Breathless (Yoga in the City Book 1)

by Leigh LaValle

  “Waltzed, did I?” A grin lit up his face. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. “I’m not sure I’ve been accused of that before.”

  “Yes. Waltzed.” God, what was I saying?

  Jake spread his arms wide, a conciliatory gesture, and smiled his smile that must make panties wet for miles. It was dangerous and altogether disarming, that smile. Full lips and white teeth and crinkles at the corners of his warm brown eyes.

  “You aren’t taking me seriously, Jake.” I wanted to stomp my foot.

  “I’m sorry.” He wiped any hint of amusement from his face.

  But he didn’t seem sorry. He seemed like he was trying not to laugh. Infuriating man.

  “You broke our window, you’ve polluted the space with your noise, and you stole our news article.”

  “Polluted the space with my noise? I guess I have to plead guilty. On all accounts of waltzing and polluting and being charming.”

  “Then why are you laughing?”

  “It’s a good laugh, believe me. I’m not laughing at you.”

  “Well, you’re not laughing with me, because I’m not laughing.”

  He let loose a full-throated chuckle. “You are something else. I wish everyone would treat me like a normal dickhead guy.”

  I didn’t know how to take that, so I just glared at him. Or I tried to, anyway.

  His eyes were so freaking alive, so electric. I couldn’t think straight. So, I glanced down at his mouth. Big mistake. My God, what a mouth, gorgeous lips framed by hard cheekbones and a square jaw. My gaze slid lower, over his chest and shoulders, over his flat stomach and trim hips.

  I was desperate to find anywhere for my eyes to land. His forearms—thick with corded muscle. His strong hands, which could be so gentle. Even his freaking ears were cute.

  I was so lost. Beyond lost. Hopelessly lost. I was in another galaxy. Farther than that, in another dimension. One that consisted only of want. Of energy-zinging, heat-flushing, heart-pumping want.

  I wanted him to lift me up, press me back against the wall, and kiss me until I didn’t know my name.

  But the guy was Mr. Popular.

  He was my landlord.

  He was off-limits.

  In fact, he was number one on my list of “Top Ten Guys I Shall Never Again Date.”

  I settled on studying my hands. A neutral place for my eyes to rest.

  He at least had the courtesy to stop laughing. “All right, Hannah. What do I need to do to make amends?”

  Kiss me, for starters.

  “Well, the reporter seemed to like you.”

  “No way.” He was sober now. I dared to look back up. All lines of amusement were gone. “Nothing with the reporter.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t want any press. I wouldn’t give Cathy Cook the interview she wanted. Notice there aren’t any quotes from me? No recent photos?”

  “Huh.” I hadn’t noticed that. I rubbed my fingers over my lips. His gaze snapped down to my mouth.

  Did he remember that almost-kiss too?

  “Everything Cathy Cook wrote is public record. Except the quote from Brian. Fucking Brian,” he muttered under his breath. “The last thing I want is people asking me questions.”

  I flushed hot, and not sexy hot. “Oh. Well then. I guess I’m sorry for assuming the worst,” I mumbled.

  He arched a brow. “What did you say? I didn’t quite catch that.”

  “I said I’m sorry.” I projected my voice loud and slow, as if I was talking to a geriatric.

  He was quiet for a moment, laughter dancing in his eyes. The right side of his mouth, the side with the scar, drew back in a slow, sexy half smile.

  “You’re forgiven.” He bowed his head like the pope, like a royal blessing.

  I glared at him playfully, wanting to say something witty but at a loss for words. A drill cut through the air, loud and sharp and monotonous. The moment broken, I turned on my heel, ready to walk away before I did something I’d regret. Like babble. Or throw myself at him.

  “Hey, Hannah.” He reached out and caught my arm. He waited to say more until I turned around and met the blinding electricity of his eyes. “I really didn’t mean for that article to happen. Okay?”

  I nodded, believing him. “Okay.”

  He was still holding my arm. “I think I should make it up to you. Over dinner.”

