“I think that means you like what you see.” I ran my hand down my abs, adjusting the elastic waistband on my sweats where they hung low.
She bit down on that lip, her gaze riveted to where I rested my hands on my hips. The sound of the door slamming made her jump, and she scanned the room. Her blush made her cheeks rosy. What else could make her blush?
“Just…sit here and follow along. I’ll call out the cues, and if anything puts too much pressure on the hamstring, back off from doing it. I need to start class, but we can talk more about your injury and rehabilitation after class if you’d like.”
“I think I’d like that very much, gumdrop.”
“Gumdrop?” An eyebrow slightly darker than her hair color rose.
Leaning deep into her personal space, I got closer to her ear. Her body trembled the closer I got. Oh, I liked that response in a woman. Too much. She laid a tentative hand on my bicep, and I flexed. With a woman like this, I’d use every trick in the book to get her attention. She probably had men beating down her door. Hell, she probably had a boyfriend. Just the thought of another man touching her, made me grind my teeth.
“Your lips are pretty and pink and look as sweet as candy. Reminds me of a pink sugarcoated cherry gumdrop. My favorite.”
“Oh.”
There were two kinds of women. The kind that love any type of nick name, endearment or attention I might deem to lavish on them, or the feminist kind that flip out at the first hint of what they might consider chauvinism. Genevieve’s simple “Oh” spoke volumes about her. I would not be able to peg her down or predict her responses. She left me as quickly as she had arrived and headed to the platform without further comment.
“All right, thank you all for coming. Please sit down on your bottoms, removing any fleshy areas aside so your seat bones can connect with the mat. Then bring your hands to heart center.” She looked from person to person. “Let’s start by closing our eyes and setting our intention for today’s practice.”
I closed my eyes as she continued to speak.
“What is it that you want to get out of your yoga practice today? What do you want to bring into your life? Perhaps you’d like to dedicate your practice to someone who needs your good intentions more than you. Free your mind and settle on that one intention. Picture it. Let it swirl around you as you breathe.”
Her words were melodic and conjured an instant sense of peace and serenity. Reminded me of when I was in the zone on the field. Nothing could break my concentration.
“Now tell yourself, what is your intention today?”
I have every intention of taking this woman home. Whatever it takes. You can only win if you play the game.
* * *
GENEVIEVE
Holy hotness. Trent Fox is on a mat, sitting in my class. Don’t panic, Viv. Get yourself together. You are a professional. He’s here for recuperation, not to be ogled.
I instructed the clients to get up on their hands and knees, and then I led them through cat pose where they curved their spine and then reversed it, dropping the belly low into cow pose. I scanned the room, settling on him as I went through cat and cow pose paired with breathing. Watching the way he arched stiffly and then dropped his bulky chest low, tipping a bum that looked so hard I could bounce a quarter off it, made it hard for me to balance.
“Now place your palms down at a ninety-degree angle, lift your toes to the mat, and press your hips up toward the sky, going into your downward facing dog.”
A pained groan echoed from his side of the room. I lifted my head. One of his legs shook as he held the pose. His eyes were closed tight and his jaw was locked, making a harsh square that wasn’t there when he smiled.
“Keep your dog, and pedal it out slowly. Take your dog for a walk. I’m going to adjust some of you.”
I went directly to Trent. He opened his eyes in a flash as I straddled his mat and placed my hands on the side of each hip, gripping firmly.
“Breathe in deeply,” I said. “Now out.”
He followed my command for two breaths as I lifted his hips an inch and pulled them back. “Head down.”
His head fell and without even thinking, I ran my hand down the side of his thigh until the tremor in his hamstring settled. I pressed into the top of his hamstring with a fist, pushing against the tension. He moaned. Not a pained groan, more like a relieved one.
“You have a long way to go,” I whispered but kept him adjusted back so the ligaments would stretch. “We’ll get there,” I promised, not even believing my own words. For some reason, one I couldn’t fathom, I really wanted to help him.
I continued to adjust others, but like a wave rolling into the shore, I kept coming back to Trent. He was struggling but giving it his all. I admired that trait in a man.
We moved through a series of poses that were less traumatic on the hamstring. Usually, I didn’t tailor a class to one client, but Trent was different, and not just because he was a Major League Baseball player and insanely gorgeous. Seeing him struggle yet still put forth the effort spoke to me on a spiritual level.
Once we got to the deep relaxation portion of class, or Savasana as it’s called in the Sanskrit teaching, I got everyone set up with a bolster under their thighs and an eye pillow. I walked around, giving each of them a drop of essential oil on their chins and the tender space between nose and upper lip to encourage deep breathing. When I got to Trent, he took in a deep breath, which zipped through me like a physical caress, working its way down to curl my toes. His hand jolted out, and he gripped my wrist before I could move away.
He sniffed my wrist and along my inner arm. I shivered, gooseflesh rising to the surface of my skin.
“You smell better than the oil.” His voice was a low growl, as if he were halfway between slumbering and awake. I’d go a long way to hear that sexy sound again.
