Read Online Guardian (Wolf Shifter Romance): Reckless Desires (Alpha Protectors Book 1) by Olivia Arran - Free Book Online
Authors: Olivia Arran
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the hell there needed to be an action sequence to advertise perfume, I didn’t have a fucking clue, but there had been no body double for her. She had thrown every kick, taken every fake punch, and dodged every fake bullet herself. All while wearing silk.
Torn silk by the end of the scene.
I had nearly stormed onto the set when a man had grabbed her shoulder, ripping her dress.
I had wanted to rip his head off.
And then the director had called cut. Lucky guy.
And now I was waiting outside the tent again. I tapped my ear, activating the earpiece. “Check in.”
“Clear.” Abel.
“All quiet.” Vin.
“Secure.” Greg.
“Wow, there are some smoking hot—”
I cut him off, grinding my teeth together. “Professional, Angel.”
“Sorry, boss. Everything A-Okay here.” I could hear his smirk loud and clear.
Tapping out, I forced myself to relax. Which was kind of hard with the attention I was attracting— had been attracting all day. Cameras snapped in my direction, whispers and giggles ringing in my ears. An ache started in a rear molar, probably from the amount of grinding I’d been doing all day. Which idiot decided on an open set? Though, given the location, there wasn’t much they could do about fans hanging around. We were shooting outside, and though part of the park was closed off for filming, there were plenty of people happy to hang around and enjoy the sunny day.
A gasp rolled through the crowd, snagging my attention. What—? My jaw nearly hit the ground as Natasha sashayed past me. And this was definitely Natasha, her eyes blank as she ignored the catcalls from the crowd.
I blocked her with an arm, spinning her around to shield her body from the crowd. “You can’t go out like that!” I didn’t know where to look. I couldn’t touch her without my hand grazing heated skin. Her ample curves were precariously covered by the tiniest black swimsuit I’d ever seen. Hell, it wasn’t even a swimsuit. It had more bits cut out than sewn together. Grabbing the robe that hung off her shoulders, I tugged it together, tying it in a knot.
She stood still, letting me manhandle her. Then she murmured, her words barely audible, “Have you finished?”
I gave the knot one last tug, making sure it was secure, and nodded, adding a grunt when her eyebrow shot up. Her eyes darkened, swirling with an emotion I couldn’t pinpoint. Didn’t want to figure out. She sashayed away without a backward glance.
Mutters of disappointment rose from the crowd, as well as more than a few disparaging remarks thrown in my direction.
Whatever. My blood was still boiling, the image of her seared into my retinas.
“Are you actually going to follow her, or should one of us take over?” Greg’s voice sounded in my ear, a little too eager for my liking.
“I’ve got it,” I snapped, his responding laugh nearly deafening me.
“Sure thing, boss. Whatever you say.”
I bit back the snarl welling in my throat as I marched over to the lake, tracking Natasha’s white robe easily.
I halted at the perimeter. The director called for silence on the set. With deft fingers, Natasha untied the robe, passing it to a crew member. I swallowed hard, crossing my arms over my chest. Then I swallowed again, trying to force the saliva back into my mouth.
She walked into the lake, her fingers trailing ripples on the smooth surface, the water lapping at her thighs and her ass.
“Right there, Natasha,” the director called. She paused to face him, then crouched down, submerging herself.
“Action!”
She rose up from the water, beads cascading off tanned, smooth skin, pooling in the valley between her breasts. Her nipples beaded beneath the thin, black fabric as her hands rung water from dripping-wet hair. Her lashes were downcast, her brow drawn in a small frown, her lips parted slightly in a pout.
She visibly jolted, her eyes widening at the sight of a man striding toward her, his jeans ripped and torn, his bare chest coated
Torn silk by the end of the scene.
I had nearly stormed onto the set when a man had grabbed her shoulder, ripping her dress.
I had wanted to rip his head off.
And then the director had called cut. Lucky guy.
And now I was waiting outside the tent again. I tapped my ear, activating the earpiece. “Check in.”
“Clear.” Abel.
“All quiet.” Vin.
“Secure.” Greg.
“Wow, there are some smoking hot—”
I cut him off, grinding my teeth together. “Professional, Angel.”
“Sorry, boss. Everything A-Okay here.” I could hear his smirk loud and clear.
Tapping out, I forced myself to relax. Which was kind of hard with the attention I was attracting— had been attracting all day. Cameras snapped in my direction, whispers and giggles ringing in my ears. An ache started in a rear molar, probably from the amount of grinding I’d been doing all day. Which idiot decided on an open set? Though, given the location, there wasn’t much they could do about fans hanging around. We were shooting outside, and though part of the park was closed off for filming, there were plenty of people happy to hang around and enjoy the sunny day.
A gasp rolled through the crowd, snagging my attention. What—? My jaw nearly hit the ground as Natasha sashayed past me. And this was definitely Natasha, her eyes blank as she ignored the catcalls from the crowd.
I blocked her with an arm, spinning her around to shield her body from the crowd. “You can’t go out like that!” I didn’t know where to look. I couldn’t touch her without my hand grazing heated skin. Her ample curves were precariously covered by the tiniest black swimsuit I’d ever seen. Hell, it wasn’t even a swimsuit. It had more bits cut out than sewn together. Grabbing the robe that hung off her shoulders, I tugged it together, tying it in a knot.
She stood still, letting me manhandle her. Then she murmured, her words barely audible, “Have you finished?”
I gave the knot one last tug, making sure it was secure, and nodded, adding a grunt when her eyebrow shot up. Her eyes darkened, swirling with an emotion I couldn’t pinpoint. Didn’t want to figure out. She sashayed away without a backward glance.
Mutters of disappointment rose from the crowd, as well as more than a few disparaging remarks thrown in my direction.
Whatever. My blood was still boiling, the image of her seared into my retinas.
“Are you actually going to follow her, or should one of us take over?” Greg’s voice sounded in my ear, a little too eager for my liking.
“I’ve got it,” I snapped, his responding laugh nearly deafening me.
“Sure thing, boss. Whatever you say.”
I bit back the snarl welling in my throat as I marched over to the lake, tracking Natasha’s white robe easily.
I halted at the perimeter. The director called for silence on the set. With deft fingers, Natasha untied the robe, passing it to a crew member. I swallowed hard, crossing my arms over my chest. Then I swallowed again, trying to force the saliva back into my mouth.
She walked into the lake, her fingers trailing ripples on the smooth surface, the water lapping at her thighs and her ass.
“Right there, Natasha,” the director called. She paused to face him, then crouched down, submerging herself.
“Action!”
She rose up from the water, beads cascading off tanned, smooth skin, pooling in the valley between her breasts. Her nipples beaded beneath the thin, black fabric as her hands rung water from dripping-wet hair. Her lashes were downcast, her brow drawn in a small frown, her lips parted slightly in a pout.
She visibly jolted, her eyes widening at the sight of a man striding toward her, his jeans ripped and torn, his bare chest coated
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