She glanced around the room and started when she saw the hulking, broad-shouldered figure standing in the doorway, observing. His arms were crossed over his barrel chest and his lips curved into an admiring smile.
Her heart picked up speed. What did he want? And no—she wasn’t blushing at his obvious interest in watching her teach.
With effort, she returned her focus to her students and said, “It’s normal for the mind to resist this deep relaxation. Savasana is an act of conscious surrender. It takes practice and patience to surrender easily.”
Don’t glance over again. Do not look over.
Too late—she flicked her gaze to his and caught his heated interest. Her libido roared to life, breasts swelling, nipples hardening until the inside of her sports bra scratched the pebbled tips. Unbidden, the image of his head bent to suck one made her rock on her feet.
“Just bring your awareness to your breath,” she sang out, hating how unrelaxing it must sound to have her projecting so loudly instead of speaking calmly into her mic. “Notice your contact with the floor... .and thank your body for all its hard work tonight.”
She had a great idea of how to thank her body and it involved large calloused hands roaming all over her exposed skin. Whew. She blew out a shaky breath.
“And when you’re ready, roll to one side and come to sit in half-Lotus or Sukhasana.”
She wandered to the front of the room and adopted the described pose. With her palms pressed together in front of her heart, she bowed to her class. “Namaste. The divine in me bows to the divine in you.”
“Namaste,” they repeated after her.
“Thank you, and I look forward to seeing you all tomorrow.” She liked to drop that suggestion while they were in a semi-hypnotic state, to keep them programmed to come to class and committed to their well-being.
They filtered out and Rick moved into the room, filling it with his sheer, masculine presence. She noticed more than a few of her students recognized him and sent looks under their lashes or bold smiles as they passed him on their way out.
Aaaand that was why she needed to avoid him. He was totally a player and if word got around they were flirting, it would be the talk of the gym, if not the town. No, no matter how good-looking and charming Rick Morehouse was, she’d better keep her professional distance.
He sauntered over, once more invading her personal space. “Did that stop working?” He reached out and touched the headset around her neck.
A shiver ran down her spine just to have his fingers so close to her skin.
Touch me.
No. No, way, Brandy-Marie. She used her middle name the way her mom did when she was scolding.
“May I help you?” she made her voice ice cold.
He recoiled slightly, but then the affable grin returned.
“Just wanted to make sure you’re okay with me being here.”
The truth of the matter was that having Rick Morehouse at her gym was a gift. People would become members because they’d see his presence as an endorsement.
She relaxed slightly. “Of course I am. I’m sorry if I came off as bitchy back there—”
Rick held his hands up. “No, no. I totally understand. You need paperwork.” He flashed another sexy grin that somehow conveyed how “cute” he thought her desires for paperwork were. He tilted his head, his gaze turning hungry. “Looks like you could teach me a thing or two about flexibility,” Coach Sexy drawled.
Oh Jesus. He was coming on to her again. Of course, every cell in her traitorous body perked up at his proximity and the flirty smile plastered her face before her brain had sent the message not to engage. “Did you need help in that area?” she challenged and let her eyes travel down the length of his body in a mock-critical assessment.
Yes, she liked what she saw, not that she planned to let him on to that secret.
He smirked. “I always need help.”
How did he manage to sound so convincing? It might be from upper-level charm courses. Flirting 400.
She folded her arms across her chest, which didn’t alleviate her jutting nipples, and walked a slow circle around him, surveying his body like a piece of meat. She was tall, but next to him, she was downright petite. She stopped behind him and reached up to grasp his shoulders, drawing them back. “Yes, it looks like you could use a little opening through the chest.”
The heat of his body came through his thin T-shirt—a threadbare Texas A&M shirt in a soft dove grey. That’s right—it was his alma mater. He’d been a star even back then, taking the team to the national championship.
“My right shoulder doesn’t do much, anymore.”
Was his voice deeper than normal? She tried to remember what she’d heard about him. He’d had to quit professional ball due to a shoulder injury, hadn’t he? Or was it a surgery gone bad?
“Don’t worry,” she purred. “I’ll go easy on you.” She’d give him a little taste of his own medicine. She didn’t use it often, but there’d been a time when she knew how to flirt, too.
He made a low, growling sound in his throat. “That’s not necessary... I like it rough.”
Her pussy contracted. Jesus, what was he talking about?
As if there was any doubt. They were both talking sex here, weren’t they?
She slid her hands down his bulging biceps and hooked them on his elbows, pulling back.
He groaned, yeah, actually groaned and she doubted it was from the stretch.
“How’s that?” Her voice sounded husky.
“Good….really good.”
Her pussy contracted again. He had no idea how good it could be. She held him in the pose for another few breaths, then straightened his arms behind him and put his wrists together. “Interlace your fingers, if you can.”
It was a struggle for him, but he managed. She walked around the front of him and stepped close enough to feel the heat from his body. She stroked her palms lightly from his breastbone out to his shoulders.
Perfection. If ever a man was stud material, this one fit the bill.
