“Okay, hold on.” I struggle with my robe. “I have to get this off.”
“This is torture.”
“You’re being a good coach.” I chuckle. Once I’m ready, I sink into the bath, letting the heat lick up my body.“Okay, I’m in.”
“Now let’s get you there,” he says in that authoritative tone. “Want me to count you down?”
“Yes.” I lower until the water laps at my collarbone. “Just…keep talking, okay?”
“I’m here, Reese. Now, take a deep breath. Feel the warmth of the water. How comforting it is. You’re in control, Reese. Always in control.”
I usually hate when men tell me what to do, but with Dante, I don’t want him to stop.
I inhale slowly as his addictive French techno playlist hums through my cabin. I picture him here with me—his solid presence calming the nerves bubbling up inside of me. If they can help me master sword training, perhaps they can help me overcome my fear of water too.
What else do I have to lose?
“Ready?”
“No, but I’ll do it anyway.”
“Brave girl,” he purrs. “One…two…three…”
I stop hesitating and slide beneath the surface, bracing my hands on the side of the tub. Partially because I have to, and partially because if I stay above water any longer, I may tell him to come over and join me in this bath.
The water singes my skin, but cold panic scratches at the edges of my ribs. His voice becomes muffled, otherworldly, counting steadily through the speaker at full volume. Each number feels like an eternity, but I focus on the memory of him touching my back after that day in the lake. His steady presence. The circles on my back.
“Eleven…twelve…thirteen…that’s it, Reese, stay with me…”
I squeeze my eyes shut, clinging to the sound of Dante’s voice.
“Twenty-two…twenty-three…twenty-four…twenty-five…”
I burst up, gasping, blinking water from my lashes, feeling both vulnerable and capable.
“Twenty-five seconds,” he harrumphs in satisfaction. “That’s longer than yesterday. I’m proud of you.”
“Still not good enough,” I pant, gripping the edges of the tub.
“Hey, progress is progress. Want to try again?”
“I think that’s enough near-drowning for one night,” I say. “Though I appreciate the personal coaching service.”
“Speaking of tonight…” His tone shifts, becoming playful, seductive. “We’re going to a little gathering. Very exclusive. Very discreet. Very private. It’ll give you the perfect opportunity to method act; it’s a no-identity thing.”
I pause, heat curling in my stomach, and not only from the bath. Tonight? I’d been waiting all week to hear what he had planned for us, assuming it would be something low-stakes, something I could prepare for.
Instead, he’s springingthison me? “I thought we were going to do something tomorrow. During the day.”
“What made you assume that?”
“Well, we went to the beach on a Sunday,” I say, like it’s obvious.
“And tonight we’re going to a party.”
I sink deeper into the water. A night out with Dante?
“Dante…” I hedge, unsure if I’m trying to warn him or myself.
