Breathless (Yoga in the City Book 1)

by Leigh LaValle

  “Did it hurt at all?”

  He shook his head. “Felt great.”

  “Great. We’ll do a few seated stretches and shavasana.” I needed this private to end before I threw myself at him and licked him all over.

  We did some seated forward bends and twists, then he lay back in shavasana. His eyes were closed and his arms and legs were thrown open like he’d fallen asleep on the beach. Like he’d just had awesome, mind-blowing sex.

  Gutter, meet my mind.

  I wanted to climb on top of him.

  I was the most unprofessional yoga teacher ever.

  The music ended, and he rolled over and sat up. His face was soft, his hair mussed, his gaze hazy.

  “That was great. Thank you.” He stretched out his right leg, testing it. “I think those poses will really help.”

  “It’s a tried-and-true series. As long as you pay attention to your alignment, you can’t go wrong.”

  “I like it. I can do them at camp, when the weather is bad and we’re sitting around.”

  My heart stuttered at this reminder that he would be leaving in a few months. “You must be excited.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Sure. But I have a ton of work ahead of me before I go.”

  I stood up and turned off the music. “Your family must worry.”

  “My dad is pretty chill. But it drives my cousin Brian nuts. He thinks I’m just determined to throw myself into danger at every turn.”

  I turned these words over and over in my head. “Is it dangerous?”

  “It’s actually not if you’re prepared, patient and smart about it all.” He shrugged. “Well, not as dangerous anyway.”

  “Is that what you like about it? The challenge?”

  “I just like being outside in the mountains.”

  I looked at him a second longer, and thought about what I’d seen on the path when he’d saved me from mountain lions, what I’d seen in every picture on his wall. “You don’t like being outside in the mountains,” I said softly.

  His eyebrows flew up.

  I smiled. “You like being inside the mountains. That’s why you go.”

  I felt rather than heard the breath leave his body. It was long and hard, a very nice Viloma breath.

  A very hot, masculine breath.

  He didn’t say anything, just stared at me with pinpoint focus while the sun rose outside. Its rays slid through the front window, gilding the room. My breath came out, long and slow like his had. I felt incredibly uncomfortable at the way he was staring at me.

  I felt incredibly aroused.

  Incredibly seen.

  I see you too, Jake.

  I nudged my chin up a notch and forced myself to hold gaze. “I’m sorry for all the stuff that happened to you. The war and your leg and your friend Cody.”

  His face froze. I curled my toes, hoping I hadn’t said the wrong thing.

  “All that stuff,” he repeated.

  “Yeah.” My heart hammered. I felt naked before him, wanting to give comfort even as I sensed he would reject it. “I’m sure it was all pretty awful and, well… You know.”

  “Hmm, in fact, I do know. About all the stuff. The pretty awful stuff.” His eyes were locked on mine.

  Neither of us spoke for a while, just looked at each other. Everything was changing. Shifting. Growing and expanding, yet coming back to the very center.

  “Let me take you out to coffee,” he whispered.

  “Okay,” I whispered back.

  And then, oh, it came slowly, but come it did: a grin. A big, self-assured, shit-eating grin.

  Cocky bastard.

  The girls at the coffee shop watched us come in. One raised her brow at me, like how did you get so lucky? Jake ordered a large coffee, black. I ordered a soy mate chai latte.

  “Does that even taste good?”

  “Honestly, no. Hey, Linda, just make my usual.”

  “A medium caramel latte, full fat, double whip, extra shot of expresso?”

  I glared at her. “Yeah.”

  Jake laughed. “Why order the soybeans with a side of hot grass? You trying to impress me?”

  I shrugged and glanced at him from the corner of my eye. “Are you impressed?”

  “No.”

  I laughed, free and happy. I didn’t need to pretend to be something else around him. And it felt amazing.

  We found a table by the window and sat down.

  I didn’t know how to explain myself. Something as simple as ordering coffee became this big battle. I couldn’t just get what I wanted, I needed something different. Something better, healthier, more hip. Like what I wanted, what I enjoyed, was wrong.

