Opening my eyes, I had to tilt my chin up to see his face. "What?" I whispered.
"You became the most unreadable offense I’d faced, and you knew something like that would drive me insane. All I could think about was what I'd done wrong or how I'd upset you to make you shut me out like that."
The protestation was on my lips instantly. "You didn't do anything wrong."
"So quick to defend me," he said, his mouth curving in a smile. "And I've done nothing to deserve that from you."
My hands lifted, like an invisible puppet master raised them into the air, and I forced them back down. Touching him wouldn't help. None of this was helping him or me but neither of us seemed motivated to move.
"Why did you invite me here?" I asked.
Maybe Noah had a string wound under his skin too because his hand lifted, and he watched it like he had no control over where it was going, his shaky exhale hitting my forehead in a sharp burst.
"Because you …" He stopped and swallowed, and so very, very carefully, he slid his hand along the line of my throat until he was cupping the back of my neck. My entire body vibrated dangerously at his touch, like the tines of a tuning fork struck with too much force. "You were the first person I thought of to share this with."
He dipped his head, and I sucked in a quick breath. We both froze when my breasts brushed the front of his chest. Noah's eyes searched mine, and I lifted my hands, laying them lightly on his chest. In the span of a heartbeat, I thought about pushing him away, but my fingers curled into the soft fabric instead.
With a tug and a lean, his lips were a mere inch from mine.
Suddenly, Noah shoved away from me, and I swayed forward dangerously. It took me a second to realize why over the roaring pulse in my ears.
"Hey, Molly," Marty said, ascending the stairs with light steps, camera perched on his shoulder like it always was. "Nice place, huh?"
"Hey. Umm, yeah. I l-love it."
Noah rubbed the back of his neck, a safe distance separating us now.
If Marty suspected anything, he didn't show it. "Ready for some yoga?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," I said weakly.
Chapter Seventeen
Noah
It was rare for me to think to myself, this was a terrible idea, but in the first three minutes of starting our yoga lesson, I thought it at least seven times. The first was when Molly rolled out her yoga mat and started stretching forward, brushing her fingers along the ground. Marty was getting his main camera settled on a tripod, his small handheld on his shoulder so he could catch more than one angle at once, and I fought to keep my eyes off the rounded curve of her ass. The way her eyes closed as she breathed deeply. The way her chest lifted on an inhale and the way her waist curved up from her hips.
Muscles I'd never noticed on her before popped in her arms as she moved through her warm-up. When she noticed I wasn't moving, she straightened carefully and gave me a curious look.
"Are you going to join or just watch?"
I swallowed. "Sorry. I'm joining."
This was a terrible idea, I thought again when she laid her hand on my back and guided me to drop my hands to the ground.
"We're just going to doing a basic series here before I start the video I found, then she can guide us through. It's specifically for football players, so I don't think anything will be too challenging for your first time."
I didn't answer. Mainly because I didn't trust my voice not to betray the thoughts tumbling through my head.
I almost kissed her.
I almost kissed her.
If Marty hadn't walked up the stairs when he did, I would've had Molly Ward pressed against the windows and my mouth on hers. I tried to focus on what she was saying, but I couldn't mute the mental images flashing, one after another, after another. My hands on her. Her hands on me. How soft her lips would've been. The way she tasted.
So easily, I’d slipped from a desire to understand her into just plain old desire. Except there was nothing plain or old about it.
"Noah?"
I blinked. "Yeah. Sorry."
"Tuck your chin and push your weight into your heels."
Once I followed her direction, Molly moved to the mat next to mine. Her toenails were purple, and it pissed me off that I noticed. She exhaled slowly and mirrored my pose.
"Set your hands on the mat and move your legs back into downward dog."
"This is what got me into trouble in the first place," I mumbled but did as she asked.
She laughed. "You probably tried to shift your hands around if it felt uncomfortable, but you should keep your butt in the air and move your feet. Hands stay planted."
Huh.
"Better," she said.
Following her lead and the patient instructions she gave me, we spent about five minutes doing some basic stretches. A few things were clear in those five minutes, and only got clearer as she cued up the video on her iPad that she set up in front of us.
Molly was much better at yoga than I was.
Molly was much more flexible than I was.
And Molly looked like sex on legs as she moved through each position.
Every time she moved, I found myself cataloging a new part of her body, something I'd never noticed before.
Her ears, for example. Even though her hair was almost always pulled back, I'd never noticed Molly's ears. They were dainty and stuck out just a little bit, which I found oddly endearing.
Her second toe was just a hair longer than her big toe.
When she arched her back, she let out a breathy exhale every time. I wanted to hear it in surround sound while she dug her fingernails into my back.
I had to pinch my eyes shut when that one crossed my mind because I hadn't allowed myself to enter that headspace in so long, and it felt like I was doing something wrong.
When she laughed at me because I couldn't stretch as far as she could, the skin around her eyes crinkled up. It was adorable.
Her neck, long and graceful and as I know, as soft as satin, made me want to drag my teeth along the edge when she tilted her chin up to the ceiling when we were in Upward Dog.
