Enlightened End

by Audrey Carlan

  “Eight? Lamb, I have work.” I chuckle.

  She cocks her head. “Didn’t you say you were the boss?”

  Oh, I like when the claws come out. Still, I don’t respond, letting her come to her own conclusion.

  “All right, fine. Meet me at six, then.”

  This time my eyes go wide, an unnatural response if I ever had one. Usually I’m never taken for a loop. “Six? You teach classes that early?”

  “That’s my first class. I alternate every day with the meditation teacher. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Dara teaches meditation first thing in the morning. Tuesday and Thursday, I teach beginning yoga. In order to start, you need to begin with the basics. I wouldn’t want you getting hurt.” She smirks. “Then how would you run companies into the ground and break dozens of small-business owners’ hearts in a single business deal?”

  “You make me sound like Superman.” I laugh out loud. Another response I’m not used to experiencing, especially while at work. Laughter. And, of course, it’s with the pretty redhead I can’t get a full read on.

  She shakes her head solemnly. “No, Superman saves lives, not wrecks them.” On that sad note, she turns around and heads for the door.

  Hell, this woman knows how to throw a verbal punch. I swallow down the sudden dryness in my throat and watch her leave.

  The disgusting truth is I haven’t saved a business in a solid decade. It goes against Father’s business model, and since he’s Chairman of the Board, he keeps his finger on the pulse of everything Winters Group does. Not just the group. Me. What I do. Though I don’t know why, I’m never good enough. Always just under the mark, if you ask him.

  This business deal is supposed to fix that. I’ve already got a dozen investors ready to put their millions where their mouths are. The apartments are slated to cost a hundred and sixty million dollars to build a total of eight hundred apartments. The space can fit four twenty-story high-rises without damaging the vistas and clogging up the freeways too much. A group of four high-rises complete with gym, pool, Starbucks, Whole Foods, and other conveniences will make it the most desirable location in the Bay. The profit on something like that is estimated at nine hundred and sixty million. Close to a billion dollars. Which means my investors will each stand to make around sixty-six million apiece. A very nice chunk of change. Anytime a business can make a rich man richer, it’s a slam dunk.

  My father will have to recognize my ability then. Only thing standing between me, my father’s millions, and my achievement is a fiery redhead and a handful of small businesses.

  Piece of cake.

  I’ll get the investors, demolish the buildings, build the high-rises, and get the girl.

  Walking over to my desk, I take a seat and bring up Google on my computer. I think about it for a moment and type in men’s yoga attire.

  * * *

  I park my Aston Martin in front of the warehouse across the street from Lotus House Yoga. As I look down the street, I can see pots filled with flowers and people milling about in the brisk morning air at this godawful early hour. Sunflower Bakery has its lights on, and a redheaded figure I recognize smiles at someone inside and then exits the front door with two steaming cups of what I hope to God are coffee.

  I jog across the street, beeping my alarm as I go. Her gaze meets mine, and even from this distance, her beauty steals my breath. Her figure-molding yoga pants and slouchy shirt, which falls off one creamy white shoulder, give me a great view of the strappy confection she has on under it. The shirt has a giant gold embossed handprint on the front with swirls and dots all over it.

  “Hello, Luna.”

  Even though I’m the man who is going to destroy her business, she smiles at me sweetly and holds out one of the steaming paper cups.

  “I got you a latte. Ricardo makes the best. I get one every morning.”

  I cringe. “Ricardo?”

  She smiles softly again and walks toward the entrance to Lotus House. “He runs the bakery in the mornings until Dara, my best friend, gets there.”

  “Are they usually open this early?”

  “No, usually seven, but for me he is.” She winks, and an uncomfortable feeling settles in my gut like acid burning a hole right through my stomach lining.

  Is she dating the baker? Is that why he hooks her up?

  “I-I…hmm…” I stop, incapable of forming thoughts without irritation coating my tone. That’s not how I want today to go.

  Luna pulls out her keys. “You what?” She releases the lock, holds open the door to Lotus House, and then hustles past me so she can turn off the security alarm.

