Sacred Serenity (Lotus House Book 2)

by Audrey Carlan

  She turned around completely, and our eyes met. I couldn’t help it. I checked her out. Definitely in that sleazy, you’ve-got-a-great-body, will-you-hold-it-against-me way. Admittedly, it was a weak moment. Usually, I tamped down those base urges, especially when the object of my physical affection was standing in front of me. She stood with her hand on her lush hips and nipped-in waist, ample bosom heaving as if she’d just run a marathon to get here on time. Stunning.

  “Dash?” Amber’s head was tilted to the side. She hadn’t missed my blatant ogling. Let her see. Dancing around my attraction to her would not serve me in life or in this class. In order for my charges to feel a deeper connection, I couldn’t hide my own biological and emotional responses, or I’d be a hypocrite.

  I smiled and walked over to Amber, who self-consciously plucked at her knotted fingers. “Am I dressed okay?” she asked nervously. “I came straight from lab, and I didn’t want to be late. I’ll try to be ready before, but sometimes I might have to just drop my clothes when I arrive.” She bit her lip, and her eyes got wide as she realized what she’d said.

  Being the type of man not to miss those subtle slips in human response, I jumped on it like a pillow-top California King mattress, taking in her length and curves without hiding my response. “Feel free to drop your clothes for me anytime, little bird. Any time.”

  That beautiful pink blush I liked colored her cheeks on a wave. Then she shook her head and straightened her spine.

  “So what do I do?”

  I couldn’t help appreciating her lovely form from head to toe. Her body was ripe for the taking, and I wanted nothing more than to put my hands and mouth all over it. “You’re already doing it. Have a seat, get comfortable, and I’ll start class. Just follow my lead. If something feels uncomfortable, scratch your nose. Then you won’t disrupt others, but I’ll know to back off of something or to come back to it later so we can discuss. Sound good?”

  She nodded and then sat down on one of the yoga mats I had laid out on the raised section of the room at the front of class. She chose the orange mat versus the purple mat I’d picked for her. That single choice was very telling.

  A memory flitted into my mind. One where the co-owner of Lotus House Jewel Marigold was teaching a workshop on the chakras.

  “Something as simple as the color you wear most or the color you are driven to surround yourself with, can determine what chakra you are most connected with. Even the color of the yoga mat you use can be telling. For example, I always choose a royal-blue mat, wear a lot of royal blue, drive a blue car, and surround myself with the color all the time. Why?” she asked the class.

  “Because you are driven by the Vishudha or throat chakra in your daily life?” I answered in front of the room of thirty other aspiring yoga teachers during my training years ago.

  Her smile not only lit me from within from pride, but also set the room aglow. “Exactly. I most identify with the throat chakra or Vishudha as it’s called in Sanskrit. It suits my role as a teacher, professor, and scholar of the practice. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  I would and did. I found through her class and further study of the seven chakras and how they coincide with the body, mind, and spirit that I was most driven by the second chakra. The Svadhisthana or sacral chakra. Passion fueled me in all things, hence the reason why I now taught Tantric yoga and sex to couples who were interested in expanding their passions in and out of the bedroom.

  Amber’s choosing the orange mat, the very color of the second chakra, over the purple, which was a far more likely choice for most women, gave me a tiny speck of hope that perhaps once her inner kundalini or enlightened self was awakened, she too would be connected to the sacral chakra and driven by passion. There was no way in hell she wasn’t blocked. Even the most inexperienced gurus could see the way she avoided touching and speaking out. Her clothing choices were baggy and boxy, an obvious sign that she’s not in touch with her more feminine attributes, nor did she actively use those attributes to seek male attention. Something I hoped would change after eight weeks of training with me.

  “Welcome, class. You all know me, as I’ve had personal one-on-one discussions with all of you prior to the start of today’s first workshop. However, I want to introduce you to my assistant, Amber St. James. She is currently assisting to observe the practice and the class as her final project for a class at UC Berkeley. Amber will be following along as my partner, aiding me in showing you the finer points of tantra that require a mate. Any concerns?” I waited a full breath to ensure that none of my clients had a problem with her observing. I didn’t anticipate any and was glad that no one spoke up.

  “Okay then, I’m going to take you through a twenty- to thirty-minute hatha yoga routine to get our bodies in line with our physical selves and our breathing, or pranayama as it’s called in Sanskrit, all working together.”

  While I took the class through a series of poses, Amber followed along like a true yogi. Obviously, she’d taken a lot of the classes here because she knew every pose by name and moved into each one fluidly, without the detailed directions I gave the rest of the class.

  I ended the asana portion of the workshop with them in bound angle pose. I had the fifteen couples facing one another, their legs out in front of them with the soles of their feet touching. I instructed them to grasp their ankles and bend forward close enough so that their foreheads rested against one another.

  Amber and I faced each other and paired off. The moment my forehead met hers, I closed my eyes. A spark of electricity buzzed against our skin where we touched. Then I told each couple to place their right hand on their partner’s heart and hold their mate’s hand over where they were being touched. It was a grounding technique. However, the instant I placed my hand just above Amber’s heart, on the patch of slick skin above her breasts, her heart beat double time, sending my own into a rapid pace.