  “Um.” I shook my head. “I don’t…I don’t know. You own the building. It could get awkward.”

  I couldn’t believe this guy was pursuing me. He was so hot. So out of my league.

  He dropped his hand, fished through his pockets, and handed me his business card. “You can contact me here if you need anything.” It read Jake Marshall, Marshall Architecture. There was a phone number listed. That was it. I was so used to yoga teacher cards with Rumi quotes and flowers and sunrises… This was so masculine. So simple. So sexy.

  Man, I was lost if I thought his business card was sexy.

  “And I mean anything.” He winked at me.

  Yup. Lost.

  Jake went back to his crew outside, and I cranked up the music to drown out the sounds of sawing and hammering. A dance in my step, I tacked the lights to the plywood in a swirl pattern, then hung the curtains over it. It wasn’t as nice as a real window, but it would do for the time being. Then I found some cans of old paint in the bathroom and set about making the outside of the studio look less A riot was here and more Relax, it’s all good. I painted a large lotus flower over the boarded-up window, then added all kinds of colors around it to cover the pressed wood.

  All those crappy apartment renovation skills had finally come in handy.

  I’d lived on my own a lot over the years and learned to be creative with cheap chic. Growing up, life with my mom had been quiet and modeled on self-sufficiency. If something broke, we fixed it. When I was old enough to move out, I decided to rent a studio apartment. What would I do with a bunch of chatty roommates? I found it easier to just be on my own. Which meant I did everything for myself, like minor repairs, decorating, and keeping within a one-woman budget.

  As I painted over the wood, my mind wandered to Jake. I had a tendency to daydream, and he was great motivation.

  I’m dressed in the perfect yoga outfit, all calm and Zen-like when I see him. He’s wearing jeans, work boots, and no shirt. Heck yeah, he’s gorgeous, thick in the chest and lean in the hips. I let my eyes linger over him for a moment, but I keep it together. No babbling or blushing or awkward moments.

  “Hello Jake.”

  “Hannah,” he says. He sounds breathless. My beauty and poise have overwhelmed him.

  I toss my hair—glossy and tame for once. I am totally in control. “Would you like—”

  “It looks better without the window. You can thank my crew for breaking it.”

  I gasped in surprise and almost dropped my paintbrush.

  Jake. In the flesh. Wearing a shirt, unfortunately.

  He was standing beside me, arms crossed, looking at me.

  And I was totally not poised or in control.

  I brushed a strand of hair from my cheek with my forearm.

  Somehow, it was late afternoon. How long had I been outside?

  He was grinning. Sexy scar and all. The guy was toxic to a girl in the way chocolate was. Just blew through your self-control. My little fantasy about being so put together was just that—a fantasy.

  He nodded toward the painted wood. “Thanks for doing that. It looks a lot better.”

  “You’re welcome.” I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. I was cool. Flustered wasn’t even in my dictionary. I laid my paintbrush on the top of the paint can and stepped back. The boarded-up window did look a lot better.

  “Are you almost done? We need to bring the equipment over to this area.”

  I eyed the painting one more time. It would do. “Yeah, I can be done. What are you guys working on?’

  “Ironically, we’re working on the windows. You have some paint—�
�� He gestured toward my cheek. Oh, great. Just perfect. I wiped my sleeve across my face. He shook his head, then smoothed his rough thumb across my cheekbone. “There.”

  I swallowed.

  Finish what we started that day on the trail. Kiss me.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled. As long as I didn’t start babbling, I’d call it a win.

  Jake studied my face, then looked up at the building.

  “The structure still has most of its original windows, but they need to be retrofitted with tighter seals. The goal is to keep the historical character of the building but create better insulation and less air transfer. Unfortunately, the yoga window was new and will not be cheap to replace.”

  “Mmm,” was my so intelligent reply.

  “We’re going to do a three-stage green renovation…” he continued, still looking up at the building like he could see something there.