  Right now, what I wanted was to take Jake back to my house, strip him naked, and explore his hot, hard muscles with my mouth.

  Instead, I sat on my hands and clamped my mouth shut.

  “How are things going at the studio?” he asked, then winced. “Other than the noise I mean.”

  “We’re gearing up for Yoga Week. I have to figure out what my big, important offering to the world is. No pressure or anything.”

  He sipped his coffee. “Social media’s a good place to start. You could do some posts, test out ideas, and see what kind of response you get.”

  “Yeah, I guess. I just don’t know what to post that yoga people would be interested in. No one wants an anatomy lesson on their Facebook feed.”

  “So do something else that ‘yoga people…’” he used air quotes around my earlier words, “…would like.”

  I laughed. “Well, that’s the problem, I’m not like other yoga people. I’m kind of a yoga misfit. I drink Diet Coke and eat pizza like it’s my last meal. What am I going to say, ‘Green Drinks That Won’t Make You Want to Puke’?”

  He laughed, and I grinned. It was nice to tell the truth to someone.

  His gaze held mine. “Sure. Why not?”

  My brows flew up. “Well…” But I couldn’t think of an argument.

  “I’ll bet there’s a ton of people who think yoga’s some rarefied thing, that if you do it, you have to become a ‘yoga person.’” He used air quotes again. “And only special people can do it. Same for eating healthy food. It just seems...complicated. You make things seem...easy. Do-able.”

  “I do?”

  He lifted his coffee mug for a toast. “Yes, you do, yoga rebel.”

  I toasted back, happiness blooming through me. “Yoga rebel. I like that. It’s better than a yoga misfit.”

  “See? Win for me.” He sat back, his eyes sparkling. “I think you should go out with me.”

  “You do, huh?” I couldn’t help my smile. I should be annoyed by his persistence, but I wasn’t. Not in the least.

  “Yes, I do. I think you should go out to dinner with me, and order whatever you want. In fact, the greasier it is, the better. I’ll take you somewhere that has nothing remotely healthy on the menu.”

  I raised a brow. Something was knocked off-kilter in my chest. This guy saw me. The real me. “And why would I do this?”

  He reached out and touched my arm. “Because I like you. And you’re hot. And I want to see you in something other than yoga pants and jeans. Not that you don’t look good. But I want to see you in a skirt with your hair down.”

  “This sounds like it’s more about you than me,” I teased.

  “What, do I look like some kind of a saint? Of course it’s about me.” He grinned so that brackets framed his mouth. Then his face grew more serious. “I just like spending time with you, Hannah. We can go out as friends, if that sounds better.”

  Jake was the worst possible guy for me to get involved with.

  “You’re leaving town in a few months,” I said.

  “But I’m here now.” He took a sip of his coffee. “It’s just a little bit of fun. I think you’re pretty and funny and sexy and slightly nutty. I think about you all the time. I want to see you more, while I’m here.”

  I glanced down at the table. He was open and honest, I
’d give him that.

  He was making it clear what he wanted—a few months of fun. Something light and easy. I couldn’t go into this expecting anything more. When he left, he left. I couldn’t put my life aside, thinking he’d come back ready to be my boyfriend again.

  In some ways, it was the perfect agreement.

  A practice boyfriend.

  “I have to think about it,” I said.

  “What are you afraid of?” he asked.

  How did you tell a man you were just pretending to be normal? That underneath the cool yoga teacher façade, you were terrified of losing yourself again. Not just losing yourself, but being lost, lost, lost. That you were terrified of being cold, alone, desperate, and broke. I had climbed my way out of the worst moment of my life, fought to find stability again, and come to Boulder to put down roots and ensure I never ended up there again. Jake threatened all that.

  He sat back when I didn’t say anything. But there was a gleam in his eyes, and I knew this wasn’t over.