She slid her hands along his trunk, down his sides, stepping close to wrap them around his lower back. With her nails, she scratched his skin over the thin T-shirt lightly. The bulge of his cock pressed against her belly and she longed to take it in her hand and stroke him until…
No.
Bad idea, Brandy-Marie. Very bad idea.
With great effort, she removed her hands from him and stepped back.
Deep breaths, sister. Step away from the sexy coach.
He caught her wrist as she moved out of his personal space. He had fast reflexes for a guy who had just been struggling to keep his hands interlaced behind his back. “Don’t stop,” he murmured, flashing that megawatt smile again.
She forced a chuckle. “Hey, I charge a lot for private lessons. That’s all you get for a freebie.”
He threw his head back and laughed, a deep rumbling sound that warmed her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. “Well, how can I go about scheduling one of those privates?”
She looked away, stepping toward the door and forcing him to drop her wrist. “Ah, you know, check with the front desk,” she said vaguely with a laugh.
“Actually, I was hoping for your number.”
“I’m sure you were,” she said over her shoulder.
“Really? You’re just blowing me off, huh?”
She stopped and pivoted. He sounded dead sincere now, which surprised her. “Wow, yeah. About that... I’m, uh, not exactly dating right now.”
Even if I were, I’d stay way the hell away from a player like you.
Her smile wobbled. This shouldn’t be so hard.
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his gym shorts, which few men could pull off and still look manly. He nailed it. She realized with a stab of guilt he was trying to hide the bulge of his erection. “Sure, I get it. No problem.”
Had she actually hurt his feelings? Impossible. He was a player.
She ha
dn’t meant to be a tease. She ought to be spanked.
By him. Just before he took her hard from behind… Brandy-Marie!
She jerked her head toward the door. “I’m just... ah... going to take a shower.”
He laughed and the tension between them eased. “Yeah, me too—a cold one. I’ll catch you later.”
She tossed him a grateful smile and got her butt out of there before she did something she’d regret. She didn’t stop or glance back, not until she was safely inside the women’s locker room, where she leaned against the wall and sighed.
Damn. That was close. Too close. She seriously needed to be careful around that man.
* * *
Rick got in his Escalade and started it mindlessly. Well, that’s not true. There were thoughts in his head. But they weren’t about driving home. No, his brain overflowed with visions of Brandy pressed against him, the light scrape of her fingernails on his back driving him mad, the graceful column of her neck, those full, glossy lips. Yes, the woman could tease. Had she meant to blue-ball him? Little vixen.
He wondered what her story was. Why didn’t she date? Or was that just an excuse? Recent break-up? Another man? The idea of another man in the picture made him grind his molars. If there was another man, Rick sure as hell hoped the bastard realized how lucky he was.
He’d like to crack that ice queen facade of hers and tempt the hot-blooded female beneath it. She was just protecting her business, which he had to respect. He respected the hell out of what she’d created there—it was a superb gym.
If Brandy was his woman, he’d make damn sure she felt like a princess every minute of the day. He considered sending her flowers. No—too cheesy for one thing. For another, she said she couldn’t date him, so flowers would be entirely inappropriate. And she already thought he was too flirty.
This required something more casual, like showing up with her favorite Starbucks drink. He’d have to pick the brain of the gal at the front desk for the scoop on that.
Wait—he had it! The microphone. She needed technical help. And if there was one thing he was good at, it was electronics. As a bachelor in his 30’s, he’d set up more sound systems and televisions than most people had in a lifetime. He would hook her up with new headsets. It was perfect—not too romantic, but something that would genuinely help her out.
Smiling to himself, he punched up the Verizon store on his phone for the address. He’d stop on his way home and pick up everything he needed to hook her up.
Chapter Two
It was her weekly “playdate” with the girls.
Yes, they called it a playdate.
They’d started hanging out back when her oldest, Sam, was just a baby attending Gymboree. She’d met a group of like-minded women there and they’d started a weekly playgroup for the babies. Now, 13 years later, her mommy group had become her close-knit friends, still meeting weekly for playdates. Not with their children—they had long since grown apart. No, their playdates were all about cocktails, gossip and moral support.
She scanned the upscale cocktail lounge and spotted her friends in a large circular booth in the corner near a giant silver Christmas tree.
Angelina, gossip columnist for Houston Magazine, looked up from the cocktail menu and gave an enthusiastic wave.
She smiled back and crossed the room in her Kate Spade suit and high-heeled Manolos. She always dressed up for their get-together. It was the one day of the week she had the chance to dress in swanky clothes since the rest of the time she lived in work out duds or her casual, around the house jeans and graphic T-shirt. And yes, she’d heard you weren’t supposed to wear graphic tees or Converse after age 30. Screw ’em. She still looked 30, anyway.
“Hi, ladies.” She slid into the booth beside Meg, the doctor’s wife. Make that, the doctor’s soon to be ex-wife. After 15 years of being an over-achieving stay-at-home mom, Meg was looking for an out-of-the-home job because she was considering leaving her husband.
Juliet scooted over to make room. “Hi, girlfriend! What’s the news?” Juliet taught creative writing at the University of Houston.
“Ooh, that looks pretty. What are you drinking?” she asked, looking at Meg’s fancy cocktail.