  My thoughts wandered as he explained about HVAC air systems and Active Solar Electricity Generation and the R-value of insulation. It wasn’t that I was bored—I was quite interested. It was just that his shirt was hugging his shoulders just so and his eyes had this light to them when he talked.

  It was just that he was so damn hot.

  I tried to shake it off and tune back in, but he was pointing to the building and drawing things in the air with his fingers, and I was distracted by the sight of his thick forearms. All that tanned skin and corded muscle.

  Finally, he stopped talking and I just kept nodding as if I’d heard everything he said and found it interesting.

  He stood there, arms crossed, watching me. Probably waiting for a reply.

  What does your scruff feel like?

  Do you think about kissing me?

  Do you have nightmares about the war?

  “That’s great,” I said, overly cheerful. “I’ll just clean up here and let you get to work.”

  Still he just watched me.

  My heartbeat jacked up, and heat flooded my face. I could feel the words building up inside me, like a geyser, waiting to explode. Old Faithful, preparing to make a mess of everything.

  Nice and clean and neat, that was my new path… No landlords. No charming men. And no babbling.

  “Well okay then bye have a good day see you tomorrow.” I grabbed my paint and ran.

  That was me. Keeping it klassy.

  The next morning found me back at the studio. I’d arrived early for a teachers’ practice with Crystal, Annette, and Jennifer. The three girls had known each other for years, and I was the new one. I felt a bit on the outside, but that was normal for me.

  So, when they were filling their water bottles after our yoga practice and talking over each other and laughing and touching and just basically fluttering around each other like a kaleidoscope of butterflies, I felt uncomfortable and a bit envious. I told myself it wasn’t a big deal, I told myself it should be familiar by now. The awkwardness, it was just me. It was like an old sock that fit perfectly. Shaped around the one weird toe.

  I continued to tally my classes for the week and tried not to feel lonely.

  If I could count my way to normal, I would have.

  Crystal was the first one to notice me, even though I was trying to make myself small.

  “Oh, Hannah,” she said, and it was all there in the tone of her voice. The recognition that I wasn’t one of them. I was relieved and horrified at the same time. “We’d love for you to join us on our hike after your class.”

  I waved my hand like it was no big deal. “Thanks. Maybe next time.”

  “Hey, nice job with the window. It looks great,” Annette said, all business. “By the way, I got a broken-up call from Stacey yesterday. She’s totally off the grid in Costa Rica and only received notice of the renovation the other day. Her mail was lost somewhere.”

  “I’m glad she didn’t lie to us. The renovation is crazy bad news, but what can we do? We can only move forward,” Jennifer said. So Zen. I wanted to puke. “On the bright side, have you seen the foreman, Jake Marshall? He can break into my windows anytime. The man is gorgeous.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to tell them that Jake was my sexy mountain man, my hot hero, but something stopped me. I wasn’t ready to share with these ladies yet.

  “If I were single, I’d be all over him like honey on a biscuit,” Annette said.

  “But he owns the building, which makes him our landlord. Wouldn’t that be unprofessional?” I asked.

  Annette tisked at me. “Our mothers worked hard for our sexual liberation. We should enjoy our freedom, not tangle ourselves up in business law and ethics.”

  “I’m all for free love,” I said. “Just not with someone who has any power over me.”

  “Now that’s where you’ve got it wrong. Girl, you have the power.” Crystal winked at me.

  I screwed up my face. “I dated my boss in the past. It didn’t end well. Actually, it ended just fine for him, but in a complete and utter disaster for me. So, no thanks. I learned that lesson the hard way.”

  “It’s a beautiful old building. I hope the restoration brings us lots of new clients,” Annette added, thankfully bringing the topic back to business. “Speaking of, we should schedule a meeting to discuss Yoga Week.”

  Jennifer scanned the calendar behind the desk. “How about next Friday, a week from today? We could do a practice, then meet over green drinks.”

  Bleh. I’d have to sneak in my Diet Coke again. But I smiled and nodded. “Works for me.”

  “I have a date Thursday night,” Crystal said, “but I’m already over him. So, I should be here no problem.”

