bodyguard. I’m supposed to be beside you, keeping you safe during your every waking moment. And don’t tell me that you only need someone to be with you for a single event. Protecting you merely when it’s convenient doesn’t work. What’s your schedule for the rest of the day so I can prepare?”

  She faced him, eyes wide. “You don’t have to—”

  “I do. I’m assuming you’d rather be safe than sorry or you wouldn’t have called me in the first place?”

  She relented with a sigh. “All right. I’ll be here all day. After shooting, Tower and I are having dinner with his brother and sister-in-law, who are in town visiting. I guess it was a surprise. I usually let Tower choose the restaurant since he has more dietary restrictions and is better at picking places with high profiles, so I can’t tell you yet where we’re going. Afterward, we’ll call it a night because filming starts early again tomorrow.”

  Cutter wondered whether Shealyn and her co-star would be calling it a night in the same bed or separate ones, but he told himself to focus and stop speculating about her sex life. “All right. Give me as much of a heads up about the location as possible. I’d like to prepare in advance.”

  She nodded, and the director marched back on the set calling for everyone to return to their fucking places because daylight was wasting. Cutter wondered why it mattered since the scene they were shooting was a seductive night after a supposedly long day of recording and a bottle of wine.

  Filming resumed. Hours slid by while Cutter inspected the sound stage from top to bottom, making notes about needed security improvements. The director did another twelve takes of the bedroom scene, seemingly angrier with each one. Cutter understood the man’s frustration. Tower seemed distracted. Shealyn behaved as if she was loath to be in her boyfriend’s personal space. Everything shot between them looked increasingly awkward. Something odd was definitely going on.

  After filming wrapped at a few minutes before eight that evening, Cutter followed a pensive Shealyn to her trailer. Tower dashed to his, not looking her way twice. The moment she stepped inside and tried to shut the door in his face, Cutter stopped the slam with his palm, then barged in and locked the hollow barricade behind him and shouldered his way past her, checking the space from room to room. All clear.

  The trailer looked like a high-class RV, complete with leather sofas, a big-screen TV, an upgraded kitchenette, and a dining table for two with fresh flowers. The bathroom contained a surprisingly wide Jacuzzi tub. A freshly made bed graced the back wall. It was far nicer than the trailer Cutter had grown up in. Hell, nicer than his apartment now.

  “Why are you following me?” she demanded.

  “We covered this earlier. Sometimes protecting you means I have to know the circumstances you’re dealing with. So if there’s something up between you and Tower that might compromise your safety, you telling me would sure make my job easier.”

  “Nothing is going on that would put me in danger. Tower has a complicated family, so his brother and sister-in-law flying here, asking to see him unexpectedly, puts him on edge. When he’s nervous, I get jumpy, too. Once this dinner is over, everything will go back to normal.”

  Cutter mulled her answer. On the surface, her explanation made sense. The last time he’d seen
his own father, he’d been nervous. Still, he couldn’t shake the suspicion there was more going on. Maybe Tower and his brother had been in on the scheme to blackmail Shealyn together? Suggesting that would completely raise her hackles, especially since he had no proof. So he simply nodded for now. He’d observe their interactions at dinner and draw his own conclusions.

  “All right. I’ll be in the background, but I can step in, if needed.”

  “Raoul, Tower’s guy, will be with us tonight, so you can—”

  “Follow wherever you go. I’m not backing down.”

  She cocked her head and thrust a hand on her hip. “If I’m paying the bills, I get to call the shots.”

  “If you get killed on my watch, my career is over. But more than that, when you’re in public, you’re exposed. And you’re potentially in danger. Your blackmailer isn’t the only person who might wish you harm. You have to know that.”

  Shealyn sighed as if his insistence exasperated her. “Fine. Stay in the background.”

  “That and taking a bullet for you is my job. I do it well. You must believe that, too, or you would have hired someone else.”

  “You are one stubborn man. My grandfather’s mules could take lessons from you. I’ll be out in ten minutes.” She whirled around and headed for her bathroom in the back, then shut the door.