"Fuck," I whispered.
She sat up and gave me a concerned look. "What? Did you hurt yourself?"
Yeah. There was a part of me that was hurting all right, and it needed to friggin stop because I had a camera pointed at me.
Was I sweating? I swept my hand along my forehead, and sure enough, a few minutes of simple poses, and I was sweating.
"No, I'm fine," I said from between gritted teeth.
A smile trembled on the edge of her lips as the woman on the screen told us in a soothing voice where to position our legs. Goddess pose or something like that. All I knew was that Molly’s legs spread wide, and she lowered herself easily.
She was strong.
"Did you know that Dallas started bringing in a yoga instructor for practices?"
I glanced over at her. "Seriously?"
Molly arched her arms and pushed her legs into a different position, and when I followed a few seconds later, she grinned at my obvious delay. "Seriously. Helps avoid injuries because the players are more flexible. One of their linemen had back surgery, and when he wasn't working out during the off season, his PT suggested yoga to strengthen his back and core without risking more injury. It worked so well for him that their coach brought someone in for the whole defense to try it. Now they do yoga twice a week as a part of practice."
For the first time since we started, my mind flipped back into its natural default. Football.
"I never even considered it," I said, then grunted when I was asked to do something entirely unnatural with my legs. Molly caught a glimpse of my face and laughed, her belly shaking as she laid flat on the mat.
I hated to admit it, but it was harder than I thought. We were supposed to lay there and keep our legs in the air for eight minutes.
Eight minutes.
Molly held her legs straighter than I did. Her fingers wigg
led on the mat, and not an ounce of tension existed in her body anywhere I could see. Actually, it looked like she could've fallen asleep for how relaxed she was.
Pressing my lower back firmly against the mat, I tried to breathe through my chi or harness my inner sunrise or whatever the instructor was talking about on the video.
"Are we almost done?" I asked.
"Nope."
I sighed.
"You watch," she said, eyes still closed when I turned my head to look at her, "this'll be the season you break the sack record, and when you do, you better thank me."
I smiled and directed my gaze back up to the ceiling. "You got it."
My movements were jerky when we shifted position again, whereas Molly looked like her joints were made from water.
"You're terrible at this, Noah."
In the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of Marty smothering a smile.
I narrowed my eyes at her. "I'm not terrible."
She folded her body in half. "Yes, you are."
"Fine, you come to practice tomorrow, and we'll see how you do in my world."
"No, thank you," she demurred. "Enough of my life is taken up by football. I don't need to add time on the field into it too."
"Too much football," I said quietly. I lifted my arms over my head and mimicked her movements. "Is there such a thing?"
"Maybe not when you're in the thick of it." She exhaled slowly through her mouth. "But you can't play forever. What are you going to do when you're done?"
A wry smile bent my lips as I straightened and propped my hands on my hips. Whatever the pose was in the video, my big ass body did not bend that way. "They'll have to drag me kicking and screaming off the field when they want me to retire."
"Yeah?"
"As long as my body cooperates," I said, "I'll be out there."
"Maybe you can set a new record. Oldest defensive player of the year."
She pointed at my mat, and I sighed, dropping down to do what she was doing. Cat or cow or cobra. I couldn't remember.
"Yeah, in ten years, maybe."
"You think you'll still be averaging a sack and a half per game in ten years?" she teased. "Yeah, right. You'll be limping around by that point unless you do some more of this."
I glared at her, but it didn't dim her smile. It got brighter. Everything else around her faded.
Why didn't that terrify me? That everything in the room except Molly's face became blurry and unimportant, but the way her lips stretched into a smile, how that smile lit up her eyes, was vital and precious. I didn't intimidate her in any way, and that suddenly felt like something I needed to protect. Something I should wrap my arms around and cocoon from the outside world so nothing and no one could change that about her.
It was the only reason I could think of for why I didn't see her reach out to tip me over.
Balancing like I had been, I fell like a freaking oak tree.
She collapsed into helpless laughter while I flopped onto my back.
"Dirty cheat," I groaned.
Molly wiped tears of mirth from under her eyes and balanced on her knees over me. "Are you okay?"
"Oh sure, pretend you care now. You could've injured me."
"Who knew The Machine was such a crybaby."
Narrowing my eyes, I felt my body tense to pounce, but she scrambled backward, laughter coming out in short puffs of air. Before I flipped around to my knees to take off after her, I froze. What was I doing?
Every second of this was on film. And if I laid my hands on her now, I'd be lost. Molly saw the change of mood on my face, and those bright blue eyes softened in understanding. How could she read me as well as she did? It made no sense.
"That was pretty good for your first lesson," she said quietly.
Standing, I stretched my arms over head, then held out my hand for her. She slid her palm against mine, and I pulled her up easily.
Her fingers didn't drop right away, and the impulse to tug her closer was almost overwhelming. I stepped back, and our hands dropped.
"Thanks for coming over to show me." I looked around. "And to see the house. I suppose we should clear out soon anyway."
She nodded and leaned down to roll up the yoga mat.
