How did he get his own cabin? There are shearling rugs and a large couch. A Vitamix blender on the counter and a fully stocked bar cart?
The only thing I packed was my workout gear and a kettle for tea. What more could a person need? We’re only here for three months.
I raise my fist and knock twice. No answer. I ball up my fist tighter and slam it hard, but the door swings open and my fist connects with warm, bare skin. I stumble backward and find myself staring at Dante’s very firm, very naked chest, which is shimmering like a disco ball. The faint scent of smoke wraps around me like a spell.
Goodness gracious.I can’t help but stare, momentarily frozen.
Someone calls, “Dante, darling!” from inside, where willowy figures dressed in cashmere are lounging. “Is the delivery finally here?”
Ignoring them, he glances between my fist pressed against his sternum and my revealing costume. We’re standing too close for two people wearing so little, and his body heat is making it difficult to remember why I came.
I yank my fist away, cradling it.
Beyond his shoulder, Marcus and Simon laugh by the bar. Is that our head writer raising a glass like tomorrow’s 5:00 a.m. call time doesn’t exist?
Loneliness slithers down my neck, cold and familiar. A PA hastily hides her drink, eyes widening with recognition.Great. The staff always avoids me on set, yet here in Dante’s cabin, they look comfortable—at ease in ways they never are around me.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of Hollywood’s next action star showing up at my door?” He surveys me, eyebrow arched. “Does production know you’re out past curfew?”
Yeah, I was right. Coming here was a mistake.
I should flee to my own cabin, but I can’t. My feet remain rooted, betraying me. I need this. I need him.
I clear my throat. “Does production know you’re hosting a party during filming, Mr. Hastings?”
“Touché.” His mouth quirks. “Though we both know the crew turns an eye to certain indiscretions.”
Do they? I didn’t know that.
“Some of us care about the rules,” I say, lacking conviction even to my own ears.
“How’s the bruise healing? Makeup did a good job hiding it.” His gaze licks over every inch of my face as if he’s savoring me.
“Nothing I can’t manage,” I clip.
He steps back, giving me the space I desperately need to remain focused. “What really brought you here, fighter? Something tells me it wasn’t to check on my line memorization.”
“I need you to train me,” I say, meeting his gaze.
He crosses his arms, muscles flexing. “Thought you weren’t interested in my help, Miss By-The-Book.”
“I wasn’t, and this is probably a horrible idea.” I swallow. “But you’re obviously incredible with a sword. The way you move—” I pause, getting a handle on myself. “You had my back when no one else did. That counts. And I need to impress Felix, which means I need—” I gesture toward him.
“Me.”
I grimace at his mischievous grin. “Unlike you, I’m struggling to nail the choreography and lines at the same time.”
“What about Nick Valentine?”
“Nick follows Felix’s orders to focus on my appearance instead of giving me the help I actually need,” I say, shifting my weight. “I’ve never struggled like this before—my lines vanish when I move. The sword’s throwing me off.”
He steps closer, his tall frame filling the doorway. “On the piste, I can only focus on my saber and my opponent. Reciting all of your lines while fencing would be impossible.”
Relief washes over me. “So you understand.”
“I’ve never actually trained anyone,” he admits, running a hand through his tousled hair.
“Then why offer in the first place?”
