Nothing better for walking off sexual frustration than a brisk November stroll.
She had an advanced yoga class in an hour and was tired just thinking about it. A hot cup of coffee would put some much-needed pep in her step.
She wasn’t the only resident of SWC taking advantage of the drier weather. Cold drizzles they were willing to brave. Drenching downpours, not so much. As a result, there was a buzz in the air, an audible din of chatter amongst the couples or single professionals lounging in the outdoor patio. It was closed off for the winter, the temporary walls and tall gas heaters making the space warm enough for the overflow of customers.
Inside, Hayden rubbed her hands together, delighted to find that the person in line ahead of her was finished ordering. The only thing better than a Sprightly Bean coffee at the start of a day was not waiting in line to get one. She ordered a large caramel latte and stepped to the side to wait. Not thirty seconds into her studying the glass case of doughnuts and other sinful baked goods, the low voice from her dreams spoke over her shoulder.
“I’ve seen regret before, and it looks a lot like the expression on your face, Ms. Green.”
Her smile crested her mouth before she turned. She thought she was prepared to come face-to-face with Tate until she did. His dark wool coat was draped over a charcoal-gray suit, his hair neatly styled against his head and slightly damp, she guessed from a recent shower. And wasn’t that a pleasant image? Him naked, water flowing over lean muscle, corded forearms, long, strong legs...
“Am I broadcasting regret?” she asked, her voice a flirty lilt.
He pointed at the bakery case. “Was it the éclair or the lemon–poppy seed muffin that caused it?”
“Hmm.” She pretended to consider. “I could be regretting my impulsive behavior three days ago.”
His eyebrows rose like she’d stunned him. She wasn’t much of a wallflower, which he should know after she’d grabbed him up and kissed him.
He opened his mouth to reply when a thin blonde woman glided around the corner, tugging a glove onto her hand. Claire.
“I’m ready to go,” she announced without preamble. Or manners. Or delicacy.
As if her frosty entrance had chilled them both, Hayden’s smile vanished and Tate retreated.
He nodded at Claire Waterson, his frown appearing both on his mouth and forehead. “Hayden, this is Claire. Claire, this is Hayden Green. She owns the yoga studio down the road.”
“Charmed.” Claire nodded curtly as she tugged on her other glove. No offer of a handshake, but Hayden didn’t want to shake the other woman’s hand, anyway.
“See you around,” Tate told Hayden.
She watched them leave, her forehead scrunching when Tate touched Claire’s back on the walk out to a car. He hadn’t walked to the café today. Hayden would bet Priss in Boots hadn’t allowed it.
“Grande caramel latte.” The cheery barista handed over Hayden’s coffee, and she managed a genial smile before walking out the front door, her steps heavy. Tate, in the driver’s seat, pulled away from the curb on the opposite side of the street. He didn’t wave, but did manage a compressed half smile.
While Hayden didn’t have any claim on him, she’d admit she felt like an idiot for believing him. He’d sounded so sincere when he said his relationship with Claire was over. Or had he implied it was over? Either way, if she’d had any idea Tate and Claire would be sharing morning coffee a few days later, Hayden never would have kissed him. From the looks of it, he and Claire were very much together.
Ew.
She started her march home, an unhealthy dose of anger seeping into her bloodstream. The first sip of her coffee burned her tongue, and the wind blew directly into her face, cold and bitter.
A series of beeps sounded from her pocket and Hayden’s back stiffened. That was her mother’s ringtone. It never failed to cause a cocktail of panic, fear and resentment to boil over. She ignored the second ring and then the third and, a minute later, the chime of her voice mail.
When Hayden left Seattle, it had felt like more of an escape. Her mother had been—and was still—stressed to the max, refusing to draw boundary lines around the one woman causing problems in their lives: Hayden’s alcoholic grandmother. Grandma Winnie favored drama and bottom-shelf vodka in equal measures, and Hayden’s mother, Patti, had turned codependency into an art form. Hayden’s dad, Glenn, was content to let the matriarchs rule the roost, as if he’d eschewed himself from the chaos in the only way he knew how: silence.
After years of trying to balance family drama with her own desperate need for stability, Hayden left Seattle and her family behind for the oasis of Spright Island.
By the time she was changing for her class, her coffee was cool and her mind was numb. She paused in the living room of her apartment, put her hands over her heart and took three deep breaths.
There was no sense in being angry at Grandma Winnie for being an alcoholic. It wasn’t her fault she had a disease. Similarly, she let go of worrying over her mother’s codependence and her father’s blind eye.
“Everyone is doing the best they can,” she said aloud.
But as she trotted down the stairs to the studio and unlocked the door for a few waiting guests, she found that there was one person in her life she didn’t feel as magnanimous toward.
The man who’d kissed her soundly, scrambled her senses and then showed up in town with the very woman he claimed had left him behind.
“Hi, Hayden,” greeted Jan, the first of her students through the door.
Hayden returned Jan’s smile and shoved aside her tumultuous thoughts. She owed it to her class to be present and bring good energy, not bad.
