by Rachel Lyndhurst; Carmen Falcone; Ros Clarke; Annie Seaton; Christine Bell
She swung both her legs up perpendicular to her prone body and used her hands to anchor her back. He assisted, encouraging her softly until her legs were behind her head. “Really nice, Belinda.”
“Lindy,” she corrected him on a gasp, trying to speak despite her squished diaphragm.
“Lindy, then. It’s a lovely name.”
She strained to hear something menacing or lascivious in his tone, but there was nothing. They moved through the routine, and he continued to assist her, but while he touched her often, it never escalated to a point that she could have called it inappropriate. If he planned to seduce her, he wouldn’t try today.
After a few more stretches, he pulled her to her feet. “Amazing. Same time on Wednesday? No point in you attending the beginner’s class.”
“Sure, sounds great.”
“Do you think your husband would want to join us?” He led her from the room. “If you do it at home together, no reason to buck the tradition.”
“He doesn’t do yoga with me back home.”
“Really? I assumed…he’s in such great shape.”
Didn’t she know it. “He works out a lot, but he doesn’t like yoga.”
Nico’s handsome face darkened into a frown. “Are you disappointed by that? I must say, there are thousands of men who would happily set aside their own plans to sweat next to a gorgeous woman. Don’t let his lack of interest in your hobby shake your confidence. I’m sure if he wasn’t such a busy man, he would be all over the opportunity.”
That was a backhanded compliment if she’d ever heard one, and she ruminated on it before answering. “Thanks. You’re right about him being busy. I’m lucky if he can make our monthly date night.”
Nico clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “I’m sure he wished he could be there.” But his tone indicated something else entirely.
Was there something to his behavior, or was he just an asshole? She’d have to dig a little deeper next time she saw him.
“I really appreciate the one on one. Great session.”
“My pleasure.” He stopped walking and gestured toward a large oak door. “This is my stop. I have some business away from the lodge tonight, so if I don’t see you tomorrow, I’ll see you for yoga Wednesday?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
He let himself in, and she gave him a jaunty wave, continuing down the hallway toward the great room. She walked in, her eyes immediately scanning the area for Owen, which didn’t take long. He sat by himself at a table reading the newspaper and looked up when she approached.
“Hey there. How was your morning? Still sore from the couch?” She tried to keep her gaze trained on his face, but she’d never seen him dressed so casually, and the athletic wear looked fantastic on him. If the whole venture capitalism gig dried up, he could easily capture hearts and imaginations if he were plastered on a billboard like that in Times Square. Or, even better, he might be able to pull off the whole David Beckham routine in nothing more than a pair of skivvies.
“I’m fine, a little tight, but not terrible.” He looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. “I spent some time with Nico at the gym, which was good. I skipped the morning sessions to take notes and make some calls.”
“How did things go with Nico?”
“Okay. Opened a dialogue, couple things I want to keep an eye on, but nothing solid yet. It’s going to unravel slowly, I think, so it was a good start. How was yoga?”
“Great,” she said, sliding into the chair across from him. “And funny you should mention Nico, because I spent some time with him as well. He came in about halfway through the class to see if there were any advanced students who wanted more of a challenge. We ended up having a private lesson next door.”
Owen set down the paper and stared at her. “Really?”
“Yeah. We’re going to do it again on Wednesday. I can’t say I learned anything particularly useful, but I do think the fact that he’s scheduling time with me could mean something. Maybe he’s grooming me for some sort of move later?”
“Did he touch you?”
The growl in Owen’s voice coupled with his flinty gaze had her sitting back. “Shh! And what do you mean? He touched me the way you touch someone when you’re teaching them in yoga. But in a sexual way? No. I thought you’d be happy he was angling to spend time with me. So what’s the problem?”
He unclenched his jaw, lowering his voice back to a murmur. “I am happy. You did great. He’s such a lowlife, and sometimes it makes rational thought go out the window. You’re a married woman in his eyes. Where does he get off seeking you out, getting you in a room alone and touching you?”
