Breathless (Yoga in the City Book 1)

by Leigh LaValle

  “Stop what?” I asked, as if I didn’t already know what he was going to say.

  “Stop running away.”

  “What the fuck do you know about running away?”

  “You’re right. I don’t know shit. So, why don’t you tell me?”

  I clamped my jaw shut. Some things were better left in the dark.

  “When you came back from Afghanistan, we all gave you a wide berth. Fuck, we’re a bunch of mountain-loving hippies. We know shit about war and what you were going through. When you decided to go to South America on your bum knee, who was I to say no. I bent over backward to make our partnership work and accommodate your travel plans.”

  Travel plans? Sounds like I went to the beach.

  “Then you went to Russia. Okay, we made do. But at some point, you gotta stop. You can’t keep living like this.”

  I didn’t know any other way to live. But I didn’t tell him this. He didn’t need to know the crap inside my head. The darkness. The barbed memories. The guilt. Right after the IED exploded, black dust enveloped my world. So thick I choked on it. So thick I couldn’t see. There was only shouts and panic and pain. And death.

  And survival.

  I made a fist. “I told you about Alaska months ago.”

  “Months ago? Business moves fast, dude. We can’t take all the big bids we want with you coming in and out.”

  “So, it’s about money.”

  “Fuck money. Have you seen your face?” He waved his hand at me. “You look like you got in a fight with a mountain and lost.”

  “It was a minor slip. I was never in danger.” Well, that wasn’t technically true. My knee had given out on me, and my face caught the brunt of the fall. I could have ended up dangling on the line, unconscious.

  He snorted. “So what, you just keep going out there and facing death because you didn’t fucking die in the fucking desert with Cody?”

  “Drop it, Brian.” My voice was a low growl.

  “Maybe you should go to therapy. Some PTSD shit.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Is this some kind of survivor’s guilt or something?”

  I clenched my fist and stood up, but he didn’t back down.

  “Do you think you deserve to die? Or is it that you’re too fucking afraid to live?”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means grow a pair.”

  I wanted to punch him in the face so bad, my fist ached. “I’ll resign if that’s in the best interest of the company.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it. Besides, you’re part owner. You can’t just resign.”

  I knew I was being willfully obtuse. But I wasn’t ready to face what he was saying.

  My throat tightened, and my brain went blank. I’d shut down. Put it all in a box and shoved it off the cliff.

  Brian and I were both breathing hard, like we’d been physically wrestling. If only we were kids and could solve this with a few punches, then walk away friends. But, somewhere along the line, life got complicated. Our problems got bigger.

  And I had no clue how to solve this one.

  So, I did the intelligent guy thing. I banged the wall with my fist and walked away.

  I showed up for my private lesson with Hannah bright and early Tuesday morning. Hannah was flipping open the lock as I approached, her ass framed by a stripe pattern on her pants. I heartily approved. She didn’t notice me but brushed her ponytail back and pushed open the door. Something clicked in my mind, and I remembered vague shadows of my dreams last night. Climbing, of course, wind on the high peaks blowing tattered prayer flags, some old friends from high school were there, God knows why, and Hannah. Hannah was there too. My mind drifted into heated, lusty pools of dream memory. She took her top off in my dream, and I touched her full tits and rosy nipples. My cock grew heavy at the image, wishing I hadn’t been so sound asleep. Usually my dreams sucked. Usually I saw Cody getting shot up, felt my leg being torn open, and I slept like shit. Last night was like a dream vacation. One I wanted to go on again.

  I scrubbed a hand over my face. I wasn’t sure I was supposed to be lusting after my teacher in these private lessons. There was probably some kind of karmic sexual harassment law.

  The bell chimed as I opened the door and headed into the studio.

  She tossed me a smile over her shoulder. “Morning.”

  Her smile punched me right in the chest. She didn’t have any idea how cute she was.

  “Morning,” I muttered back, dragging my eyes from her ass. I grabbed a mat from the back wall and laid it out on the floor. The sun was already cresting the horizon, so she hadn’t turned on any lights.

  Her brows snapped together as she walked toward me. “You look all beat up. What happened?”

  I knew she didn’t mean my fight with Brian yesterday—he just cut me up on the inside. She meant the bruises on my arm and cheekbone. “I had a fight with a thousand-foot cliff face. The cliff won.”

  “Looks like it.” She came so close our feet were almost touching. She wasn’t short, but the top of her head only came up to my chin. She gently ran her fingers over my bruised cheek. “Poor Jake.” She pouted playfully.

  “Will you kiss it and make it better?”

  Her gaze held mine, and her eyes were soft with concern. Concern for me. I felt it like a squeeze in my chest. Whatever this thing was between us, she cared for me. It was written all over her face.

  Slowly, she pulled me down by the shoulders and gently kissed my cheek. Once by my eye, and once near the corner of my lips. Then across my bruised cheekbone. They weren’t sexy kisses, but damn, they were sweet. And so soft. She smelled good, like something spicy and flowery. I kept my hands at my sides, letting her take the lead, drinking in her tender touch.

  She took a shaking breath and lowered her chin but kept her hands on my shoulders.