  “Which guy is this? The tall one with the receding hairline or tattoo guy?” Annette asked.

  “Neither. He’s new.”

  Annette shook her head at her. “How do I not know these things?”

  “I can’t even keep track.” Crystal laughed. “Okay, Friday morning it is, then. Yoga and green drinks and an important business tête-à-tête.”

  As they filed out onto the sunny sidewalk, Crystal stopped and gave me a hug. I hugged her back and let go, but she kept on hugging me.

  I didn’t get hugging. Was it fast? Was it a long embrace? How was I supposed to know? Crystal let out a little humming sound, like she was really feeling me or something. I was so uncomfortable. Not about her, she was just being sweet. But about me. Was I supposed to do something?

  Finally, she dropped her arms, and I tried not to show my relief. “Have a great hike,” I said and waved.

  The girls left, and I had forty-five minutes before my class started. My class numbers had not added up very well. How was I going to pay rent and bills next month? I had a sick achy feeling, so I put on loud music and whipped through some Sun Salutations. I just wanted to drown it all out. Make the stress and self-consciousness move on. You are not welcome here, vulnerable Hannah. Only strong Hannah. I lowered into a plank, then back up, basically doing pushups but, you know, yoga style, then glided back into a Downward-Facing Dog. My blood was pumping, and I didn’t feel so afraid of the future.

  Yoga was good medicine.

  Chapter 4

  Jake

  I had a love/hate relationship with my doctors. On the one hand, they’d saved my leg. On the other hand, they’d caused me a boatload of pain and told me I’d never run or hike or ski or do anything again.

  I proved them wrong.

  Wearing one of those awful paper robes, I waited for my orthopedist to check out my knee. The first time I met this doctor, I was a mess. Jacked up on painkillers and anger and unable to walk. He’d seen me through the worst of it. Patched me up the best he could. But I was ready to be done with him. With all of it.

  “Jake,” he said, flipping through my chart as he came in and shut the door behind him. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine,” I lied.

  His head still tucked down, he glanced at me over the rim of his chart. “Fine, hm?”

  “Shitty,” I amended.

  He frowned an
d sat on a swivel chair in front of me, putting the chart aside. I braced myself for his lecture. He’d strongly warned me against going to Russia last year. I strongly didn’t listen to him. “You marked down pain and lack of range of motion in your chart.”

  “Yeah.” I shifted on the table, and the paper crinkled beneath my ass.

  “Anything else?”

  “There’s a new pain in my hip. My PT said it’s my psoas muscle, but none of the therapies are working.”

  “I see.” He tapped his finger and considered me. “It must be pretty bad to have brought you in to see me.”

  He knew I’d been avoiding him. “I’m going out again. To the Alaska Range in early June. I need to understand what’s wrong with my leg so I can fix it.”

  “And what if you can’t fix it this time?”

  “That’s not an option.”

  He took a deep breath and sighed. “I didn’t operate on you three times just so you could wreck your knee yourself. And you know that’s the likely outcome, if you push too hard. You could lose everything you’ve gained, for good this time.”

  “That’s why I’m here, Doc. To prevent that from happening.”

  “I’ll order a complete round of X-rays. For today, why don’t you show me what’s going on. And, until we know more, lay off the heavy training.”

  Stopping was not an option. I had 200 miles of alpine expedition to prepare for. Promises must be kept.

  He bent forward and palpated my scars. I gritted my teeth and let him touch me. Since he’d put in the last set of bolts and screws and metal plates, he knew the machine I was underneath my flesh. I looked out the window and felt the cage closing in. The physical pain I could deal with. It was the iron-clad memories, the lock of regret, that I couldn’t escape.

  “How’s work going?” he asked, trying to sound innocent and failing.

  “Good.”

  “Got some good projects lined up?”

  “The Turner-Smythe building on Main and two residential new builds.”

  “Still focusing on the environmental stuff?” He moved my leg this way and that, checking my range of motion. It hurt like a bitch, but I didn’t flinch.