Yikes. What was wrong with me? I didn’t have time for a man in my life. Between raising Rowan and Mary and working two jobs, the last thing I needed was a distraction or a suitor. Especially one known for being a player on and off the field. No. He was just being flirty. He didn’t really like me. Heck, he didn’t even know me.
“Thank you,” I said softly. “I’ll be back to do a Savasana massage. Just follow my voice, and I’ll let you know when to rise.”
“Your class, your rules.” He smirked.
Even with an eye pillow over his face, just that twinge of lips was drop-dead sexy.
I guided the class through a meditative scene and provided a head and neck massage to several attendees. Unless I had a teacher trainer in class, I couldn’t get to everyone, but I made damn sure I got to Trent. An invisible tether pulled me toward his supine form. Long heavily muscled legs and arms relaxed in repose. He was so much bigger than I was. If I lay on top of him, his body would swallow me up. I clenched my thighs to stave off the lust that hummed in my system. His arms were at his sides, palms facing up. I wanted to measure the difference in size between our hands, feel the warmth from his hand chakra connected with mine. The white tank he wore did nothing to hide his magnificent chest and abdominals. The man was a brick house of sinewy muscle and bone, perfectly molded as if etched in marble by a world-renowned sculptor.
Kneeling at the top of his mat where his head rested, I caressed just his shoulders with a featherlight touch, letting him know I was there. My fingertips tingled with the moisture from his sweat. With both palms, I pressed into the upper part of his shoulders at the junction with his neck. He moaned, and that sound tunneled its way into my mind and feathered out through my entire body like an electric charge.
Taking a slow breath, I removed his eye pillow, placed my hands on both sides of his head, and lifted and held it with one hand. Carefully, I shifted his head to the right and ran my thumb down the side of his neck to those tense shoulders and back up. Then I rubbed the bones at the base of his skull. The average person carried heaps of tension there. A subtle pressure massage usually gave maximum release and helped the p
erson delve deeper into relaxation.
Trent’s lips parted, and a hint of tongue became visible. That bit of flesh held my attention. If he were my man, I’d have leaned forward and pressed my mouth to his, tasting him while breathing in the scent of the essential oil. Closing my eyes, I repeated the massage on the other side of his head and let my fantasy play out. I rubbed his head, temples, down the sides of his neck, into his shoulders, while dream Genevieve physically molested the baseball player in a private room, where I showed him another version of deep relaxation.
My music had stopped playing and the room had grown silent. For how long, I didn’t know. Placing his head back down, I moved to the platform, picked up the singing bowl, and counted back from five in a series of instructions that would help the mind and body move from the meditative realm to the physical one.
“Please sit up and face the teacher and all things,” I called out.
Numerous sleepy heads lifted, and the attendees shuffled around into a lotus position where the legs were crossed in front of the body, the spine was straight, and the hands clasped palm-to-palm at heart center.
“I want to thank you all for coming in today and sharing your yoga practice with me, as I have shared mine with you.” Slowly I made eye contact with every person attending, giving them each a bit of my soul. “The light in me bows to the light in you. When I am in that place in me, and you are in that place in you, we are one. Namaste.” I bowed low to the ground, hand to my forehead.
I send each and every one of you light, love, and happiness.
A chorus of “Namaste,” a traditional respectful Eastern Indian greeting, filtered through the room, filling the space with a sense of unity and serenity.
When I sat back up, I smiled and thanked the class once more. I turned and met the hazel eyes of the first man in a long time to make me feel something other than a friendly connection. No, nothing I felt for Trent Fox was anywhere near the realm of friendship.
Trent grinned, his dark espresso-colored hair a wild mess of layers against his crown. He shook his head, a lock falling into his face as he pulled together his things and approached the platform.
“Gumdrop, that was an epic experience. We must do that again…privately.”
He scanned my form as if he were applying lotion all over, making me feel soft and womanly. I sucked in a jagged breath.
I answered the only way a girl could when one of the sexiest men alive was standing in front of her, all muscle, heat pouring off of him, and sweat glistening on his skin like a sprinkling of glitter.
“What did you have in mind?”
Chapter Three
Cat Pose (Sanskrit: Marjaryasana)
Cat pose loosens the tension in your spine, often giving relief to a sore back. It is especially helpful to those who have sedentary lifestyles. To get in this pose, place your knees hip distance apart, your arms straight down in front of you, shoulder width. Start with a flat, straight spine, curl spine toward the sky, tuck the tailbone, and suck in the navel.
* * *
GENEVIEVE
Trent grinned, licked his lips, and bit down on the plump flesh. I bit back a whimper as I watched, fascinated by every miniscule movement. He shrugged, brought a hand up to his chin, and rubbed a hand across it.
“I’m thinking some private lessons are in order. That class”—he huffed and put a hand to his thigh where he gripped, hard—“was no joke. As much as it hurt—and, gumdrop, it hurt more than I’d like to let on—I know I need it. If I had the one-on-one time, I’m thinking maybe you could help with the pain.”
A blast of raw desire hit me. A bead of sweat trickled down my spine like a silky caress as I thought back to the fantasy I’d had at the end of class and what “helping” with the pain in a variety of other ways could entail. “How so?”
He chuckled. “By…uh…not making it painful?”