  “Thank you,” I murmured, straightening. “I definitely feel better. Though I still have more bruises…”

  She laughed and swatted my shoulder, then looked me up and down like she could see my bruises through my clothes. “Is your knee all right?”

  “It’s been better.”

  She frowned. “How are you feeling otherwise?”

  Broken. Buried in an avalanche of memory.

  “I feel old and out of shape.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I hardly think you’re old. I’m guessing you’re…I don’t know. Should I guess older or younger? What do men prefer?”

  “I’m thirty,” I said, letting her off the hook.

  “I was going to guess that.” She grinned playfully. “And no one could say you’re out of shape.”

  She ran her gaze over my chest. The dream Hannah flashed back into my mind. I wanted to grab her and kiss her until she forgot her name. I wanted to devour her.

  I sat down instead. I couldn’t sport a woody here, in these shorts. She’d think I was a pervert. I tried to change the direction of my thoughts. My knee. Brian. The renovation project. My narrowing timeline. But it was like trying to change the course of a raging river. My thoughts inevitably came back to Hannah. The pout of her lower lip, the curve of her calf, the freckle near her left collarbone. I wanted to kiss her in all those places.

  “Let’s start on our backs,” she said.

  Yes, please.

  I flopped back on my mat.

  “We’ll start with some breathing, unless you think you might fall asleep. We could start with something more energizing.”

  “I’m awake.” All of me was awake.

  “Great.” She rolled her mat out next to mine and lay down as well. She was close enough I could reach out and touch her. “Place your hands on your belly, and we’ll begin with long breaths. We’ll breathe in for a count of five, hold it for five, then breathe out for a count of seven, and hold it for seven. Ready?”

  “Ready,” I said. A light sheen of sweat broke out over my skin, and we weren’t even moving yet. I was just listening t
o her breathe.

  I pretended to focus on my breath and not her body; then she said, “Let’s move onto our hands and knees.”

  I was doomed.

  All hope was lost.

  She got up on her hands and knees like she was ready for me to take her from behind, doggy style. Then turned her head toward me with a coy smile. She totally knew what she was doing, the minx.

  I wanted to spank her.

  I was desecrating the ancient art of yoga all over the place. I should have left the studio, ashamed, and said ten Hail Marys or something. Even I knew I was crossing a line. But I didn’t know how to stop. My mind was like a dog after a bone.

  I got on my hands and knees. My palms were sweaty against the mat, and I had to rub them on my shorts first. Hannah was right. I should have hired a different teacher. A male teacher. But no way was I stopping now. I just wanted more. And more. And more.

  We did an up-and-down thing called Cat and Cow and a twist that looked easy when Hannah did it, but didn’t work with my body.

  Then we came to standing. Thank God. I needed her off her knees with her butt up in the air.

  We flowed through some Sun Salutations. Or Hannah flowed, and I clunked along like a broken-down truck with a flat tire and busted hood.

  Then we came to the standing poses, and she put her hands on me. All over me. My knees, my thighs, my shoulders, my feet, my wrists, my chin, my ribs, my belly. She adjusted my postures and murmured cues and was all up in my space. But I didn’t mind. We moved through pose after pose, and my legs shook, and she got closer and closer.

  At one point, she brushed her tits against my back. She was trying to help me align my legs, and I guess she just got too close, because there it was.

  Soft tits. Hard nipples.

  Hell.

  We both froze. The air charged around us like a storm brewing. Like clouds churning and sparking.

  “Oops,” she breathed. But she bit back a grin.

  “You aren’t playing fair,” I groaned.

  She lifted her shoulders in a sexy, playful shrug and I wondered what had gotten in to her. Whatever it was, I liked it.

  We wound down to that lying position that felt like heaven. Hannah softly arranged my arms and legs, did something with my neck that felt awesome, rubbed the ligaments of my knee and generally fussed over me. I loved every minute of it. Then she lay down beside me.

  My body was battered and bruised and I was sweaty, but I was finally relaxed. All the way relaxed, deep in my bones. And I had the sense, just the smallest sense, of what it would be like to put down the weight I was carrying.

  To breathe again.

  Hannah led me back up to sitting, and we did a little bow with our hands in prayer position, and I didn’t even feel funny. I just felt good. Happy.

  It wasn’t bullshit, the yoga rush. There was something about it—I’d never have claimed to know what it was—but it was heady stuff. Like a smooth shot of whisky after a long, cold day.

  Hannah watched me quietly, and I turned my head toward her.

  “Thank you,” I said. And I meant it. This was the most relief my knee had felt in months, maybe years. And my chest felt different too.

  Her lips tilted up at the corners and her eyes were bright.

  It was one of those good moments. One of the ones you fold up and keep safe for later. The sunrise. And the happiness. And Hannah.

  I drank it in.

  She leaned forward and ran her fingers over my cheek, just below the bruise. “Does it still hurt?”

  “A little.”

  “You always come back from the mountains like this?” She motioned toward my legs. I was so used to cuts and bruises on my shins, I barely notice them. But I had taken a beating over the weekend as well.

  I shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  “What are you doing out there? Trying to kill yourself?” Her tone was teasing, and I didn’t think she had any idea how close she came to the mark.

