Before Wyntir could answer for herself, Stark jumped in. “The nanny.”
That same lick of anger rose up again, but she somehow managed to control herself until she noticed the bemused, knowing smile on Alexa’s gorgeous face. It was the kind of smile you gave a nanny who you suspected was far more than just a nanny. The thought of this woman judging her was too much for Wyntir to bear.
“I’m not the damn nanny,” she blurted out. “I’m Mr. Bradford’s bodyguard.”
The alarm bells had gone off in Stark’s head the second Wyntir opened her mouth. And with that look on her face that was so strikingly familiar, he barely noticed Alexa’s smile growing into an ear-to-ear grin.
“Uh, bup-bup-bup,” he stammered, trying to shush Wyntir, but she wasn’t having it.
“Wyntir Ignis, Wildridge Security, pleasure to meet you.” She shook Alexa’s hand while Stark tried to wedge himself between them, glaring at his bodyguard and making the silent cut it out gesture across his throat.
She conveniently seemed to lose her peripheral vision.
A few crew members glanced in Stark’s direction in mild interest for a moment or two, but they all went back to work almost immediately. It probably only felt like everyone was staring at him, wondering why Stark Bradford—whose characters did things like fight sharks with his bare hands or wrestle alligators with one arm tied behind his back—had a bodyguard dressed like she was ready to make headlines at Coachella. That wouldn’t be good for his image, and Stark knew better than anyone that image was everything.
He had to admire her grit, though. It’d been years since anyone had put him in his place. Most of the people he worked with catered to his every desire, not that his were particularly weird—mostly junk food and a video console in his trailer for when Blaise visited him on set. Part of him wanted to think it was because he was a nice guy. He made a point of learning the crew’s names, always behaved professionally, and never missed his call time. But he also knew the power of fame, so he could get away with more than most, if he wanted.
The only person who’d been able to keep him in line when he got a little too excited was Fara, his late wife. But she’d been gone for three years and if he was being honest with himself, he’d felt a little bit like an out-of-control firecracker for much of that time. But damned if the bite in Wyntir’s tone didn’t sound exactly like Fara when she used to put her foot down.
It wasn’t as if they looked alike. Where Fara had been a petite, athletic redhead—not to mention half-fox—Wyntir’s resemblance to Marilyn Monroe nearly undid him.
No, that wouldn’t do. He prided himself on not becoming romantically entangled with Blaise’s nannies and then quickly remembered that she wasn’t actually a nanny—a point she seemed to be making quite clear to Alexa.
Alexa’s gaze flitted toward him with a knowing smile and it shook him out of his trance. He blinked down at the both of them just in time for an alarming set of words to reach his ears.
“…and I hope you’re getting hazard pay for putting up with Becca.”
Uh oh. Stark’s stomach lurched as he set Blaise on the ground.
“Becca?” Wyntir repeated, eyebrows furrowed.
“Stark!” Alexa crossed her arms and frowned at him. “You didn’t even introduce your bodyguard to your stalker? How ungentlemanly of you.”
“Stalker!” Wyntir turned a scowl on him.
“Becca is not a stalker,” he soothed in his de-escalation voice, giving Wyntir a cool smile she didn’t appear to buy. Dammit.
She gave him a hard look. “Do you not recall me asking yesterday if you had any stalkers?”
Blaise helpfully answered. “I remember!”
Wyntir stepped to the side so both she and Alexa were facing him, arms crossed over their chests, looking every bit the scolding moms.
“She’s joking,” he said with a soft, disarming chuckle. “Becca’s not a stalker. She’s just a fan.”
“An overly enthusiastic fan,” Alexa added, which earned her a glare.
“Seriously, she’s never given me any reason to worry.”
Wyntir whipped out an aggressively pink phone and started taking notes, never breaking eye contact with him. “Humor me. What’s she look like?”
Alexa snorted. “You’ll really need to get detailed, Stark. Wouldn’t want Wyntir to tackle the wrong enthusiastic fan.”
Wyntir’s long eyelashes fluttered in a way that told Stark she sensed she was being messed with. He ran one hand through his hair and rested the other on the stock of his prop gun, not at all amused by this game.
“Fine, her name is Becca Simpson. She’s in her late-twenties, short, pixie-cut brown hair, eyepatch over her left eye, usually wears—”
“Wait.” Wyntir held up a hand.
“Yes?”
“Did you say…uh…”
“I did.”
“Like,” Wyntir furrowed her brow and cautiously used one hand to cover one eye, while looking between them for confirmation.
He sighed heavily. “Becca was in an accident a few years back and lost an eye. I guess she liked the pirate look.”
Alexa jumped in, giddy as a schoolgirl sharing gossip. “Ask him how he knows. Go ahead, ask.”
Wyntir didn’t have time to ask before Alexa answered.
“He knows because she wrote him an email every day giving him updates on her recovery.”
“Not every day,” Stark corrected, shooting his co-star another glare.
“So besides flooding your social media manager’s inbox with selfies, anything else I should know?”
His cheeks burned hot, but before he could move on, Alexa stuck her nose in again. “Oh no, the emails went straight to his personal account.”
Wyntir’s eyes grew wide with alarm.
“You’ll meet her and realize it’s no big deal,” he said quickly.
“I’ll…meet her? Like, she’s here on set now?”
Stark rolled his eyes. “I don’t know where she is exactly, but I’m sure she’ll show up. She usually does.”
“Always does,” Alexa added.
“So, what if she attends all of my premieres and goes to all of my public events and brings me flowers on set from time to time? She’s my biggest fan.”
Alexa and Wyntir exchanged a look that clearly meant something.
“What?” he asked, feeling a bit clueless.
“Um, ever heard of a little blockbuster movie called Misery?” Alexa asked as she pulled up a photo of a demented Annie Wilkes on her phone.
“It was a pretty good book too,” Wyntir tacked on for good measure.
“Come on,” he started to object but he could tell neither woman would listen, so he stopped bothering.
“I guess we’re going to have to talk about boundaries with Becca the Stalkery Pirate.”
Alexa snorted and Blaise snickered. Wyntir smiled down at him and gave him a little wink, which almost made Stark’s irritation melt. Or maybe it was his heart. But they had it all wrong where Becca was concerned.
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
Wyntir’s eyebrow shot up. “Hey, I’m not the one running around in a lifeguard’s banana hammock carrying a fake AK-47.”