  I whispered to her, “Look at me.”

  Her eyes shot open, and her breathing became erratic.

  “Relax. Breathe with me. In for four beats through the nose and then out for four beats through the mouth.”

  She nodded and we breathed together. I could feel the heavy thud of her heart turn into an even thump after a few rounds of guided, measured breaths. Through breathing, she relaxed, closing her eyes once more.

  Then the craziest thing happened. Something that had never happened—not once, not ever before with another partner—our heartbeats began to synchronize spontaneously. Not only were we breathing evenly, our heartbeats matched.

  The simple, extraordinary occurrence speared ribbons of heat down my arms and into my hand where it rested over her heart. My hand became fiery hot, the chakras in my palms swirling in dizzying circles. I blinked a few times and watched in awe as her eyes opened, and those green orbs blasted straight into my soul.

  One thought flared in my mind as simple as flicking on a light switch.

  Soul mate.

  Spooked, I released our connection. Her head bobbed drowsily and her eyes opened, half-lidded while she blinked rapidly. I hopped up and walked through the room, pretending to assist the couples. Usually, I didn’t need to assist through a simple breathing exercise, but I needed a moment to put my head together, and distance from the ethereal being waiting on the riser was priority. What the hell was that?

  The zap of connection I’d had with Amber was far beyond anything I’d ever experienced with another human being. And I was including partners, friends, and past lovers. The ghost of her heartbeat still called to mine as I stood in the back of the class watching her take in each couple and write something down in a notebook she kept close enough to reach but hadn’t yet used since we’d started class.

  Cringing, I assessed her. She was relaxed, perfectly at peace as she sat on the stage writing in her notebook, whereas I was a maelstrom of doubt and insecurity, completely unusual responses from me. On the whole, confidence and the ability to center myself were traits I was proud of. But with this woman, th
e surprising jolt of a deeper union prevented me from being capable of centering my reactions.

  How could I have felt something so unique and she not be affected? Perhaps I mistook the experience for something that wasn’t there. Maybe I wanted something more to be there?

  Exhaling all the air out of my lungs, I vowed to find those answers and soon.

  Chapter Three

  The sacral chakra is where you will find a spiritual energy center that is directly connected to happiness and self-confidence. With every good attribute there are negative ones. The second chakra can also be linked to greed, fear, and an uncontrollable desire for self-preservation.

  AMBER

  Dash barely looked at me as he instructed the class through the final points and gave them each a homework assignment over the next two days to practice synchronized breathing techniques. When the last person left, I grabbed my notebook and found him rolling up a mat in the farthest corner of the room.

  “Hey, what’s the point of synchronized breathing?” I tapped my pen on the paper, waiting for his response.

  He lifted his shoulders dramatically, as if he was taking an extra large breath. I watched in fascination as the muscles in his back bunched and shifted delectably. It almost made me sigh. After another breath, he tossed the mat he’d rolled into the woven basket where the others were stored.

  “Why don’t you tell me what your experience was?” he asked and then turned around to face me.

  I thought back to when we sat facing one another. A sense of togetherness had come over me. “I didn’t feel alone.”

  He smiled, rolled another mat, and placed it next to the others. “What else? What did you hear?”

  Again, I scoured the experience with a mental toothbrush, moving over the finer, grittier points. “Your breathing and mine. It had an oceanic echo to it.”

  He nodded.

  “And I felt warmth. Your body was so warm.” While I spoke, my skin heated.

  “As was yours. You carry a lot of energy within you. When you were letting it out, I could feel it tingling around us. Could you sense it?”

  “Is that what that was? I had a moment where it felt as though a warm blanket had been placed over my shoulders.”

  His corresponding grin was huge. “Exactly. Now you’re getting it.”

  I grinned and scribbled down what we’d talked about, noting the finer points with bullets.

  - Unity

  - Warmth

  - Energy

  - Breath = Life

  “This is really great stuff, Dash. I can’t wait for Friday’s class.” I scribbled more notes, trying to remember how the couple who’d sat in front of me moved through their practice. It was hard because, a lot of the time, I was solely focused on Dash. The practice demanded it, which, I guess, was the point—unite with a partner or, in my case, his assistant. He wasn’t doing it to connect with me specifically, and I’d do well to remember that.

  “About Friday’s class, wear a sports bra, leaving your abdomen bare.” He said this nonchalantly, the same way a stranger asks how you are, and the corresponding reply is always, “Fine.”

  A chill swept up my spine. “Why?”

  He waggled his eyebrows, which confused me more. Was he playing with me or being serious? “Because I’ll be touching your bare skin.”

  That I did not expect. I swallowed, my throat so dry it would give the California desert a run for its money. “Can you be more specific?” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat of the tumbleweeds.

  Dash licked his lips, and one blond eyebrow rose up into his hairline. “I’d rather you experience it organically, the same way the class will. It’s more powerful if you are not anticipating my movements. Then your response will be honest.”

