He stopped and searched my face. “You’re too pale.”
“I’m just…” I panted, catching my breath. I’m just what? Scared? Hungry? Frustrated? In pain?
“I’m going to carry you. Hold still.” It was an order, not a question. Before I knew what was happening, he swept me up into his arms and carried me down the trail like I weighed nothing at all.
I tucked my face into his shoulder, mortified. I’m not exactly a small, lithe girl. I tend more toward short and stocky than long and lean. But he was barely out of breath, and we were covering the ground twice as fast.
“Are you okay? I don’t want you to throw out your back or something.” I muttered the words into his hot skin, but I swore I could feel his smile.
“Now, don’t go insulting me. You’re light as a feather.”
“Hardly.”
“Well, lighter than the things I usually carry.”
“What do you usually carry?”
“Gear.”
Wow, now there was a wordy explanation. But I didn’t press the issue. I took a few breaths and tried to calm down my heart rate. It didn’t help. The guy smelled like sex and sunshine. What would he taste like if I licked him, right there where his neck met his shoulder? He’d probably be salty. And hot. And maybe a little spicy.
I had to think about something else.
I closed my eyes, enjoying the rhythm of being carried. He was right, I did feel safe.
A girl could get used to it.
Even a girl who didn’t want to be saved.
We walked, or Jake walked, and I reclined in his arms, through a gorgeous moonlit meadow. A stream bubbled somewhere nearby. He hurried through the meadow and back into a dark stand of trees. My stomach grumbled as I thought of the dinner I hadn’t eaten. I was out of food. Another win for me.
“I wish we had a flashlight. The moon is almost full, but the light can’t penetrate the deep trees.” Jake panted, winded, and guilt flashed through me.
“Don’t trip like I did.”
“I’ll try not to.”
But his gait had taken on a bit of a lurch. “Are you limping?”
“A little. It’s nothing.”
“Put me down. I can walk the rest of the way.” I struggled in his arms, but he clutched me tight.
“No.”
“What?” I stiffened.
His arms held me in a vise. “There were fresh mountain lion tracks in the meadow back there.”
“What?” I sat up in his arms, and he almost dropped me. I had to grab on to his neck.
“Shhh… I don’t think it’s interested in us, but it’s best if we just move on.”
“Oh my God. Seriously? A mountain lion?”
He tilted his head down to look at me, amusement in his eyes. “They are known to live in the Rockies.”
“I know, I just… What if you hadn’t found me? I’d be injured, alone in the dark, with mountain lions. Do they eat women? Is this the kind of animal that would have me for dinner?” My heart pounded against my ribs.
Jake frowned. “Are you going to cry again?’
“No,” I gasped, insulted.
“Good.”
I buried my face in his chest, not caring that I was probably crossing some kind of personal boundary. What exactly were the rules when a stranger was carrying you?
“You’re safe,” he assured me, his voice a rumble in his chest.
“But I wasn’t.”
“Well…maybe not.”
Heat burned my face. I wasn’t used to needing people. I saved myself. I’d taken care of myself for most of my life, and I’d never needed someone to literally carry my weight.
It was a humbling experience.
“Sorry I interrupted your day,” I mumbled.
“I’m happy to help. Just be more careful next time. These trails are more dangerous than they seem.”
I rolled my eyes. “Are you a big hiker, then?”
“Something like that.”
“A little hiker?”
He glanced down at me. “I trail run at altitude for training.”
“I can’t even walk on a trail without hurting myself. If I tried to run, I’d probably break my leg.”
“You seem in pretty good shape.” He gave me a little squeeze, and a thrill burst through me. “Do you hike a lot?”
“Yoga. It’s my medicine to keep me from being crazy.” Whoops, I didn’t mean to say that. “I’m not really crazy, though. I promise. Not like crazy crazy.”
“Just a little crazy?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
The right side of his mouth, the side with the scar, drew back in a smile. His eyes crinkled at the corners. I was transfixed.