  Cutter couldn’t stop the smile from creeping across his face. Had Shealyn just compared him to an ass?

  He’d decided she had when she emerged in a gauzy white dress trimmed in lace that accentuated the hint of gold in her sun-kissed skin. The thin straps clung to the tips of her shoulders, as if threatening to slip down at any moment, and played peekaboo with her blond tresses. The garment stretched tight across her breasts, the three little buttons keeping the bodice shut threatening to pop if she made a too-sudden move. The flimsy thing also ended well above her knees and, with her white cowboy boots, framed her sleek thighs.

  Cutter felt his thoughts evaporate and his tongue go dry. The rest of him turned stone hard. He shouldn’t think twice about Shealyn as a woman, but so far, that seemed to be asking the impossible.

  “You’re wearing that?”

  She cocked her head at him. “What’s wrong with it? Or are you suggesting this dress is somehow dangerous?”

  Her challenge and sass turned him on even more. Hell, everything about her did.

  But he was way out of line. The dress portrayed precisely the image she’d cultivated. It was sweetly sexy. Wearing it, Shealyn looked like a gorgeous siren with western flair . . . and a hint of innocence. The problem—and obviously all the lust—was his alone.

  “I’m making you aware that you may attract unwanted male attention in public. But I’ll handle it,” Cutter promised, meeting her gaze and doing his best to shutter the desire burning through his blood.

  She stared back, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. “You think I’ll attract male attention, huh?”

  Was she fishing for compliments? Her green eyes danced with something he couldn’t put his finger on. Mischief? Flirtation? No. Why would she come on to him when she was already in a high-profile relationship? Shealyn didn’t strike him as one of those women who got off on yanking a man’s chain. Then again, he didn’t know her well.

  Whatever she was up to, he couldn’t rise to her bait.

  “Ms. West?” He kept his voice as inflectionless and polite as possible.

  “Mr. Bryant.” Another hint of playful dare rang in her tone.

  “I told you, it’s Cutter.”

  “All right. Cutter.” She damn near sighed his name. “You going to answer my question?”

  What the hell did she want him to say? Some reckless part of him he’d sworn he didn’t possess itched to simply show her, cross the half-dozen steps between them, take that wisp of a garment in his grip, and tear it off. Once he’d exposed every inch of her body, he would love to put his hands on her, his mouth on her, so she understood what a dress like that did to him. Hell, what she did to him.

  A sudden pounding on the door broke the moment between them.

  “You ready yet?” Tower shouted from outside.

  Despite the man’s insistence, she didn’t move to admit him or even answer. She just stared Cutter’s way. “I’m waiting.”

  Cutter searched for a discreet reply. “The dress reveals more skin than it hides. It might give a man the wrong idea.”

  “What idea is that?”

  The kinds of ideas racing through his head with juggernaut speed and jetting blood south to his cock. “That he can touch you. That he can have you.”

  “Is that what this dress makes you think?”

  The flash of her eyes and the husky voice she used to ask the question torqued him up. She was definitely fishing for his reaction. Was she hoping he bit because she needed the ego stroke . . . or was she baiting her hook and tossing it his way because she was actually hoping to reel him in?

  “What I think about the dress doesn’t matter.”

  “Then why does it bother you? You saw me in less on set.”

  Oh, he’d seen her damn near naked. Hour after hour of exposed skin had taunted him with all the beauty a country boy like him would never have the right to possess. But this dress appealed to his deepest fantasies. She looked wholesome yet sensual, a woman aware of her appeal. A female who knew exactly what she wanted in her man . . . but intent on keeping her secrets—for now.

  Fuck, he had to get his head screwed on straight. If everything went the way he expected, he’d be married soon. Yes, Brea wouldn’t blame him for indulging in whomever made him happy, but he’d be pissed at himself. If they married, Cutter still didn’t know how he was going to have a satisfying sex life and not drown in guilt.

