15. Reese
Chapter 15
Reese
The check-in call comes as promised. My phone balances precariously on the edge of the tub, his voice threading through the humid air.
“Is the bath ready?”
“Yes.” I sigh and readjust my shower cap.
“Good.” He pauses. “Listen to me, Reese Sinclair—you can do this. You will do this.” His words vibrate through the phone speaker and straight into my bones. “You got this.”
I exhale, staring at the water. “I really don’t think I do.”
Twelve days until the raft scene. I need to get over this. But I don’t want to. Still, with him on the phone, my hesitation weakens a little.
“Don’t keep me waiting.”
“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 springing this on 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.
“Come on, you deserve to celebrate. Twenty-five seconds is practically Olympic level. I’m certain Ezra would tell you himself.”
“I doubt your accomplished merman younger brother would think anything of the sort.” I’ve had to refresh my memory on all the Hastings siblings, but thankfully Wikipedia has a family chart for me to stalk.
“Maybe. But I’ll be your lifeguard either way.”
I laugh despite myself. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Does that mean you’re coming tonight?”
“No. But my day is open tomorrow,” I say, finality in my tone. “Now, I need to actually relax in this bath.”
“Well, if you wanted to relax, you’d invite me over.”
I don’t know if it’s the fact that I’m naked on the phone with him or that I’ve lost my mind, but I find myself saying, “And what exactly would you do to help me relax?”
“I’d ease away the tension from your demanding day on set. I’d help you unwind completely, make you forget everything but…” His measured pause holds a wealth of meaning. “Fuck, Reese…the things I’d give you.”
The bath heats up like a tea kettle. My core throbs at the sardonic laugh he lets out. I nearly have to grab my free hand to stop it from dipping beneath the water’s surface.
His voice, so perfectly crafted, so him, could make a nun regret her chastity vows.
“Anything?” The word sticks in my throat. The steam rises around me, creating my own world. A world in which he is here.
I imagine his hands, his large, veiny hands, running up my inner thighs while his lips whisper his devotion to me. My breath hitches.
“Whatever you want, it’s yours. Want me to give you some ideas?”
Yes! I nearly scream. Please keep talking. Please keep telling me exactly what you’d like to do.
Instead I say, “Good night, Mr. Hastings.”
“Wait—before you hang up. I realize I never told you my last regret.”
“That makes you a bad student,” I whisper, blushing. “Let’s have it.”
“My third regret is that I didn’t meet you sooner.”
The line goes flat. He seriously hung up after divulging that. I splash water on my face.
My mind swims with images of his perfectly messy brown hair falling just so across his forehead, begging me to run my fingers through it. Those impossible cheekbones leading to a jaw so sharp. And those eyes—golden and intense, framed by criminally thick lashes, burning like honey in sunlight whenever they lock onto mine.
My self-control snaps like a glowstick, silent at first, then a little too bright to ignore.
One hand finds my breast, the other runs down between my thighs until it reaches the spot that’s been begging for him. His praise fills my mind.
Reese, you’re doing so good.
Move your legs apart.
Straighten your back.
Breathe, fighter.
These are dangerous thoughts. But the neediness pooling in my core tells me it’s already too late—I’m in deep trouble when it comes to Dante Hastings.
The things I’d give you.
I circle my clit, moving from wandering to desperate.
What he wore to training today was pure torture—the loose tank did nothing to hide the broad stretch of his shoulders, the ink snaking down his arms like an invitation. And those shorts. Too fitted, too unfair, clinging to every muscle like he’d gotten them personally tailored to ruin me.
I caught myself staring more than once, heat crawling up my neck as my gaze dipped to where it shouldn’t go. Not that I could help it. Not when there is something there…a very large something that jerked in his sweats when we sat on the hood of his Range Rover.
My fingers work faster; a moan slips out of me.
Would it be so bad to sample him just once?
Water sloshes with my quickening movements, my free hand gripping the tub’s edge, knuckles white. French techno pulses through the bathroom. My breath grows ragged, syncing to its beat.
“Please, Dante. More,” I whisper, picturing his demanding hands guiding me, coaxing me to the edge. It’s enough. My legs shake, sending small waves splashing against the porcelain.
When was the last time I let myself lose control like that?
Afterward, I sink back against the cool tile, letting the water settle around me as reality seeps back in.
It’s frustrating, because I know this game—his low, sincere tone, the perfectly timed sweet nothings. I’m probably another chapter in Dante Hastings’s playbook. Yet that thought doesn’t stop the effect he has on me.
I hurry out of the bath, carefully removing my shower cap and running a brush through my waves. My eyes drift to the sticky notes framing my mirror— Be a leading lady. Trust your instincts. Mixed between them are Dante’s handwritten choreography notes. Stay grounded and Lead with intention . Reading them makes my cheeks flush with a mixture of pride and lingering embarrassment from what unfolded in the bath.
After patting on my nighttime serums, I head to the living room. There’s a knock at the door.
Oh no, it can’t be him.
Oh no, what if he knows what I did?
My third regret is that I didn’t meet you sooner. Dante’s words fill my thoughts.
Inhale for four, hold for seven, exhale for eight . I open the door.