Play it cool, Hannah. “Do you do yoga? Or just go around lifting up cars and logs and strange women.”
“Just lifting up logs and beautiful women, no yoga.”
He’d called me beautiful again. I didn’t know what planet he was from, but it couldn’t be earth. On this planet, I was short and a little too wide in the hips, with wild hair.
“Is flattery something medics use on shock victims or something?” Now that I thought about it, I was feeling kind of weird. Like dizzy and hyped up at the same time. A little sweaty and like my jaw was tight and my pulse was pounding.
“I don’t think you’re in shock.”
Oh. Well then.
I was just suffering from your everyday sexy-hero lust.
Just acknowledging it sent a hot trickle of longing through me, starting in the good parts and ending with my face and hands, which were still pressed close to him.
Jake.
My mountain man.
The trail began to descend, and his limp got worse. I was lurching in his arms like a drunken ship on high seas.
“The mountain lion is long gone. You can put me down,” I said. Darkness had blanketed the last of the light, and cold had settled into my fingers and toes. Hopefully, we were close to the cars.
This time, he did put me down. “The trailhead is just around that bend.”
Jake wrapped his arm around me, and I leaned into him, and together we hobbled our way out of the dark woods. My mind was full of scenarios. Dirty, sexy ones, where I took off his shirt and tasted his skin. And practical, hunger-induced ones where I found a stray bag of Doritos and a warm pizza magically in my car.
We stepped out of the woods and into the parking lot, where there was a shade more light. I’d never been happier to see my old Subaru. My car had seen better days a good twenty years ago, but it was mine, and it took me where I needed to go. There was only one other car in the parking lot—a truck. Of course Jake-the-mountain-man drove a truck.
“Your car, I take it?” he asked.
“Yup.”
“You new to town?” He must have noticed my Vermont plates.
“Yeah, I just got here a few months ago.”
I limped to my car and sat on the hood, grateful to be out of the cold, dark woods. He handed me my pack, and I unzipped the pocket and found my keys.
“Can you drive yourself home?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s an automatic.”
He was quiet for a moment. “I’m happy to drive you if you need—”
“No, thanks.” I didn’t want to inconvenience him more than I already had. “You’ve been awesome. I can’t thank you enough. Where do you live? Can I send you a thank-you or something?”
“Don’t worry about it.” His lips tilted up, but his words carried a sting. Maybe he didn’t want to tell me where he lived.
“Well, thank you. For saving me from the darkness and hypothermia and mountain lions and having to eat berries to survive.”
“You’re very welcome, Hannah. I enjoyed your company.” He held up his hand. “Wait. I have an emergency kit in my truck.”
I sat on the hood of my car and waited while he rummaged through his truck. He came back, slipped off my shoe (oh my God) and wrapped my ankle with gauze and an ice pack.
Then he stood in front of me.
“Promise me you’ll get your ankle checked out by a doctor. I don’t think it’s fractured, but you need an X-ray to be certain. And keep it elevated with ice.”
“RICE: rest, ice, compression and elevation. And a doctor. Yes, sir.”
He opened a bottle of ibuprofen, gave me two, then slammed back three himself. Poor guy was probably injured carrying me out.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Hmm? Yup. Fine.”
He opened an antibiotic wipe and gently cleaned my hand. Then opened another, and, standing between my legs, he took my chin in his grasp. He tilted my head up in that kissing position again.
“I can do it,” I said quietly.
“I’m sure you can.” He leaned forward and dabbed the abrasion on my chin clean.
In a moment born of impulse and gratitude, I placed my hand on his cheek. It was warm and rough with scruff. “Really, thank you,” I said.
His eyes met mine, and we both stilled. His hand on my chin. My hand on his cheek. Our breaths filled the small space between us. He tilted my chin up higher. Oh my God, he was going to kiss me. I could see it in his eyes—the desire, the intent. I leaned up higher, pressing my lips toward his. My butt slid off the car as I tried to get closer, and—
“Ow!” I fell back onto the car as pain shot up my leg.