  I stopped at the grocery store on my way home. I was standing in line, waiting to check out with an actual human cashier, when I saw a selection of bride magazines. Colorado Bride, The Knot, Wedding Belles. The brides looked so happy and safe in their virginal white gowns. I opened one up and flipped through. My mind flashed to Jake and me. He would look so great in that suit. And I’d wear this dress. And we’d be married outside, of course. And he’d look at me with so much love in his eyes—

  “Lady, you ready?”

  I pulled my head out of the magazine. The checker was staring at me, a little annoyed.

  I jammed the magazine back on the rack.

  What was I doing? Imagining us getting married?

  It was time to get out of there.

  “I’m ready.”

  Chapter 12

  Jake

  I stared at the dry erase calendar in front of me. Shit. Eight weeks. There was no way to get it all done in eight weeks.

  My first priority had to be training. I filled in every day with something: weights, trail running, swimming, hiking with a weighted pack, climbing, biking, yoga. I needed to be a machine. Then I put down my work schedule—the Turner-Smythe renovation project and the Carter home.

  I stood back and studied my calendar. I could schedule every minute of every day if I wanted to, I was that busy. It didn’t leave me much time, but I hoped to see Hannah in there too.

  The girl was driving me crazy.

  She had to agree to go out with me.

  So far, I’d managed to keep my romantic life from interfering with my personal goals. I’d dated, but nothing serious. Nothing that veered me from the hard path ahead of me.

  Hannah was definitely diverting me off course. Something had shifted during our last private class. More than just her knowing about my leg and about Cody. My world was off-kilter. I wasn’t sleeping well. I couldn’t concentrate. And I found myself wandering by the studio, hoping for a chat, when I should be at work. Sometimes I just wanted to talk to her. What was up with that?

  I scrubbed my hands over my face.

  I was even bending over backward to accommodate her quiet-hours request. I’d pissed off a few of our contractors and put my own time schedule in jeopardy. I might as well shoot myself in the foot.

  Get it together, Marshall.

  Going to Alaska was bigger than just me.

  I owed this to Cody. He was dead, I was not. Those scales were not balanced.

  I rapped my hand on my desk. Wake up, dude. Never weakness. And I got to work.

  First order of business, I picked up the phone and called Sarah Carter. I had to tell her I couldn’t manage the build of their dream home. I could design the hell out of it, but I couldn’t oversee the construction. I couldn’t be two places at once.

  Luckily Sarah Carter answered—this wasn’t something I could say on a message. She was disappointed, but I convinced her to stay with the firm through the construction. Brian would be upset, but he wouldn’t lose their business.

  I hung up the phone feeling oddly empty. Truth was, I hated to give up this project.

  Second order of business.

  Hannah.

  I grabbed my yoga mat.

  Either she’d go out with me and I’d get her out of my system before I left, or I’d get over her now. Either way, I needed to get control over myself. Rule Number 1 of Jake Marshall’s expeditions: everything, absolutely everything, is left behind.

  I biked to the studio and showed up early. The door was open, but Hannah wasn’t there.

  “Hello?” I called out.

  “I’m in the back. Sorry, I had to reschedule,” Hannah replied. “Jennifer had already booked the space for her own private this morning.”

  “No problem.”

  I unrolled my mat and sat down to wait.

  She came out carrying an opened box. She put it on the ground by the other props and pulled out a stack of yoga blocks. “We just got these in. I want to try them out today.”

  She straightened and smiled at me.

  That zing shot through me. And I knew I was in trouble. No other woman had ever made me feel the way she did. And she was only smiling at me. What would it be like to make love to her? To spend a weekend together?

  To tell her the truth?

  I sat up, cold trickling down my spine. Why in the hell had I thought of that?

  Control. Not weakness.

  Never weakness.

  She bent down and put two blocks by the top of my mat. Her boobs looked hot in her little tank top this morning. Hell, every morning.

  “Let’s review what we did on Tuesday, then add in some arm balances at the end,” she said.

  “Works for me.”

  Her hair was in a thick braid, and her shirt said: Stay wild, moon child.

  She was cute as hell.