  “Honest response? Um, okay. But you’re not gonna touch me in my…you know.” I did a quick hand gesture to my breasts and lower half.

  He crossed his muscled arms over his chest, his eyes flashed a startling sienna, and his bearing clearly screamed offended.

  Shoot. Not what I was going for.

  “We do a lot of touching in this class, but I will never, ever lay my hand on a woman anywhere she isn’t comfortable. That’s why we have the itchy nose signal.”

  Right. The nose signal. It never dawned on me to use it in today’s class. Then again, I was more comfortable sitting with Dash, foreheads pressed together and hands touching, than I was curled up in a snuggly blanket on my grandparents’ couch watching a game show. And I’d been doing that my entire life.

  “Was touching your breastbone over your heart too much?” His head was cocked at an angle, waiting for my response.

  I wanted to say I’d rather he’d cupped my breasts, but that would be the sexy dream vixen Amber St. James—the one I pretended to be alone in my bed, not the real-life me. In the daylight hours, I held strong to my conviction to save myself for marriage. For me, more so than for God. Because it’s something I wanted. Most men, after a handful of dates and light petting, lost interest when I refused more. People didn’t want to find their forever mate. They just wanted to bring their bodies together in the most intimate way as a means to an end. I wanted the end to be forever, and I planned to give that final boundary to the one man who loved me in every way possible. It would be my gift to my husband. Only he would ever have all of me, and that included my virginity.

  Eventually, I shook my head. “No, it wasn’t.”

  “And I never plan to push you too far.” He stepped forward and cupped my cheek, his thumb tracing my cheekbone the same way he had yesterday. A thrill of heat whispered against my lower back. “There are so many ways I want to touch you, Amber, each with a promise of a deeply profound experience.” He leaned closer, resting his forehead against mine. The act was more intimate than any gesture I’d expected. “Promise you’ll trust me to take care of you.”

  I closed my eyes and focused on his minty breath, the scent of essential oils filling the air, but most importantly, his energy curling around me like a hug. “I’ll try.”

  “That’s all any man can ask. Now, I’m starving. You up for a sandwich at Rainy Day?” He pushed back, putting a good foot between our heads, but he wove his hand through the thick hair at my nape. I found myself nodding dumbly, not really hearing anything other than the whooshing sound in my ears that started the second he cinched his fingers at the roots of my hair. Even now, he was rhythmically tugging and releasing, massaging and tantalizing, an ounce of pain coupled with a tingle of pleasure. Sublime. A spiral of excitement zipped down my spine to settle hotly between my thighs. My center became heavy, and my clit throbbed.

  Is this what women feel before they’re ready to have sex?

  I coughed and backed out of his hold quickly, my mind scrambled.

  His brow tightened. “You okay?”

  “Uh yeah, just hungry. Shall we go?” I asked, my throat going dry while other parts of me, more private parts, slickened.

  “Lead the way.” He held his hand out in front of me.

  “No, that’s okay. You go ahead,” I offered, needing the distance.

  He shook his head and got close once more. “If you don’t walk ahead, I can’t check out your fine ass. And that, little bird, would be a travesty.”

  Dash put his hands on my shoulders, turned me, and guided me ahead of him with a light nudge.

  “Smokin’ hot,” he growled as I shimmied ahead of him down the hall, my legs eating up the distance between our door and the one that led us to exit the building.

  A sense of feminine pride filled my chest at his outburst, and I added a touch of sway to my hips. If he was going to look, I might as well give him a show.

  “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

  I frowned and stopped, firing him a pointed look over my shoulder. People hated being preached to, but I’d been raised not to take the Lord’s name in vain. It rankled my nerves. Still, I needed to remember that everyone was different. Besides, his outburst was a direct reflection of hi
s feelings about me. Well, about my body at least. He choked out a laugh. “What?” He smirked, and his square jaw tightened. Looking at him should be a crime. The exact temptation a girl like me shouldn’t want.

  “Enjoying the view?” I said with as much conviction as I could muster and waited for his reply. A burst of feminine pride caressed my skin and made my heart thump hard in my chest. This insanely hot man found me attractive. Me. Boring, book nerd, med student Amber St. James.

  Dash slung an arm over my tense shoulders. “There’s my proud swan.” He nuzzled my cheek, and I almost fell to the floor.

  My entire body was alight in sensation, awash with not only his scent but also his masculine essence. It practically caressed me. The feeling was overwhelming, the same way it had been when we’d touched one another’s breastbone and synchronized our breathing with our heads pressed together…only that times about a thousand.

  “I was wondering when she was going to surface. Interesting to see your feisty side come out.”

  “You were gawking at my bum and took the Lord’s name in vain. I was fighting my good and bad angels.”

  “Sounds like our first topic of conversation at lunch. Good and bad angels.” He winked. “Come on, little bird, let’s fly. Or in this case, let’s walk.” He slid his hand down my arm to my hand where he curled his fingers around mine and held tight…again.

  He held my hand firmly with intent and purpose. The same way he’d led me to the bakery yesterday. This time, we walked out of Lotus House hand-in-hand down the street to the Rainy Day café like any normal couple.