  I’m greeted by the scents of things I don’t recognize but which seem to have herbal and spicy notes, like incense and ginger. She walks toward me, and the heavenly fragrance of the studio mingles with her own fruity scent.

  “You were saying?”

  I shake my head. It would not do any good for me to go off half-cocked about this Ricardo. Next time I come, I’ll make sure I’m at the bakery early. Perhaps I’ll even check it out when I leave here today. “Nothing. What’s the plan? I’m all yours.” I hold out my hands for her to scan my body. She does but only briefly…damn it. I had to go deep into the city last night in order to get this crap from a local yoga clothing and fitness store.

  She grins and leaves me, heading through another set of doors, using a flower-shaped key card. “This is reception. To the left is the men’s locker room, the right is the women’s. Down this hall is the doorway to each of the studios. Fairly often during the day we will have four sessions going, but all of the rooms are full in the evenings. We also have a few rooms off the reception area where we hold private lessons.”

  Private lessons.

  “Now that sounds right up my alley.” I use my most seductive tone.

  She chuckles but doesn’t bite. This one’s going to be a little tough. Blatant flirting does nothing for her. Guessing I should pay attention in the event there’s a quiz, I follow her, at first staring at her perfect heart-shaped ass. Color swooshing across my vision catches my eye. An impressive mural flows down the hallway in every direction, which almost evokes the feeling of standing in a field outside.

  “I won’t give you a tour of each studio. As you take each of the classes we offer, you’ll eventually work your way through each room, so I’ll leave them as a surprise.”

  “I will?” I clench my teeth, and a muscle in my jaw starts ticking with irritation at the mere suggestion of other classes. I love exercise about as much as the next guy in his early thirties, but I’d prefer doing my workout in a gym, with weights and trainers, not mats and calming voices.

  She opens a door at the end and, without flicking on any lights, kicks off her flip-flops at the door and pads barefooted over to a platform.

  Bare feet.

  I shiver at the thought of how many people have walked on this floor. “Uh, how many people’s bare feet have been on this wood floor?” There’s probably all kinds of funky foot fungus going on.

  She giggles, ignoring me, and flicks a switch. Low lighting infiltrates the room through strategically placed lanterns and recessed lights above. The walls of this room are just as ornate and well-painted as the hallway. It has to be the same artist. Here a waterfall is surrounded by trees, and I swear, if I didn’t know it was paint on a wall, it would seem as though I could walk right through the forest and touch the rushing waters.

  “Incredible work.”

  Luna looks behind her. “Yeah, Mila Powers is a pretty well-known artist around here. She owns a gallery not too far away, and she and her husband teach yoga here once a week.”

  “She’s an artist who owns a gallery and she teaches yoga?” I snicker. “Is that supposed to be a joke?” I chuckle and wait for her to tell me it’s not.

  Only she doesn’t, and worse, her happy-go-lucky face and attitude seem to shimmer and dim right before my eyes, like a candle being blown out.

  “You know, Mr. Winters…”

  �
��We’re back to Mr. Winters now? I prefer you call me Grant.” I make my request clear and concise. No bullshit. We will be more than Mr. Grant and Ms. Marigold. Much more.

  Her lips flatten into a thin line. “Well, I would prefer you be more open-minded. The services we provide here are not only helpful to the people who take our classes. This is a way of life for many, including our teachers, regardless of their station. Mila may be a successful artist and businesswoman, but she also has a passion for vinyasa flow. And her husband, Atlas Powers, who works for Knight & Day Productions as a songwriter and is their head talent agent, teaches here as well. They met here and are committed to sharing their love of the practice and one another with the community. They don’t even charge me to teach. They do it because they love it.”

  Ouch. That hurts. I swallow and straighten my spine. “I’m sorry.” I can’t remember the last time I apologized for anything. “I misspoke.”