“Now what are you doing here?” I say flirtatiously, trying to mask my nervous anticipation—only to find a PA standing in the doorway with a large box.
“Hello, Miss Sinclair.”
“Hi, Casey.”
Without meeting my gaze, they hand me the box. “Mr. Hastings asked me to drop this off as I was on my way to my cabin.”
“Oh,” I stutter. “It must be, uh, more stunt notes. He likes to package them this way.” I laugh, trying to act natural, though nothing about this feels natural. The old Reese would never accept a mysterious package from her costar.
“Right. Well, good night.”
I shut the door, my heart racing, and take the box to my bedroom, pulling the curtains closed like I’m hiding evidence. I lift the lid and peel back layers of delicate tissue paper with trembling fingers.
Inside, the most gorgeous red gown I’ve ever seen pools like liquid fire—nothing like the pastels and florals that fill my closet. I run my fingers over the fabric, heavy and soft against my skin.
The dress is nothing like my usual red-carpet choices, the ethereal Elie Saab gowns, delicate Chanel pieces, or the romantic Carolina Herrera designs I’m known for. This one whispers of danger and desire. It’s beautiful, seductive—something my version of Robyn would wear without hesitation. Beneath it lie a pair of heels and a matching red mask, elegant and mysterious, like something from a masquerade ball.
I grab it out and hold it up to the mirror.Then I pull out my phone and open our text thread.
Reese
I’m certain I said no to the party.
Dante
What do you think of the dress?
Reese
You can’t use the PAs for your personal errands.
Dante
Personal errands? Hardly. I’m helping our production’s leading star with her method acting. Besides, Casey and I go way back—he owed me a favor.
My stomach tightens at what he might mean by way back . Dante’s got a way with everyone—I see it on set. The crew, the cast, they’re always all over him, and that bothers me more than it should. No, this tightness in my chest must be because he’s asking me to sneak out again.
As if reading my mind, he texts:
Dante
My friends know how to keep secrets. The thing tonight is very hush-hush. No cameras, no gossip. Just good music and better company.
Reese
I really can’t have another tabloid scandal.
Dante
Promise.
The dress looks to be exactly my size. Of course it is.
This is a dress for someone who isn’t afraid to be bad. A slit up the leg, backless and daring in every way. Does Dante see me as someone who could pull this off?
Do I?
I pace the length of my bedroom, the mask dangling from my fingers. Would it be so terrible to try out being a woman who would wear something like this for one night? Just an hour or two, hidden behind silk and secrets. The mask would protect me. No one would know it’s Reese Sinclair underneath.
Besides, after what I did in the bath thinking about him…well, doesn’t that mean I’ve gotten it out of my system? That I won’t put myself in any compromising positions at whatever party he’s inviting me to?
Or maybe—and this thought makes my cheeks burn—it means I’ll want to make all those bathtime imaginings come to life.
Heavens, I don’t know anymore.
Before I can overthink it, I pull up my phone.
Reese
Ramsey has to come.
Dante
Don’t worry, he can lurk in the corner like he always does during our training sessions.
Reese
Fine.
Dante
I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Be ready, Reese.
A real night out—not a publicity stunt, not a carefully orchestrated photo op. Me, a mask, and the promise of something dangerous.
I drop the dress onto my bed next to the mask and notice something black peeking out beneath the tissue paper in the box. I pull it out.
Lingerie.
Not one of the sweet, innocent pieces wardrobe usually hands me—no baby pinks or delicate lace here. This is Agent Provocateur, all black and structured lines. The corset feels decadent in my hands, its boning firm yet flexible. There are sheer stockings with delicate seams up the back and a garter belt that makes my cheeks flush just looking at it.
I catch myself in the mirror again, holding the corset against my body, and my reflection startles me. Heat creeps up my neck as I imagine wearing it. No man has ever bought me lingerie before.
Sure, I’ve worn plenty for movies—always sweet, always safe, always carefully chosen so as not to tarnish my image.
But this is different.
This is meant to be seen.
To seduce.
The silk whispers against my skin as I trace the intricate patterns, and I realize I’m holding my breath. There’s a force in these pieces—a dangerous, thrilling kind I’ve never let myself explore. The kind that makes good girls bite their lips and bad girls smirk.
This is pure Dante Hastings—bold, unapologetic, daring me to step out of my comfort zone.
Looking in the mirror, I see someone who’s capable of being those things too.
I think about all those fierce women in movies I love—Blunt kicking butt in Edge of Tomorrow , Theron owning every scene in Atomic Blonde , Yeoh moving like poetry in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon .
They make being strong and desired look darn good.
My hands shake a little as I put on each piece of lingerie. Every lacy bit feels like giving the middle finger to my good-girl image. The red dress hugs every curve I usually hide.
The mask feels heavy as I tie it on. Just like that, I’m not Reese Sinclair anymore. I’m whoever I want to be tonight.
My phone buzzes.
He’s here.
One last glance in the mirror, and I barely recognize myself. The mask helps, sure, but it’s my eyes that stop me—they’re blazing with something I always keep locked away. My heart’s racing against the corset as I head for the door, each click of these heels taking me farther from the old me.
No turning back now.
Tonight, I’m not asking for permission to be bad.
I’m taking it.