I closed my eyes and smiled. “Rebuilding the strength in that leg after a tear and surgery isn’t going to be pleasant.”
Thinking about this beautiful man in pain day in and day out sent a pang of guilt. My own thoughts had been far from decent. A good yoga teacher should be more worried about the client and helping him heal physically and emotionally from whatever ails him, not imagining doing the naked pretzel in a private room. I added a mental reminder to mediate on this issue later with Dara, our resident meditation guru at Lotus House. She’d be able to help me find a sense of clarity when my hormones were going wacky over one ridiculously hot male client. This couldn’t be the first time a teacher had felt something for a client, and as far as I knew, dating the clientele wasn’t technically against the rules.
Trent’s eyes seemed to glide all over my form. “Oh, I don’t know, if I had someone who looked like you, wearing what you are, while I suffered through each pose… It would definitely make the process more bearable. Heck, entertaining even.” His tone was throaty and deep, like a smooth whiskey over ice.
“Smooth.” I crossed my arms over my chest. Player, for sure. I shook my head, not certain what to do about Mr. Baseball. But damn, was he sexy. I’d momentarily forgotten that in all the celebrity pics and commentary on the TV, Trent Fox, baseball’s finest, usually had a new young thing on his arm every week. What could he want with me besides a quick roll in the hay?
No, I wasn’t going there. I had far too much on my plate. Taking care of my brother and sister, working two jobs, a household to support, and putting food on the table. Trent Fox was ruggedly handsome, but he was a distraction. However, if he wanted to pay extra for private lessons, I could definitely use the money, and I had the time while Mary and Rowan were at school.
“So what’s it gonna be, gumdrop? Can you take me on for some private lessons?”
I pretended to ponder the question for a moment, not wanting to give away that I was eager for two reasons. One, he was the sexiest man I’d ever seen. Working him out would be hard, but as he’d insinuated, the view would be mighty fine. Two, I desperately needed the money.
Setting my hands on my hips, a less defensive pose, I looked at him and nodded. “Yeah, I could do it right after this class, ten thirty to noon any day of the week. Private sessions are booked individually with the instructor and paid directly to me.”
Moving quickly before the next class started, I turned to the platform and got out my mini-planner. Opening it to this week, I double-checked the dates. “The private lessons are separate from your monthly fee and cost thirty dollars a session. If that works for you, I’ll schedule you in. What day would you like?”
“All of them,” he said flatly.
I crunched my brows together. “Can you be more specific?”
His large paw came toward my face, and I stiffened until he swept a lock of hair behind my ear. The gesture was sweet and affectionate, something a boyfriend would do. Only this man was most certainly not my boyfriend. My cheeks heated as he trailed his fingertips down the side of my face. He stroked my bottom lip with his thumb. I gasped at the whisper of pressure.
“I mean, I want to own all of your time from ten thirty to noon every day of the week for the next month.” He removed his hand.
Strangely, I missed its presence.
I jolted back. “I’m sorry. Every weekday? That’s a lot of time and money.” I regretted the comment the moment it left my mouth. How much money he spent on his recuperation or what he did with his time was none of my business.
Stupid, stupid, Vivvie. You’re making it too personal. This is a business transaction, even though it feels like something more.
“Oh, somehow, I think it will be well worth the expense. Besides, the doc wants me doing yoga every weekday. I figure for the first time in my life, I’ll follow the rules. Because this time, maybe I’ll have something to look forward to.”
I smirked and hid my face under the pretense of writing his name down in my planner every weekday. Knowing that I’d be bringing in a hundred and fifty more dollars a week made my heart sing with joy. I’d
finally be able to pay the back money I owed on the electric bill. Heating and cooling a house the size of ours over the summer was a killer. The classic Berkeley home was aesthetically pleasing curbside but cost a whack to cool and heat. Unfortunately, the winter months were upon us, and we’d be turning on the heater soon. I hated being cold, and the Bay Area wind had a chill that would seep right into my bones.
“Okay, big guy, I’ve got you down, and we’ll see you tomorrow.” I slapped my planner closed and held it in front of my chest. Another item keeping the two of us apart wasn’t a bad idea.
His lips quirked. “Looking forward to it, gumdrop.” He turned and headed toward the exit, his gait off due to the injured leg.
I’d have to look up some specific hamstring stretches that would be best at different levels of his healing process.
“Hey!” I stopped at the doorway and leaned against the doorframe. “Seriously, why do you keep calling me gumdrop?”
He was halfway down the hallway toward the front of the building when he turned around and grinned. That grin sent a fire rushing through me, and I gripped the trim to keep from running toward him to suggest we do more than his private lessons.
“I wasn’t kidding before. Your lips. From the second I saw that bubblegum-pink mouth, I wanted to eat you up. And I’ll bet you taste just like candy.” He winked, turned, and walked out.
The next instructor, Luna Marigold, daughter of one of the co-owners, leaned against me as I watched him go.
“Damn fine-looking man,” she muttered.
“I’ll say.”
“Did he hit on you?” Her gray eyes sparkled with silvery tones, like two identical, perfectly clear full moons.
Resisting Roots (Lotus House Book 1) Page 3