Marty flipped off both cameras and groaned like he'd just done the video with us. "That was great, guys. Rick will love it."
The way Molly fidgeted as she stood with the yoga mat and the way she didn't make eye contact with Marty meant she must have felt the same way I did after talking to my grandma. It was disconcerting to forget that he was there, but I still found myself doing it more and more.
"We didn't do that for show, Marty."
In surprise, I glanced over at the defensive tone in her voice.
Marty was giving her the same look. "I know. Just saying that it was a good segment. We needed some more stuff like this after a week of filming practice and Noah glaring at his iPad screen while he watched film."
That brought a smile to her face.
"I don't glare at my screen," I argued.
He pointed at Molly's iPad. "May I?"
"Go right ahead."
Marty lifted it and did this weird squint face frown that had Molly laughing out loud.
"I do not look like that," I said.
"Trust me, buddy, you do." He grinned, handing the iPad back to Molly.
As he packed up, the two of them chatting easily, trying to figure out if it made sense for Marty to drive her back home or if it was out of his way, I had a strangely settled feeling.
Was it sad that these two people—the guy who was being paid to film my life and the woman I should want nothing to do with—were now my closest friends?
They didn't look at me and see The Machine. I was Noah to them, and it had been a long time since that had been the truth for anyone.
Molly said goodbye to Marty as he hefted his camera bag over his shoulder, and I walked through the family room and dining area to make sure all the lights were turned off. Neither one of us spoke as she watched me tidy up and return the rolled yoga mats behind the loveseat where I found them.
I straightened and faced her, very aware of the quiet house, and how it was the first time we'd truly been alone since our moment in the elevator. No one would be coming up the stairs. Down the hallway. Through the front door.
It was just me and her.
Judging by the deepening pink on her cheeks, she was just as aware of it.
Her breath left her in a rush, shakier and louder than when we'd done the video, and I saw her punch some buttons on her screen almost frantically.
"Can I take you home?" I asked.
She shook her head, and a few stray chunks of hair that had slipped from her updo fell around her neck and shoulders. "I just called my Uber. It'll be here in about five minutes." Molly looked past me and stared at the lake again. "I think that makes more sense."
"It probably does," I agreed.
Me taking her home was a slippery slope. We were already going to spend the weekend together at my grandma's, and that was complicated enough. In one evening, I felt like Molly took a wrecking ball and knocked down every wall that had been constructed around my life, and she'd done it unknowingly.
Offering to take her home went in direct opposition to everything I'd promised myself after I left Miami, but I couldn't even care because it was her.
I realized with stunning and simple clarity that I trusted her. This was not someone who'd betray me. Who'd use me or derail me or undermine my career.
And I wanted her.
Those two things, true and real and important, were why I moved toward her.
Admitting that I wanted her was so much easier than I thought it would be. All week, I’d used an array of excuses as to why I fixated on her so much and why her distance from me was so bothersome.
All those excuses fell away quietly, easily. My brain clicked into place, another decision made, one that I knew instinctually was right.
I wanted Molly Ward.
>
For the first time in years, football wasn't the first thing on my brain. It wasn't even the second. Not at that moment. At that moment, the only thing I cared about was knowing more about this woman. About how she felt in my arms and what her skin smelled like underneath the ears that stuck out from her delicate face.
Molly, oblivious to the seamless thoughts in my head, had turned toward the door.
I snagged her wrist before she could.
"Wait," I said, turning her back to me.
Her face was full of pleading and yearning, the kind that I felt hammering behind my chest in the empty spot under my ribs.
"Noah, I—" Her voice came to a halt when my hand slid up the smooth length of her arm. Her eyes fluttered shut. I cupped her face in both hands and only let out a breath when her hands came to rest on my waist, her fingers curling into the material of my shirt. With that arching of her fingers, she anchored me in place. I'd only leave if she let go. I'd stop the second she asked me to. But as long as she held me to her that way, she was mine.
My mouth was on hers, my face tilting to seek out the taste that had eluded me earlier, the one that made my mouth water and my skin tighten over my frame. Our lips sipped, tasted, and tried, hers were soft and warm and delicious, and I bit gently on the full curve of the middle of her lower lip. Then tugged.
Her sharp inhale punched me squarely in the solar plexus, and my arm tightened around her small frame, clutching her to me desperately. It was the first moment that I realized the magnitude of allowing myself this kiss with her.
For years, I’d chained up the sexual desire for anyone.
Until right now, with her. My hands shook as I touched her because suddenly, it wasn’t enough.
Faster, more, harder, my brain screamed, and my whole body shook from the effort it took not to follow that instinct.
I wouldn't feel this with any woman, not after so long of not having the press of soft breasts to my chest, the natural way her hips cradled me, the rocking of her pelvis against me. It was Molly.
We kissed and kissed and kissed before she pushed up on tiptoes to get closer to me, and it wasn't enough.
My hands trailed down the supple line of her back and gripped her bottom so I could boost her up in my arms. Her legs twined around my waist, and with one stride of my legs, her back was against the door.
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