  And a complication I didn’t need. “Before I forget,” I mumbled, “I managed to move most of the contractors away from the quiet times, but not all. Plus, my crew needs to get some work done on the hurry up. I’ll send you an email with what I arranged.”

  She shot me a look. “Okay. Thanks for trying.”

  We stood up, and I flowed through the sun salutations and standing poses. I was a machine. This yoga was for my knee. For my trip. I was a model of focus and execution. Her hands on my body were a medical touch. Meant only to assist.

  No weakness. Never weakness.

  Then Hannah stopped and grabbed two blocks for herself. “I’ll demonstrate the crow first, then you can try it.”

  She positioned herself at the top of her mat, moved through a down dog to a squat-like position with her hands on the ground.

  My heart skipped a beat. Then pulsed hard.

  Hannah was all business in the front. But party in the rear.

  I could totally see her thong through her yoga pants.

  “You bring your hips up into the air and roll onto your toes, but keep your elbows bent,” she said. “To begin, you roll off your feet and balance your knees on your triceps, drawing in your core to hold you up.”

  Her ass was in the air. And I was just lost.

  I knew I should look away, but I didn’t. She obviously had no idea her pants were stretched thin when she squatted down like that. Her thong lay across her ass like a green ribbon—an emerald green ribbon wrapping the best present a man could want.

  Sweat prickled across my forehead, and I clenched my jaw.

  She lowered to her feet, turned, and glanced back over her shoulder at me. I wanted to take her from behind. Grab her ass and pull her back onto my cock until she took it all. She said something about something. I had no idea what. I would wrap my hand in her hair and fuck her until she came. She bent her knees in some position, and I nodded, but I was lost. My brain was misfiring.

  Thong. Thong. Thong.

  Ass. Ass. Ass.

  She gave me a weird look, and I wondered what she saw in my face. I tried to relax my jaw. Tried to look innocent. But she blushed a
nd rolled over and stood up. Electricity crackled between us. Her chest rose and fell with her sharp breath. Her nipples hardened. Her eyes darkened.

  Mine.

  She cleared her throat and dragged her gaze away.

  “Want to try it?” she asked, breathless.

  I racked my brain. Try what? Taking off her thong? Licking her from top to bottom?

  “The crow pose.” She waved her hand toward my mat when I didn’t reply. “It shouldn’t bother your knee at all.”

  I shook my head and tried to pull my mind out of my pants. Or, more specifically, her pants.

  “Can you show me that again?” I said, because I was a glutton for punishment.

  And she did.

  Thong, thong, thong, ass, ass, ass.

  Chapter 13

  Hannah

  I ended my private lesson with Jake feeling totally flustered. He hightailed it out of the studio, and I sat there for a while, wondering what had just happened to get him so riled up. He’d looked like he’d wanted to devour me.

  A shiver swooped through me and landed with a heavy pulse in my pelvis. Just how long could I say no to this guy before I gave in? Not long. Heck, I’d already given in.

  Crystal, Jennifer, and Annette soon showed up to practice yoga before our weekly meeting. The girls had their kale-flax crazy drinks going, and I was sucking on a mint, trying to hide the double espresso I’d drunk earlier.

  We put our mats in a circle and flowed through our own variations of the Ashtanga Primary series. None of us were ashtanga teachers, but it was such a great series and easy to remember. I poured all my nervous energy into my practice. When I finally looked up, I realized I’d been whipping through the poses faster than anyone else. I was almost done with my wide-legged standing poses, and Crystal was still on Sun Salutation B. She kept stopping and standing in stillness, her eyes closed, her hands in prayer position. She looked like she was totally into it, like she was really feeling the vibes or whatever.

  It was obvious she was tuned in to something, and I had no idea what the heck it was.

  I tried to slow myself down. But it became this silly thing where I was watching everyone else, gauging their speed and trying to modify mine appropriately. It wasn’t like I was turning my attention inward and feeling. I was just competing in a different way—who could be slower and more spiritual in their practice? Like I could win at being tuned in.