Family drama—and Tate drama—would be waiting for her when the class was over, whether she wanted it or not.
Four
The bell over her studio entrance jangled as Hayden’s evening class filed out of the building. She was behind the desk, jotting down a note for Marla, who’d been coming for individual classes but decided tonight she wanted to join the group. Since Marla hadn’t brought her credit card, Hayden had promised to email her in the morning.
Hayden stuck a reminder Post-it note onto the cover of her hardbound planner and looked up, expecting to see the last of her students leave. Instead, someone was coming in.
A certain someone who hadn’t left her mind no matter how hard she tried to stop thinking about him.
Dressed in black athletic pants and a long-sleeved black T-shirt, Tate shrugged out of the same leather jacket he’d worn the night they kissed. It’d been five days since that kiss. Two days since the coffee shop.
She still wasn’t happy with him, but it was impossible not to admire his exquisite hotness.
“Hey,” she blurted, unsure what else to say.
“Hey.” He looked over his shoulder. “I know I missed class, but I was hoping to schedule a one-on-one.”
Her mind went to the last “one-on-one” session they’d had. She hadn’t forgotten that kiss. She probably never would. It was burned onto her frontal lobe.
“Individual sessions have to be scheduled ahead of time,” she said as tartly as she could manage. The vision of him with Claire was too fresh in her mind for her to be cordial.
“Are you sure?” He tilted his head as he stepped closer to her.
“If you’re here because you feel you owe me an explanation or you need to air your regrets—”
“No. Nothing like that.”
She lifted her eyebrows, asking a silent well?
“I haven’t been in control of my life lately. Everything’s moving at warp speed, and I’m caught in the undertow. You ever feel like you’ve lost control? Once upon a time you had it in your hands, and now...” He looked down at his own fists gripping his coat as his mouth pulled down at the corners.
She knew exactly what that was like,
but in reverse order. Her world had been moving at warp speed since birth, and only moving to SWC had stopped its trajectory.
She sympathized with Tate, though she was tempted to cut her losses and show him the door.
“And taking a yoga class with me would help you feel in control?” she asked anyway.
“Ah, well. Not exactly.” Palm on his neck, he studied the floor and then peeked up at her with a look of chagrin so magnetic, her heart skipped a beat. “I’m really good at turning you on. At least I think I would be. Are you still doling out kisses with every cup of tea?”
She gripped the edge of the front desk, digesting what he’d just said. He was good at turning her on. She knew that, but what was she supposed to do with it? Especially when Tate stood in front of her looking coy and cunning and yet vulnerable and was offering... Wait... Was this a booty call?
“Sorry. That offer expired.” Not that she was above kissing him, but... “I’m not going to be your girl on the side, Tate. What would Claire say?”
“That’s over. It’s been over. What you saw at the coffee shop was her finalizing things. You know, like you do after someone dies.”
He paced to the salt lamp on her desk and stared at it for a beat. “She dropped off a box of my stuff at my house and then asked if we could grab a coffee and talk. I told her she could talk to me there, but she said she preferred neutral territory.”
“Oh.” It was a breakup. Hayden had misread that entire exchange. Still... “And you didn’t feel the need to explain yourself after I saw you at the café? You thought you’d instead come here and...” She waved a hand uselessly, unable to finish her thought, since she wasn’t 100 percent sure why he was here.
“I thought we could start with a yoga session.” He dipped his chin. “If you have any openings for, say, now.”
She tried to tell him no, but found she couldn’t. Tate Duncan didn’t have to work hard to charm her on any given day, and today he was actually trying.
“How about...” She flipped open her planner and traced her finger down the page. “Tomorrow. Noon.”
“Deal.”
“I’ll need your credit card. I require a nonrefundable down payment for the first appointment.”
“Smart.”
She hummed. She wasn’t so sure this was smart, but was too curious to turn him away.
* * *
The morning of his yoga appointment, Tate set out for Hayden’s studio. The day was dry if chilly, but he welcomed the burning cold in his lungs as he cut through a path in the woods.
He’d been out for a quick trip to Summer’s Market when he’d witnessed Hayden’s evening class letting out. He hadn’t planned on walking across the street and inside, but when he found himself in front of her, he had to have a reason for being there.
Besides the obvious.
Hayden had consumed damn near every one of his waking thoughts, which was a relief compared to his usual pastime: turning over his parentage, the truth about where he came from, or the disastrous outcome since.
He’d blamed the kiss on whiskey and a need for connection. The liquor buzz was long gone, but the imprint of her kiss remained like a brand. It was reckless to leap into the flames after he’d just escaped a fire—Claire should’ve rendered him numb. But Hayden...she was different.
Not only had she been there for him when he’d been adrift on his own, but she replaced his tumultuous thoughts with something a hell of a lot better.
Sex.
He wanted her. He wanted her in his arms and in his bed. He wanted her moaning beneath him, her nails scratching down his back.
It was as if he’d devolved to his most carnal desires when she was around, and for a change, he was all for it. He was tired of feeling unmoored, helpless. Sad. With her he felt strong, capable. She’d come apart in his arms during that kiss. She may have put him through his paces last night, but he respected her for it.