“When you say it that way, it sounds a lot more nefarious than it was. I’m a big girl. I knew what I was getting into when I signed on to do this. If his game requires seduction, we both knew I’d have to give him some encouragement to find out his end game. Do you want me to handle it a different way?”
“No.” He blew out a sigh and tapped a staccato rhythm on the table between them. “You did exactly right. Make sure keep to your guard up. I have no indication that he could be dangerous or violent, but he can be persuasive, and his view of what’s appropriate might not line up with yours. Things don’t need to get touchy-feely. So long as he thinks he has you mentally, you can certainly stall on the physical side of things.”
“Agreed. Believe me, I have no intention of letting him get too close.”
Several other people straggled in, and Owen glanced at his watch. “It’s couple’s time in twenty minutes. What’s the plan? You want to do the ballroom dancing or the team building?”
She pursed her lips. On the one hand, she felt a little bad for leaving Bitsy in the lurch and wanted to be there for support in case she got up the nerve to take the class without Calvin. On the other, the thought of being wrapped in Owen’s strong arms for the next two hours terrified her. Still, they had to get more comfortable with casual contact. At least this way they’d have chaperones to dissuade her from tossing him on the floor and having her way with him. “I’m already sweaty, so we might as well do the ballroom and save team-building for another day.”
“Sounds good.” Owen stood and pulled off his hoody, revealing a second-skin, black tank top. Her fingers itched to trace the line of his beautifully defined traps and rounded shoulders.
As she swallowed hard to avoid drooling, she realized she’d been dead wrong on one count.
Becks had nothing on Owen Phipps.
…
A half hour later, Owen cursed himself. Why had he let her choose their activity? A sweaty Lindy in his arms mirrored his dreams from the night before so completely that he could barely think straight.
It had started off well enough. Three couples had shown up along with a solo Bitsy Cedarhurst. Rather than pair them off by couple right away, the men worked with the female instructor, Talia, while the women worked with the male instructor, Marcel. They’d learned some basic salsa steps, and things were cruising along until they’d moved on to practicing the moves with their spouses. Bitsy stayed with Marcel and, if it wouldn’t have seemed totally weird and inappropriate, Owen would have asked to do the same with Talia. Instead, Lindy was wrapped around him like a starfish on a clam, and he could barely think straight, never mind execute the dance moves.
“Chin up,” Talia said, touching her index finger to his jaw. “Get out of your head, Owen. You have to feel to dance.” The cool blonde gave him an encouraging smile. “Let yourself go. Pretend it’s you and your beautiful wife, alone in a room where no one is watching.”
World’s worst idea, so instead, he did the exact opposite, imagining they were in a room filled with people. Tons of people. Screaming babies. Grumpy old men. His sister. Hell, anything to distract him from the feel of Lindy’s tight little body swaying sinuously against his to the throbbing Latin beat.
“Your hips should be touching,” Talia said, tapping Lindy lightly on the flank until she stepped in.
; Their bodies were flush now, nothing separating them but two thin layers of cotton which, on the bottom half, wasn’t going to cut it with his interest steadily on the rise. Every twitch, every swivel, sent a bolt of lust to his groin. Mercifully, right when he’d run through the gamut of erection-killing images, Talia clapped her hands together and spoke.
“Okay, fine job everyone. Let’s separate back into groups and we’ll demonstrate a basic dip.”
Although he was grateful for the reprieve, it was short-lived. After ten minutes of dipping practice, Lindy was back in his arms, warm and flushed, her eyes bright with joy.
“Think you got this, Irish?” she asked, eyebrows raised in playful challenge.
“I believe I do, yes.”
Marcel cued up the music, and they began to dance. Lindy really was a natural. Her motions were so fluid and sensual, he could sit back and watch her dance all day. Instead, he had to be right up close while she gyrated and shimmied against him. He fought the good fight, he truly did, but it was a losing battle, and his erection bucked beneath the cotton of him his gym pants. Lindy’s expressive blue eyes widened when the evidence of his desire grew too powerful to ignore, jutting forward to nestle in the cradle of her thighs. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, and he fought the need to lean forward and capture it with his own.