“Pomegranate mojito. It’s green and red for Christmas.”
“I’ll have one of those,” she said to the efficient cocktail waitress who had magically appeared beside her. “And a menu.” She was starving. It was hard to get enough protein with all the exercise she got these days.
“You got it.” The cocktail waitress zipped away and Brandy turned to her friends. “So? What’s the word, ladies?”
“I’m considering writing erotic fiction,” Meg announced.
Brandy exchanged a glance with Juliet. “Really?”
“Yep. They say it’s all the rage these days with the Kindle and Nook e-readers on every laptop. Women can read all the smut they want and no one has to see the cover of the books they’re reading.”
“Truth.” Angelina picked up the plastic toothpick with olives from her dirty martini and sunk her teeth into one of the green olives.
Brandy laughed. “Is that what’s on your Kindle?”
“Oh, yes.” Meg grinned wickedly. “A girl needs a little thrill now and again,” she trilled in her Southern accent. I like to read those ménage romances. Two men. One woman. Mm mm.”
They all laughed.
“Meg, not to stomp on your fluffy feather pillow, but what makes you think you can write books?” Juliet asked. She had been published in a lot of anthologies and for the past four years Juliet had been working on her first novel. Brandy wouldn’t be surprised if Meg’s sudden interest in writing made Juliet put her defenses up. After all, she had an MFA in creative writing and a lifetime of experience and still hadn’t produced her first book.
Uh oh. She braced herself to run interference or redirect the conversation before feelings got hurt, but Meg didn’t seem upset.
“Oh, you can stomp on my pillow all you want. It’s just my latest idea.” Meg flashed a wry grin and stirred her mojito with the slender bar straw. “It seemed better than standing on the corner with a sign.”
“Meg, I’m sure the perfect job situation will show up for you, whether that’s writing smut or using your talents in another way.” Angelina promised with a wink.
They’d all been pushing Meg to find a career because it seemed like her complaints with her marriage stemmed more from boredom now that her kids had turned into teens, rather than anything her husband was or wasn’t doing.
“You can always come and work for me,” Brandy reminded her. Meg and her obsessive over-functioning would probably make a better office/business manager than Brandy and Jennie combined.
“Yeah, but I don’t want to change our relationship. It would affect the whole group dynamic if you were suddenly my boss. Things might get strange, ya know?” Meg swept a manicured hand around the table to include everyone.
“You’re probably right. Speaking of weird and relationships, guess who came on to me at the club today?” Yes, she’d been dying to tell her friends.
“Ooh, who?” Meg cooed and friends leaned in, rapt.
“Rick Morehouse.”
Angelina gave an exaggerated gasp. “Lucky lady! Did he ask you out?”
The cocktail waitress arrived with her drink and she ordered a Caesar salad with extra chicken.
“Well?” Meg demanded as soon as the cocktail waitress walked away.
“Yep. He asked for my number.”
“And—?” Juliet prompted.
“I told him no way. The guy is a player. Besides, I’m not dating right now.”
Three sets of shoulders around her slumped. “Brandy—really? You gave Rick Morehouse the brush-off?” This was from Angelina.
“Are you nuts?” demanded Juliet.
“May I have his number?” asked Meg with a saucy smile.
“Hell, I’d take his number,” said the happily-married Juliet. “Kevin’s a big fan, maybe
he wouldn’t mind a little threesome action.”
All five of them erupted into laughter, probably all trying to picture Juliet’s very alpha male husband going along with something like that.
“But seriously, Brandy, why did you blow him off?” Angelina looked like she wished she could take notes for her column.
“Ya’ll already know—I’m not interested in jumping into another relationship. I’m working on my career.”
Juliet rolled her eyes. “Just because your ex never supported you in this, doesn’t mean that dating and having a career are mutually exclusive life events.”
Justin not supporting her was the understatement of the year. He’d hated what he called her “obsession” with physical fitness. He was such a baby, he resented anything that took her attention away from him, including their two kids. When she’d started seriously bodybuilding, he flipped out, saying she looked too manly, that women weren’t meant to be stronger than their husbands. Of course it was his own personal choice to be an out-of-shape flabby pants big shot lawyer.
No, Justin had wanted her at home, like a 1950’s wife, waiting to soothe his nerves with a cocktail and a blowjob every night when he arrived. And sometimes that was fun for her, too. But when she had interests outside the home, he couldn’t stand it. He didn’t like her having a life or identity separate from him.
“I really and truly don’t have time for a relationship. I’m about to open three more locations of Phenomenal Physiques and any time I’m not devoting to the business, I owe to my kids. Our weekly playdate, notwithstanding.” She flashed a wide, guilty grin.
She wouldn’t give up this time with friends for anything. It had been her lifeline—from raising toddlers, to her transition back to work, through her messy divorce and now as a female entrepreneur who was finally making something of herself. Without this group of women sticking by her side, she might have doubted herself so many times along the way.
“One date. One date to report back to us what Houston’s hottest bachelor is really all about,” Angelina begged.
Scoring With Santa: Book One in the Second Chance Series Page 2