Jake caught me and held me away from him. “Shit. Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I panted. “My ankle.”
He blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, Hannah.”
My gaze flew up to his. He looked wild. His eyes were flashing in the darkness, his face set in hard lines. “What? No. It’s nothing.”
Just kiss me.
Or ask for my phone number.
Just don’t go.
He opened my car door. “You sure you can drive?”
“No problem.” Actually, I wasn’t sure I could add two plus two at the moment, much less navigate a dark mountain road, but no way was I going to ask him for more help. I’d sleep in my car if I had to.
Why didn’t he ask for my number? I’d already asked for his address, and he’d brushed me off. I didn’t want to strike out twice. I pulled the tattered edges of my pride around me and kept my mouth shut.
“How long till you get home?” he asked.
“About an hour.”
He held my gaze.
Was he finally going to say he wanted to see me again?
Nothing. Zilch. Nada.
“You sure I can’t send you something? A thank-you note? A pizza dinner?” So much for keeping my mouth shut.
“Nah. But thanks.”
I lifted my chin and told myself it was for the best. Life was never as good in reality as it was in a dream, and this moment was definitely a dream. Besides—jeez, how quickly I forgot—I wasn’t dating right now. Especially not super-hot guys who were kryptonite to my good reason. I was on a man fast.
Man fast, Hannah.
“Well, thanks again, Jake,” I said, aiming for nonchalant.
“It was great meeting you, Hannah. Promise me RICE when you get home and the doctor in the morning.”
“Promise.”
Again, there was a long silence, both of us not saying the last thing that needed to be said. How can I see you again?
I settled myself in my car and turned on the ignition. “The Way You Make Me Feel” by Michael Jackson blared from the radio, and I fumbled to turn off the volume. Michael was singing about being turned on.
Not awkward at all.
Jake closed my door, and I rolled down the window. This was it, then.
“Bye, Jake.”
“Bye, Hannah.”
I settled my left foot in an awkward, painful position and put my right foot on the gas. I pulled out of the gravel parking lot, wondering who Jake the hot hottie really was.
Wondering if I would ever see him again.
Prologue
Jake
I watched Hannah drive away and called myself a thousand kinds of a fool for not getting her phone number. She’d said she had an hour’s drive home, so good bet she lived in Boulder. Just like me. It was a small enough town we could easily run into each other. But a big enough city that we just might not.
I’d be leaving town in a few months, anyway. And I had too much to get done before I left. I had no time for sexy, babbling, cute-as-hell distractions.
The thing was, I wanted to see her again.
I limped over to my truck. My leg was killing me. I hated that it was still so weak.
I opened the passenger door, popped open the glove compartment, and found the bottle of acetaminophen that I kept in there. No stranger to mixing painkillers, I downed three in one swallow.
Hannah.
Man, she was cute. I was totally attracted to her. Her legs, her crazy hair, her fun smile. And her silly sense of humor.
I climbed into the truck and flipped on the headlights, wondering if I’d pass her green Subaru on the way down the canyon.
I drove fast, hoping to catch up to her. But I never did.
Chapter 1
Hannah
Three Weeks Later
There wasn’t supposed to be a “good” or a “bad” in yoga, but if there were, I would have been on the “bad” side. I took a sip of my clandestine drink—an icy Diet Coke hidden in a handmade ceramic mug—and wished I’d brought some Oreos. These weekly studio meetings could get tedious.
“I’ve arranged for three students to clean the studio in exchange for unlimited yoga classes,” Annette said. We were going around in a circle, yoga style, and sharing our weekly management chores. The four of us were co-owners, brand-new co-owners, of Bloom Yoga Studio, and we had our work cut out for us.