The music came to a close, and he tilted her back in a low dip, cupping one cheek of her firm, round bottom in his palm. He stared at the pulse in her neck, leaping wildly beneath her golden skin. Time moved like molasses until slowly, purposefully she arched her pelvis upward, grinding into him.
A rumble reverberated through his chest and he pulled her up. He let his hands trail lower, closing them over the swell of her hips, anchoring her against him.
“O-Owen?” she whispered, her breath hitching.
“Looks like somebody finally got a handle on this, yes?” Talia said with a brilliant smile. “Fabulous job, O’Neils. I love the passion. Same time Wednesday, if anyone is interested.”
People scooped up their towels and water bottles then filed out of the room. Lindy shifted in his arms and he bent to her ear and muttered, “I’d appreciate it if you can stay close for a minute until I get a handle on this…situation.”
Her already flushed face turned a darker shade of pink, and she nodded.
“We’re going to hang back for a sec and practice our dips if that’s okay,” she called to the instructors who had begun packing up.
Marcel gave Owen a knowing smile and chuckled. “Great idea. We’ll come back in a bit to lock up.” He ushered Talia out of the room, and the next moment, he and Lindy were alone.
“That fooled no one,” he said with a sheepish grin and released her.
Lindy laughed nervously and stepped back. “That? We’re at a couple’s retreat. Surely that is exactly the result they’re hoping for, am I right? It’s basic biology. Rub two people all over each other, and stuff comes up.”
He tipped his head and watched her gather her stuff. Her movements were jerky, and her hands trembled. He couldn’t deny the darker part of him swelled with satisfaction at the sight. He reveled in making her nervous.
“Is that what you think?” he asked, moving closer to where she stood, toweling off her face. He reached out a finger and toyed with the damp tendril of hair clinging to her forehead. Her gaze flew to his, and she held the towel in front of her like a shield.
He continued. “You think if it had been Bitsy and I, things would have…come up? Or even Talia and I?” He shook his head firmly. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. I’m not nineteen, Lindy. I can control myself around a beautiful woman. It’s you I’m having a tough time with. For the life of me, I can’t seem to behave, no matter how much my brain tells me I should. Now the question is what to do about it?”
She dropped the towel and met his gaze head on. “The more I’m around you, the less I want the answer to be ‘Get it out of your head’,” she said warily.
They faced off for an electric moment, until he tipped his head toward her. The scent of pears assailed him. “If you don’t want me to, say the word.” He drew close…closer, until their lips—
“Sorry,” a voice squeaked from the doorway. “I left my water bottle behind.” Bitsy scurried over, giving them a “don’t mind me” wave of her hands. “I’ll be out of your way in one second.” She scooped up her bottle in a flash and rushed back by them, hands shielding her eyes. “Please, don’t let me stop you guys from whatever it is you’re doing.”
Owen leaned his forehead against Lindy’s. “Saved by the bell, hey?”
She drew away and called after Bitsy. “Wait up! I was just coming to find you. Want to go for a quick swim before lunch?”
Bitsy hesitated, weighing the mood in the room. When it became clear that whatever she’d interrupted had died an abrupt death, she nodded apologetically. “Okay, then. If you’re not too busy.”
As Owen watched them go, eyes locked on Lindy’s swaying hips encased in spandex, he couldn’t resist calling after her.
“Chicken.”
Chapter Eleven
“Chicken my ass,” Lindy muttered to herself as Owen pulled the car out of the lot a couple hours later.
After her swim with Bitsy, they’d gone to the great room for lunch only to find there wasn’t a shrimp in sight. It had clearly been the last straw for poor Bitsy. Her face had crumpled, and she looked near tears.
“I sat through that whole dang yoga class, swam thirty laps, and danced my patootie off and now there’s not even any shrimp?”