  I shook my head. “Just trying to stay alive.”

  Chapter 17

  Hannah

  Jake shook his head, then smiled that half smile. It was devastating to my heart.

  This was the happiest—the freest—I’d ever seen him look. Even with his thick scruff and that huge bruise on his face, some shadow had lifted.

  My heart ached for him. I wanted to do more for him, help him, heal him, chase the darkness away for good.

  His smile slipped as our gazes locked. There was something in his eyes. Something deep. Affection. Desire.

  Need.

  He needed me.

  Maybe it was just sex.

  Maybe it was more.

  Dammit, I was going to find out.

  He blinked and looked away and the moment was gone. The charming mask was back in place.

  “You want to get a coffee?” he asked, standing up.

  I shook my head and stood as well. “I’d love to but I have another client coming. Plus, I’m trying green tea this week. If I walk into Buzz, I’ll totally order something terrible and full of sugar.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re on a diet.”

  We rolled up our mats. “I don’t diet. Why set myself up for failure, you know? But I’m doing a little series for our Facebook page about trying new things. It’s called Ten New Things in Ten Days.”

  “I’ll have to read it.”

  I blushed. “It’s kind of silly.”

  He looked over at me, his brows raised. “Why is it silly? You’re an interesting woman, Hannah Roberts, with interesting things to say.”

  “I don’t know about that. I’m just me.”

  “Exactly.”

  I didn’t know what he meant, so I glanced away. But I felt something inside me. Something feminine and beautiful and blossoming. Some part of me rushed to the surface of my skin, shouting, Yes! See me!

  “I wonder how you can stand up in front your classes all day if you don’t have anything interesting to say,” he teased. “What do you talk about?”

  “Well, that’s different. That’s…” My voice trailed off. I didn’t know how to answer. Truth was, he had a point. How could I tell my students they were valuable, warts and all, if I didn’t believe it for myself?

  Silence settled between us. He put his mat away, and I turned off the music.

  “So, tell me something not interesting,” he said as he crossed the studio toward the door. “How long have you lived in Boulder?”

  “I moved here five months ago.”

  “From?”

  I plopped down on the stool by the front counter, uncomfortable talking about this part of my past. “A few different places. Most recently Santa Fe. Vermont before that.”

  He raised his brows. “Where are you from?”

  “California.” Though that had been a long time ago.

  He tilted his head. “You don’t seem like a California girl.”

  “I don’t feel like a California girl.” I was waiting for him to press and ask me more. But he let it pass. “Where are you from?” I turned the conversation away from me even though I knew the answer. I’d googled the guy enough to write a biography.

  “Boulder. I’m one of the few actual locals.” He pulled on his shoes.

  “It’s a great place to be from. I hope to stick around awhile.”

  “I hope you do too.” His eyes were warm again. Watching. Looking. There was something about the way he looked at me. Most people saw what they wanted to see. Or what I wanted them to see. It was all image and filter and expectation.

  But not Jake. He saw me. The real me.

  He walked over to where I sat. His eyes on mine, he put his hand on my thigh. “Thank you, Hannah.” He kissed my cheek, by my ear. His scruff on my soft skin, his breath near my ear sent a shiver down my spine.

  Then, he left me sitting there, sucking in breath. Wondering just when my life had begun to change.

  My Tuesday evening class was only half-full, but I didn’t let it bother me. My students
were in Warrior II pose, and I was talking about feeling grounded and strong while looking into the distance, accepting the future, and boom—I just knew.

  I could do this.

  I could go out with Jake.

  I didn’t want to keep small.

  I didn’t want to avoid challenges in order to grow. Whatever that meant.

  I wanted to live.

  In my excitement, I led the class through a series of backbends. They always made me feel like champagne inside. Bubbly and excited and happy. When class was over, I had a buzz going on inside. My students were satisfied, I was energized, and my future looked clear.

  I grabbed my phone and texted Jake

  Hannah: I’m in.

  He replied right away.

  Jake: In what? Something sexy, I hope.

  Hannah: In for a date.

  My phone rang, and I answered.

  “A dinner date,” he said.

  “Very well.”

  “With a dress.” His voice was smoky. “And high heels.”

  I smiled, not that he could see. “You don’t get to tell me what to wear.” A thrill raced up my spine.

  “Fine. I politely request you wear something short, to show off your legs. And sexy shoes.” He blew out a breath. Then laughed at himself. “Look how worked up you have me already.”

  “I thought I was supposed to beg.”

  “I like the sound of that,” he growled.

  Breath whooshed out of me. I squeezed my eyes closed.

  “Tonight?” he asked.

  “I—”

  “Shoot, training,” he interrupted. “How about Thursday?”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  I was dizzy already. I was never going to survive this date.

  “See you then, Hannah.”

  “Yup.” I gulped.

  I needed to go shopping. STAT.

  I texted the girls. I needed help.

  My mind was awhirl. I wanted to cancel. I wanted to find the sexiest dress in Boulder. I wanted to crawl under my covers. I wanted to have a fling with Jake, broken heart be damned. The man was sex on a stick.

  Annette answered my text first.

  Annette: What size are you?