“I was supposed to review the harness setup today. Nick promised me time with the heavier sword for tomorrow’s shoot. If Felix waltzes back in like nothing happened, what then? Are we still doing the raft scene?”
“I could show you,” he drawls, producing a key with the kind of casual confidence that makes my stomach flip. “I have access to the armory.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Pretty sure that violates about twelve insurance policies.”
“Probably thirteen,” he says with that infuriating half smile that makes me want to bite his lower lip. “But the stunt team and props department have a flexible relationship. Consider it a contribution to the artistic integrity of your performance.” He turns dramatically. “Promise not to touch anything off-limits?”
Like his forearms? Like the hollow of his throat?
“Promise,” I lie through my teeth.
The walk to the armory feels endless, my mind replaying yesterday’s indiscretions in vivid technicolor. The taste of him. The way he’d made me forget my own name. How easy it would be to let him wreck me again, for a little while.
“This feels illicit,” I whisper, pulse quickening at the forbidden thrill of it all.
“Is it breaking and entering if I have a key? Sometimes the most dangerous moves are the ones that look perfectly innocent.”
“Until they’re not.”
The door squeaks as he leads me inside. Rows of weapons line walls, racks, and wooden tables.
I inch forward, making sure we’re alone. I don’t want to get caught here.
“Stay right there.” Dante stops me, his eyes darting around. “I’m gonna go turn off the cameras.”
“Cameras? No, no, no,” I whisper through clenched teeth as I press myself up against the door. But Dante’s already down a hallway. A second later, he’s back, looking way too pleased with himself.
“All better. Wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”
I glance around, stepping toward him, suddenly way too aware of how very alone we are. “This feels like a lot of trouble! Millions of dollars’ worth of insurance trouble.”
“Don’t worry! Now, look, here it is.” He steps behind me, reaching around to retrieve a massive sword. His chest brushes my back—definitely not an accident—and I struggle to maintain composure. “This is tomorrow’s weapon. It’s heavier, but remember your form. Feet shoulder-width, core engaged.” He hands the metal to me, and then his hands ghost over my hips, a touch that’s pure muscle memory by now.
“So you want me to keep my feet shoulder-width apart, fight off some guards, remember my lines, jump into the water, and make men fall in love with me, all while wearing a metal bra? Easy,” I joke.
“You got this.” His breath is hot against my ear. “You always do, Miss Perfectly in Control.”
I grip the hilt of the sword tighter, trying not to think about the fact that we are alone. “How do I look?”
Dante’s eyes scream of hunger. “Lethal.” His voice roughens like sandpaper on silk. “Your technique is flawless. Now we need to work on your…release.”
“What’s wrong with my release?”
“There’s a distinct lack of one.”
“Watch it, or I might test this blade’s balance on you.” I raise the sword overhead.
“But then you’d miss out on all myexpertise,” he murmurs, gently taking the sword from my hands and setting it carefully on a nearby rack. He advances until my thighs hit a wooden table. The solid press of him behind me sends electricity up my spine. His hands bracket me, caging me in. “Easy there, fighter. Don’t let yourself get disarmed so easily. Or did you forget everything I taught you about maintaining position?”
No more pretending. I want this. Want him. And if this movie is over, if Felix has quit, at least I’ll get to tell Cleo I ended my three-year celibacy. “Show me how you’d disarm me. The technique.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He hooks an arm around me and lifts me onto the table. With his other arm, he slides his fingers across my collarbones. “Sometimes surrender is the most powerful position you can take.”
“Is this meant to be your disarming attempt? It’s hardly working.”
“No? Then why does your breath catch when I touch you?” His fingers snag on my bike shorts, and I curse myself for not wearing something easier to remove. My hips press closer, seeking friction. My core burns for him. “Yeah, just like that.”
“Not fair.” I drop my head near his neck, kissing him once, his salt mingling on my tongue. I drag him between my spread thighs. His heat makes me dizzy with need.