Lindy had felt so sorry for her, she suggested they go to The Rusty Scupper in town. Bitsy would get her shrimp, and she would get some much-needed space. Only Calvin and Owen had caught them on their way out, and now the cozy twosome was an annoying foursome.
“What’d you say?” Bitsy asked with a questioning glance in Lindy’s direction. “You don’t want to order the chicken?”
Lindy winced. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud. Luckily, Calvin had commandeered the front passenger seat and was waxing poetic on his business acumen in his thundering voice, so it was unlikely that either of the men had heard her. “Yeah, uh, chicken sucks. I’m so…sick of it.”
“At least wait until you see the menu to decide.” Bitsy gave her a friendly pat on the hand.
Lindy nodded and agreed to do just that. For the remainder of the short ride, she allowed herself to stew. Owen had a fat lot of nerve calling her a chicken when he wouldn’t even allow himself to consider an emotional connection with a woman. At least she was willing to take the risk. But then again, she’d had a beautiful example. Her parents had twenty incredible years together before their accident, and Lindy and her brothers knew one thing for sure. Life was too short not to spend every precious minute of it surrounded by people you loved. She’d be damned if she was going to ignore that lesson because of Owen. She’d do the job she’d been contracted to do, and then she’d go back to her life with her brothers, and her puppies and her Melba. Then, someday, when the time was right, she’d find a guy who would love her the way she deserved to be loved…the way she would love in return.
By the time they got to the Scupper and settled into their table, she’d managed to talk herself down. She’d spent more of her day annoyed at Owen for his little jab than she had doing her job, and her job was to gather information. With a renewed sense of purpose, she focused on the Cedarhursts. Owen had given her a look when he and Calvin had asked to join her and Bitsy, so she was pretty sure he intended to use the time to get some information from the man. While they discussed bull markets and brokers, she turned her attention to Bitsy.
“So have you been to a couple’s retreat before?”
Bitsy shook her head and leaned forward to whisper. “No. I was lucky I even got Cal to agree to this one. He’s only doing it to please me, but at this point, I’ll take what I can get, you know what I mean?”
It took all her strength not to shake the
woman and shout, “No! I have no earthly idea what you mean. Why would you ever take what you can get from this man?” The woman was so sweet but so infuriating. Bitsy Cedarhurst deserved a lot more than Calvin gave her, but until the woman figured that out for herself, nothing would change between those two, fake retreat or no.
She posed more questions, but at a point they felt more like grilling than curiosity, and Bitsy seemed to clam up a little. When their lunches came a short while later, Lindy was grateful for the reprieve, especially when Owen took the reins.
“So what do you think of our host so far?”
“Stephanopoulos?” Calvin asked. “He’s all right for a pretty boy, I guess. A little much with the hippy dippy nonsense, but seems like a nice enough guy.”
“He’s very charismatic,” Bitsy added with a shy smile.
“He certainly is,” Owen said. He seemed as if he was going to say more, but then froze, gaze glued to a point over Lindy’s head.
“Honey?” she said, in hopes of snapping him out of his strange behavior.
“I think I just saw—” He hadn’t finished his sentence when she twisted around to see the restaurant door open and a young blond woman in a smart Burberry coat and black boots stalk toward their table.
“Owen?”
Her lilting soprano was at odds with her expression of shocked fury. She stood a few feet from their table, annoyance adding harshness to her otherwise soft features.
“Can I speak to you, please?” she hissed through her straight white teeth.
Three heads swung toward Owen, awaiting his response, which, at the moment, appeared to be stunned silence. Lindy was pretty floored, too. What were the odds they’d run into someone he knew the one time they’d left the retreat? Pretty high apparently, because here stood a woman—a scorned lover maybe?—who clearly knew him well enough to be angry with him.
“Cara, this is a nice…surprise.”
Cara. Owen’s sister. The whole reason for their charade, and here she stood in front of them, exactly where she shouldn’t be. Lindy scrambled for an explanation, for something to say, but Calvin Cedarhurst beat her to it.