  Luna nods and carries on with her routine, setting up candles and turning on a machine which mists a calming peppermint scent into the air. She moves to the podium once more and flicks a switch on the stereo. The sound of flutes and calming water flutters through the speakers, creating a different environment. With the mural, I gotta admit it does have the relaxing effect. I can already feel the tension in my shoulders easing.

  As Luna approaches, I hear two women laughing at the door, chatting away, dressed to impress in yoga attire. At least I’m not the only one who put an effort into my wardrobe. More people filter in, men and women alike. Quite a lot of people. The room starts to get packed, and I’m stuck standing in front of the riser like a dope who doesn’t know what to do. I watch a huge man wearing a baseball cap head over to a closet. He pulls out a couple of black blocks and then picks up a rounded cylindrical-shaped pillow while poking his fingers through the center of a rolled-up orange yoga mat from a basket. He takes his loot to a spot of his choosing and drops it all to the floor.

  I take his lead and mimic his process and then stop near where he’s set up since he seems to be alone and knows what to do.

  “Mind if I pull up a mat?” I ask.

  When he lifts his head and the bill of his hat no longer obscures his face, my mouth opens in shock. Recognition hits my mind, and I realize Trent Fox, star professional baseball player for the Oakland Ports, is sitting on the floor in a yoga studio.

  “Yeah, man. Go ahead.” He nods to the space next to him.

  I swallow and nod, speechless. As I set up my mat, not too close to him but not too far away either, maybe four feet or so, I hear him whistle at random.

  “Yo, Red.” His voice seems sleep-roughened; maybe the guy just rolled out of bed.

  I watch in horror as Luna responds to him, spinning around and smiling wide, her arms open as she approaches. “Trent! What are you doing here?”

  “Gotta get my head and leg right before practice today. Go easy on the knee, yeah?” He pulls her into a hug and kisses her on the neck. A neck kiss. A very intimate spot to be kissing a woman.

  Great. First there was Ricardo, and now Trent Fox. I can’t compete with a professional freakin’ baseball player. He may not have as much money or clout in the business world as I do, but he’s known for his looks and for being a ladies’ man. However, I thought he’d gotten married and had a kid. Aw man, is he a player? Guy like that, I’m sure he has women bending over backward to be in his bed.

  Luna squeezes Trent and pulls back. “You got it. Not too much on the knee. Where’s Viv though?”

  “With the kids. You know she doesn’t like to miss breakfast with them. Hell, I don’t like to either, but field practice has been brutal. Need the stretch on the limbs before I hit the field again. Viv thinks she’ll be here for her class at ten.”

  Viv. I’m trying to place the name. I don’t recall his wife’s name being Vivian.

  “Good. I’ll be happy to see her. How’s the bump?” She grins wide.

  “My wife is a goddess all the time, but pregnant? Shit, men better step off. I get a little territorial when she’s got my baby in her belly.” He half growls.

  Luna slaps him on the shoulder. “You’re territorial all the time.”

  He winks. “Yeah, but you’ve seen my wife. Hottest woman I’ve ever met. No offense. You’re beautiful, Red, but you know my soul is owned by my gumdrop.”

  She laughs out loud and adjusts the round pillow under his thigh. “Make sure when we’re doing poses, you keep your knee on top of the pillow for cushioning, okay? And rest the side of your knee when sitting. It will help release any pressure that may be stiffening the muscle.”

  “Thanks, honey. I’ll tell Genevieve to plan for some dinner in the future. Our house, with all the kids. Yeah?”

  “That would be lovely. Now get situated.” She rubs a hand down his back comfortingly. Okay, so maybe they’re friends. And his wife is named Genevieve. That name I remember. Guess he’s not playing the field on and off. Sounds like a tried-and-true family man.

  My opinion of Trent Fox just went up, and he was already up there to begin with.

  Luna makes her way to the front of class. “All right, everyone, sit on your mat, close your eyes, and breathe. I want everyone to set their intention for today’s practice. What do you want to get out of your life, your body, and your mind? Inhale those good, positive thoughts and let out any negatives. Just let everything else around you go. This time is for you. Make the most of it and breathe…”

  I close my eyes and wonder what in the hell have I gotten myself into with this woman.

