20. Reese
Chapter 20
Reese
“You’ll never escape!” Dante crashes through the forest, shirtless and chasing after me. “The king’s gold belongs in the royal treasury!”
I spin around, my heart racing from both the chase and the way his dark eyes lock onto mine. I’m enjoying this pursuit more than is rational for a living, breathing human woman being chased by a man with a weapon through the woods.
“Oh, but it belongs to the people, dear Sheriff!” I call back with a laugh. “Consider it wealth redistribution!”
Shadows dance across Dante’s shoulders as he moves between the trees. We took our training outside today to rehearse for tomorrow’s scene.
“When I catch you, you’ll be hanged for this treachery!”
“ If you catch me!” I tease. Pine needles crunch beneath my boots as I dart between trees. “And that’s quite a big if, wouldn’t you say? The forest is my home, Sheriff. You’re just a visitor here!”
“Curse you and your tricks, Hood!” Even in character, there’s something about the way he carries himself that’s irresistible.
I weave between the towering redwoods, my pulse racing with more than just exertion. “Come on, Sheriff. I thought you were supposed to be some big protector.”
His footsteps grow closer, heavy boots thundering against the forest floor. He’s catching up. I pivot, executing the choreographed fall we’ve practiced, letting my momentum carry me backward.
“I have you now!” His roar echoes through the forest as he tumbles with me. The world spins, and my back hits the ground with a soft thud.
His arm muscles ripple as he braces himself above me, his prop sword pressed to my throat. We’re both breathless, huffing and puffing in sync.
If anyone saw us like this, they wouldn’t think we were just running lines. They’d assume exactly what any person would assume seeing a shirtless man on top of a woman in the woods.
Goodness.
Heat pools low in my stomach as the weight of him hovers just above me. If I arched my back, I’d feel him against my thigh. If I leaned in just a little more, I’d finally know what he tastes like.
His hand steadies my shoulder, his fingers firm. The damp forest floor grows thick; my body feels like vines are going to pull me down into the earth. “By the saints…” he whispers, and shivers zoom down my spine. “You’re a woman?”
“Your observational skills are remarkable, Sheriff.”
Kiss him , that bad-girl voice in my head sings. You know you want to.
No! I can’t. Because if I do…well, so many things could go wrong. What if he wants to stop training me? Though I doubt that. Dante would probably start giving me very different kinds of lessons if we kissed. The scarier fear blooms to mind—what if he leaks whatever this thing between us is to the press and tries to take over my moment like Ricky did?
And last, but certainly not least, what if I kiss him and like it?What if I want to do it again? And again?
I blink, pulling myself together, and say, “You didn’t mess up any of your lines. I’m so proud of you.”
“And your choreography and delivery are perfect,” he huffs out, making his abs tense where his stomach meets mine. “We must be excellent teachers, Professor Sinclair.”
“Maybe I won’t need you for much longer.”
“Ah, I take that back. Your footwork is a mess, and that fall? Never seen anything worse.”
A laugh bubbles up before I can stop it, the sound turning into a shriek as his fingers find my sides and tickle mercilessly. My sports bra rides up; more of his skin rubs against me.
Then neither of us says anything.
I have over six feet of Olympic-trained muscle holding my five-foot-four body in place. His thigh shifts, nestling into my core, one hand cradling my head against soft pine needles. My core is hot, coiled, and tight. He can tell. I’m certain he can, because he’s looking at me like that . I glance away.
“Love it when you resist what you want.”
“Resist?”
“Maybe you like the pain as much as I do. My little masochist.”
I swallow, my heart beating so loud I swear the earth is vibrating beneath me. “Is that what you are?”
“When it comes to you, I think so. But the way I like to play,” he says, thumb ghosting across my jawline. A shiver runs through me at his touch. “The control. Release. The space between wanting and having.”
“And what does that mean?”
“It means learning to trust. Ropes. Blindfolds. The kind of surrender that strips everything away until there’s nothing left but pure sensation.” I can’t suppress the small gasp that escapes my lips. “The kind that changes you.”
“I—” The last three years of my life have been a desert of self-imposed celibacy and late-night dates with my trusty bedside companion. But something about Dante has awakened a creature inside me, one that purrs and stretches and demands attention.
“Imagination running wild?”
“Just a little bit.” I laugh, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “Though I’m about as far from a masochist as they come. I mean, I can barely handle a paper cut, let alone…” I trail off and let my finger trace one of the intricate designs on his neck, suddenly hyperaware that my acting lessons have abandoned me entirely, leaving me with nothing but my increasingly unhelpful hormones.
“My tattoos?” he asks, mercifully saving me from my awkward rambling. “You like them?”
“They’re beautiful,” I manage. “Must have hurt, though.”
He rolls off me, and I immediately miss his warmth, a small frown tugging at my lips. But then he’s reaching down, his strong hands gripping mine as he effortlessly pulls me to my feet.
He takes a moment to brush leaves from my hair and clothes with gentleness. Handing me my Berg bottle.
I throw back the cold water gratefully, watching as he does the same with his own bottle. A single drop escapes, trailing down that perfect neck and bobbing Adam’s apple, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
May the Lord help me.
“Do any of them have any special meanings, like your rings?”
“No, everything’s art. Love how my skin looks this way, apart from the one on my thigh.” He props his knee on a nearby log, and his shorts ride up just so.
I want to scream.
Can we go back to the deliciously charged moment when he was talking about ropes and trust? That felt infinitely more natural than watching him maintain these maddening boundaries I set and now desperately want to cross.
“These are Olympic rings, for my first gold four years ago.”
I can’t help but bring my hand toward it, hesitating as I trace over the rings and the crest above it—a rampant lion, scrollwork framing it, with a Latin motto beneath that reads “ Fortis et Honorabilis. ” “And this? ‘Brave and Honorable’?”
“That’s my family crest. Felt right to tie the two together.”
“I like them a lot. This and the rest of them.”
“Thank you, Reese. Maybe if your bad-girl method acting lasts, we’ll get you one.”
My eyes shoot wide open. “Oh gosh, I don’t know about that.” I laugh.
“I’m kidding.” He gives me a nudge with his elbow. “Scene feeling good?” he asks, all professional now. Two days, and I’ll be trading my bathtub practice for the actual lake. A month of preparation, and my stomach still flips.
“Still planning to play lifeguard for me?”
“A promise is a promise,” he says.
“I expect the full fantasy—zinc oxide on the nose, whistle, tiny red float?”
“What about a Speedo?”
“That…” I swallow hard, my mind instantly providing high-definition imagery. “That would definitely make drowning a real possibility.” He laughs, and I try to look annoyed instead of charmed.
“It’s not the water that’s making me nervous—it’s having to multitask with both hands,” I say, then immediately regret my phrasing as his eyebrows shoot up. “The sword! I meant handling the sword while trying not to drown and deliver my lines.” His knowing smirk makes me stumble over my words. “You know what I mean! It’s hard to keep everything in my mouth—I mean, memorized! Oh heavens, stop looking at me.”
“But it’s so fun.”