“Then why do it?”
“Helps take the edge off,” he says with that devil-may-care smile, lighting up his cigarette. The smoke curls away from me as he exhales. “Sometimes you need something to ground you when everything else is moving too fast.”
“Do you smoke while you’re competing?” I ask, watching the way his fingers dance with the lighter.
He barks out a laugh. “God no, my coach would skin me alive.”
“I find it hard to believe anyone could make you do anything you don’t want to.”
“Wait until you meet my coach,” he says. “He’d beat me with my own saber if he caught me slacking.” The way he grins suggests it’s not entirely a joke.
His lips curl around the end of the cigarette, Adam’s apple bobbing as he inhales.
I was part of the D.A.R.E. campaign right afterClubhouse. Smoking anything was an absolute no, but why does he make something so deadly look tempting?
The sight ignites something molten and rebellious in my chest, making me want to shatter every careful boundary I’ve built.
“Let me try,” I breathe, reaching for the cigarette with deliberate defiance.
“Absolutely not.”
“Since when do you get to decide what I do?” I lean in, thrilled by my own boldness, and get close enough to catch the spicy scent of his cologne mixed with smoke.
“I am not going to be the one to corrupt you.”
“Maybe I want to be corrupted,” I challenge, letting my good-girl mask slip further. “Consider it another thing to add to my character research.”
“Reese.” He says my name like a prayer and a warning combined. “No.”
The denial stirs something in me.
I pull off my baseball cap with deliberate slowness, letting my hair cascade down in waves. The motion reminds me of a thousand romance scenes I’ve filmed, but this time there are no cameras, no directors calling cut.
Just Dante Hastings and his adamant need to say no to me.
I turn ontheReese Sinclair.
I remove my sunglasses, hooking them into the collar of my sweatshirt. There’s a hunger in his eyes. I lift my chin to meet his gaze, and my lips curve into a smile that was drilled into me during intimacy training. This smile is all heat and promise. This is the one that gets that million-dollar kiss for the cameras.
“Dante…” I mewl. My fingers trail along the hood between us. “Please?”
He freezes, the cigarette trembling, forgotten between his fingers. “Are you—Christ, are you serious right now?”
“What?” I whisper, gravitating closer until I can count each of his dark eyelashes. Every rational thought about maintaining professional boundaries evaporates like the smoke I’m desperate to taste.
“That…” His voice comes out rough, despairing, as he gestures vaguely at my face with his free hand. I can see him fighting for control, and something wild inside me wants to make him lose it completely. “That whole act.”
“Is it working?” The words come out breathy, challenging.
“Not even close,” he lies.
My body hovers above his, blocking the sun from his face. A sharp movement shifts beneath his sweats, and the sight of it sends a rush of heat through me. His composure is cracking for once.
I trace my finger along his chest, watching as his breath catches, ragged and uneven. “Come on, let this be the third thing I regret.”
I wet my lips slowly, and his jaw clenches as he bites his lip.
“Fuck, Reese,” he breathes. “How does anyone say no to you?”