Hell, he knew he’d stepped in it with Hayden the moment he left that café with Claire. But he’d owed Claire that meeting. They’d dated for three years and had been recently engaged, though he now wondered if that was more of a technicality. She’d never lived with him—never wanted to. She didn’t treasure Spright Island or his community the way he did.
The way Hayden does. That kiss with Hayden was about far more than their lips meeting and an attraction they weren’t aware of blooming. For Tate, it was about discovering that he’d been sleepwalking through his life.
Tate had never been ill-equipped for a task set before him. He’d accepted the gift of Spright Island from his father without qualms and had set about building an entire town and community even when he’d never worked on his own before. He’d learned by doing. Each time adversity had come up, he’d defeated it.
When he’d found out that Reid was his brother, Tate felt like a superhero who’d stumbled across his fatal weakness. He didn’t have a single weapon in his arsenal to handle the situation set before him.
His previously drama-free life had begun to look more like a Netflix feature with him in the center as the hapless protagonist.
Until the kiss with Hayden.
That night had changed him, changed his outlook. And after a numb month of disbelief, feeling something—feeling anything other than stark shock—was as welcome as...well, as the kiss itself.
Yoga by Hayden came into sight and he crossed the street with a neat jog. A smile inched across his face, but flagged when he noticed the Closed sign on the door. He tugged the handle.
Locked.
He checked the clock on his phone. 12:04 p.m. He was late. Maybe she drew a hard line when it came to promptness.
Then he looked up and there she was, her curves barely contained in colorful leggings and a long-sleeved green shirt. She flipped the lock and opened the door, reminding him of the night he’d been standing outside this very studio in the rain.
Reminding him that she’d climbed to her toes to lay the mother of all kisses on him and had changed his life for the better.
“Sorry. Typically, I’m more punctual than this,” she said.
God, he wanted to kiss her. The timing was wrong, though. She hadn’t yet met his eyes save for a brief flicker that bounced away the second she caught him staring.
She was hard not to stare at, all that silken dark hair and the grace in her every movement...
“I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.” He hung his coat on a hook and perused a small display of yoga mats, blocks and water bottles. “I’ll have to buy a mat. I don’t have one.”
“Help yourself.” Hayden’s gaze glanced off him again, and then almost relieved, she said, “Oh, good, she’s here.”
A fortysomething blonde woman ran toward the building, her yoga mat under her arm.
“Sherry had a last-minute need for an appointment, so I piggybacked onto your session. With the holiday week being so busy, I couldn’t fit her in any other time.” Hayden blew out the news in a nonstop stream. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Of course he minded. He’d scheduled a one-on-one with Hayden, and now he had to share his time with Sherry Baker, SWC’s premiere real estate agent.
“Oh, hi, Tate.” Sherry patted him on the shoulder before hanging her coat and scarf on the hook next to his. “I didn’t know you practiced yoga.”
He slid his eyes to Hayden, who bit her lip and locked the door. She’d double booked herself on purpose. For some reason.
“You know me,” he told Sherry. “I’m always trying to support more local businesses.”
“Get this one.” Sherry handed him a black yoga mat. “It’s manly and the same brand as mine.”
“Done.” He turned to Hayden with a million questions he couldn’t ask. “Mind if I pay you after?”
Her mouth hovered open for a beat as Sherry unrolled her yoga mat. With an audience, Hayden d
idn’t have much of a choice other than being polite.
“Sure.”
“Great.” He took his spot on the studio floor. He’d won that round. He planned on sticking around after Sherry left. He wanted answers.
Five
For Hayden, doing yoga was like breathing. She slipped into each pose easily, pausing to instruct Sherry and Tate through the movements.
Sherry was in her midforties with two teenagers. Her son had recently moved to a college campus and her younger daughter was thirteen and embroiled in a teenage spat with her two best friends, Callie and Samantha. Hayden knew this because Sherry hadn’t stopped talking since class had started.
Sherry also mentioned her twenty unwanted pounds and a caffeine habit that bordered on addiction, and said she hoped doing one healthy thing like yoga would lead to other healthy things like cutting down on coffee and overtime at work.
Tate remained resolutely silent, though she’d caught a small smile on his mouth more than once as he’d eased from one pose into the other.
During downward dog pose Hayden moved to assist Sherry with her alignment. “Push your five fingertips into the mat rather than the palm of your hand,” she instructed. “We don’t want compressed wrists.”
Hayden turned to Tate next, willing herself to remember she was a teacher and a professional. There was never anything sexual involved in helping a student.
Until now.
One look at Tate’s ass, his legs and arms strong and straight, and a wave of attraction walloped her in the stomach. As fate would have it, she was also going to have to touch his hips to move him into more of a V form than a U.
Dammit.
One hand on his back, the other on his hips, she instructed him to lower his heels to the floor as much as he was able. He breathed out with the effort, that breath reverberating along her arm and hand, and she became even more aware of him than before.
Who knew that was possible?
Christmas Seduction Page 3