  Chapter Three

  White is most commonly associated with the crown or seventh chakra. Often a deep purple or rainbow is used as well. If seen through the aura, it may appear as a white, gold, or sparkling light surrounding the body.

  LUNA

  The last student leaves my class, save one. The long, toned body of one Grant Winters is still lying flat on a yoga mat in the center of the room. The man who is going to single-handedly ruin my life. And he’s snoring. Not big, gross snorts of air but soft little rumbles through his mouth on each inhale and exhale. Deep relaxation at the end of class knocked his butt out!

  I do my best not to laugh and, instead, pad over to where he rests. A swath of his shirt has pulled up, exposing a tantalizing slice of tanned abdominals and a trail of dark hair at the center of his belly, the hair dipping into his loose pants. Those pants do not hide the sizable package at the apex of his thighs. It is clearly visible even through what look to be high-quality linen pants. His feet are bare, huge with squarish toes, nails groomed neatly with no sign of hair on the top of his feet. Ugh. Even his feet are sexy. I almost wish they were nasty. It would make it easier not to like him. I did notice when we started class that he waited until he was on the mat to remove his socks.

  Germaphobe.

  Somehow his having a bit of a germ issue makes the man seem human, a little more real. Less big-business-rich-guy, and more normal-guy-with-a-good-job. Doesn’t change the fact that this particular man is the destroyer of dreams.

  Still, he looks so peaceful now, not a care in the world. And he’s ridiculously attractive. I decide against torturing myself any further by looking at him until my eyes bug out of my head. I need to wake him. Then I can institute step two of my plan to get him to fall in love with this street and choose not to demolish it and build fancy apartments in its place. Even the thought of skyscrapers on the street I’ve called home my whole life makes a sour sensation hit my gut.

  Inhaling fully and deeply, I let the air out slowly, centering myself. I kneel down next to Grant and place my hand on his shoulder. “Grant…” I shake his body.

  He sighs and turns his head toward me but doesn’t wake.

  “Grant, sweetheart…” I try again to be nice and gentle.

  Just as I give another push to his shoulder, his eyes flash open, he jolts up, places his arms around my body, and slams me against him. I gasp and fall completely on top of him. He rolls us both so I’m flat
on the hardwood floor, and he’s got my body caged in.

  I try to speak but can barely catch my breath before his lips are suddenly on mine.

  Hard. Soft. Cool. Warm.

  His lips are everything at once. Grant hums around my lips and flicks his tongue against the seam. I open willingly, almost desperately. He tastes of mint and man. Delicious. He groans, presses my knees wide with his, and centers his hard body over me to deepen the kiss. The scents of wood and spice, with a hint of jasmine, hit my nose, and I inhale deeply.

  Divine.

  Before I know it, I’ve got a leg wrapped around his ass, and he’s dry humping me against the floor. The kiss goes from sweet to dangerous in less than a minute. It’s as if someone squirted kerosene on our bodies and lit a match. I’m hot all over as his hands slide fiery trails over my skin. One curves around my ass, and he grinds his considerable length against me.

  My God, it’s been so long since I’ve had a man on top of me, let alone kissing me.

  Every touch is better than the next.

  Every press of his lips more powerful.

  Every thrust of his hips more intense.

  Pretty soon we’re nothing but moans, grinding bodies, labored breaths, and desperate touches.

  I can feel the throb of my clit like a gavel hitting wood. “Sweet Shiva,” I cry out when Grant runs his lips down between my breasts, grabbing and squeezing each globe in his hands.

  “Christ, lamb, your body is exquisite. I can’t get enough.” He sucks at the top of the breast he’s pushed so far up it’s almost spilling out of my tight spandex bralette. His hips are tireless against mine, rotating in dizzying, delicious circles that defy all reason.

  The pleasure is out of this world, and I recognize the heat between my thighs, the lava bubbling underneath the surface just waiting to explode.

  Only this isn’t right. I shouldn’t be doing this.

  Not here.

  Not now.

  Not ever.