A few months ago, when the previous owner had decided to stay in Costa Rica with her surfing instructor and “liquidate her material American life,” we’d been the only teachers who’d stuck it out. We’d shown up for our classes, determined to keep the studio running. Bloom Yoga Studio, we discovered, was important to the four of us, each in our own way. After a lot of conversation, some “vision boards” (insert eye roll here), and some much-needed (on my part) wine, we’d pooled our money together and bought the business.
Now it was officially ours, and Yoga Week, the big promotion we were dumping everything we had into, was all we could talk about.
“I’m in contact with another student about doing some promotional work,” Annette continued. “Yoga Week is only two months away.”
“Two months away!” Jennifer pressed her hand to her cheek in the most adorable expression of stress. Wearing a brightly colored scarf over her dark hair and a crop top, she looked half Romani, half Urban Outfitter. “We need to get our act together. Maybe I should change priorities.”
“What’ve you been doing?” Annette asked.
“I’m working on finding new management software and a point of sale system. We need to overhaul the bookkeeping.” Jennifer sighed. “I don’t know what Stacey was thinking. Her accounts are a mess. I can’t find a single profit and loss statement. If you aren’t analyzing financial reports on a regular basis, you’re running your business blind. We need to keep close tabs on the money.”
That’s because we didn’t have any money to spare.
“I think you should continue to focus on bookkeeping,” I said. I needed every penny coming my way. “I’ve been laid up with my ankle, but I did manage to search online and order new props. Mats, blocks, straps, blankets, everything will be upgraded from what was transferred with the sale of the studio. It’ll all be here for Yoga Week.”
“You’ve been searching online?” Crystal, our resident commune-raised bohemian, asked.
“Yeah.” The sparkle in her eye made me wary.
“Did you google Jake?” She said his name like Jaaaaake, with a trill in her voice. “The sexy mountain hero?”
“No.” Yes.
“Don’t you want to find him?” Jennifer asked. “A man like tha
t is—”
I waved my hand, half wishing I’d never told them the tale of my sprained ankle and my steamy rescue. I did want to find him, but my search had come up empty. “It was all a dream. A sexy, albeit painful, dream.”
“Life is what dreams are made of,” Crystal said.
Annette frowned. “What?”
I shook my head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Crystal laughed at herself. She might have been a little far out there, but she did have a good sense of humor. “I think I said it wrong. Or maybe not.”
These ladies—Jennifer, Annette, and Crystal—were on the “good” side of yoga. They were practically born with “Om” and “Namaste” tattooed on their butts. Their drinks were coconut mate chai’s and kale ginger juices and plain ol’ double-filtered, oxygenated, alkalized water from a hidden spring in Finland.
They were kind, generous, and gorgeous.
I was the odd duck of the group.
“Well, I have some excellent news.” Crystal grinned. She was sitting in perfect half lotus with a straight spine, like her foot wasn’t asleep and her ass shouting move. She brushed her long blonde hair over one shoulder. “I finally got in touch with the reporter from the Gazette. She wants to come to the nine a.m. class tomorrow, and will feature our studio in Thursday’s paper.”
Nine a.m. tomorrow? My eyebrows winged up. That was my class.
Jennifer gave a little clap. “A good article in the paper is exactly what we need to bring in more students.”
“Does it have to be nine a.m. tomorrow? I think it would be better if she came to one of your classes,” I hedged.
Jennifer glanced at Annette, her brows slightly raised. If I read her expression correctly, she agreed with me but couldn’t say it out loud.
“Your class is great, Hannah!” Crystal cheered. Her face beamed with the glow one can only get from a daily dose of liquid chlorophyll.
“Sure, I don’t think my class is bad or anything, but it’s nothing special. You guys teach all the cool stuff, the meditation and yoga philosophy and all that. I’m just pretty much bread-and-butter yoga. Nothing wrong with it, bread and butter drives the Western world, but sometimes a little spice is more…flavorful. Why don’t one of you just teach my class tomorrow?”
Breathless (Yoga in the City Book 1) Page 2