  He dodged her question. “Unless you want your boyfriend angry or suspicious before his unsettling family meeting, you should let me answer the door.”

  Something in her mood deflated, along with her shoulders. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

  Telling himself that squashing any possible flirtation between them was for the best, Cutter exited the trailer and spotted the actor nearly bursting through the seams of his gray-and-white pinstripe suit. Beside him, stood a hulking figure who looked like the wrong kind of professional—more mafia hitman than bodyguard. Raoul?

  “Who the fuck are you?” the wise guy muttered to Cutter, obviously annoyed. “This is my job. Fuck off.”

  “I don’t answer to you. I work for Shealyn West.”

  Cutter set about ignoring the big idiot and scanned the area for anyone who might be lurking or looking to cause his lovely client harm. The sun had dropped. The well-lit area looked clear. Still, he focused on his surroundings, rather than Raoul’s glare. He especially didn’t look at Shealyn as Tower offered her a hand to help her down the stairs. She placed her dainty fingers in the other man’s as she all but floated to the ground.

  “You look nice,” Tower said.

  Nice? His tone sounded like an offhanded observation, the same one he might use to indicate it was a pretty day. It held none of the husky reverence Cutter would have used if he’d been allowed to tell Shealyn what he truly thought.

  “Thanks.” She gave Tower a polite smile. “Where to?”

  The actor muttered the name of a restaurant Cutter was unfamiliar with—not that he expected any different. Ignoring Raoul’s glares, Cutter Googled the place, zeroing in on its location and glancing at pictures of both the exterior and interior.

  Soon, they all piled into a limousine, Shealyn and Tower in the back. Raoul took the wheel, and Cutter sat up front beside the other bodyguard, utterly ignoring him.

  “How long will it take to get there in this traffic?” Tower asked his bodyguard.

  “At least thirty minutes, probably closer to forty-five. Reservations under your code name are in an hour.”

 
Tower nodded and fell silent.

  Cutter expected the couple behind him to raise the partition and enjoy their quiet time, maybe share a drink and a chat . . . or more since they had been simulating sex all day and were finally alone for the real thing. Instead, they sat three feet apart with all the sobriety of a pair of undertakers. Of course, it had been a long day on set. Shealyn had left her house very early. She would be getting home late. Likely the same with Tower. They had to be wiped out.

  Was it possible Tower had a mind to blackmail her? Maybe . . . but on the other hand would a guy with a lot of money really go out of his way to take down his own co-star, especially when his wagon seemed somewhat hitched to hers?

  Finally, Shealyn breeched the space between her and Tower, placing a hand on the man’s arm. Cutter didn’t mean to spy, but since the only view out the windshield was the bumper-to-bumper traffic on Sunset, it was hard not to concentrate on the duo visible in the rearview mirror.

  They spoke in hushed tones. Neither smiled. Tower looked nervous.

  “Whatever you think you’re seeing, asshole, you’re not,” Raoul barked at him.

  “Just making sure Ms. West is happy and comfortable.” Cutter flashed him an acidic smile. “That’s my job.”

  Raoul groused. Cutter pulled his stare forward . . . with the occasional glance back. But nothing changed, except that Shealyn withdrew her touch. Tower made no move to draw her closer.

  Odd behavior for people supposedly madly in love. Not for the first time, he wondered what the hell was going on between them. The closer they came to the restaurant, the more tension thickened the air.

  In the end, their journey down the Strip took closer to an hour. When Raoul pulled up front, a hoard of reporter types rushed over, cameras in hand as Tower’s bodyguard opened the door. Cutter climbed out on his side and flashed Raoul an annoyed glare. So much for Tower’s code name . . .

  Tower turned “on” then, suddenly all smiles. He put a hand out to Shealyn, who took it and rose gracefully, exposing just enough leg to burst flashes . . . but not quite enough to raise eyebrows. Tower put his beefy arm around her small waist and brought her closer than Cutter would have thought possible and still maintain his signature swagger.