18. June
EIGHTEEN
June
This is a huge mistake. I shouldn’t be touching him. I shouldn’t be admiring all the muscles bunching along his back and shoulders. And I sure as hell shouldn’t be picturing what it would look like if our positions were reversed.
I’m a professional. I need this to work to build up my business.
He has a freaking girlfriend, for Christ’s sake .
I ignore the fluttering in my chest, the way my breath catches in my throat, and push through. He follows all my directions, changing to the folding-forward pose to the triangle position, and finally I have him lie on his back.
This stretch is such a good one for the hamstrings, but as I squat, hovering over that sexy V peeking out from the top of his shorts, I question everything.
Ryan keeps his eyes on mine, electricity zipping over my skin until it settles deep into the pit of my stomach. Fine, it’s lower, but I’m a professional so I ignore that too.
His lids flutter closed the second my fingers brush across his abs, flexing beneath my touch.
It’s a struggle to keep my voice even, but I manage. Barely. “For this one I’m going to need you to bring your knees up. Yep. Just like that.” I step to the side, taking a deep breath. I will not look at his dick. I will not look at his dick. “And lift your butt off the ground. That’s it. A little higher. Does that feel good?”
And I look.
Dammit. Why did I ask him if it feels good?
“Yes.” He clears his throat, his words raspy, jagged like broken glass. “The stretch feels great.”
“Perfect.” Why is my voice so high? Why can’t I look away from his crotch? And why is something in there twitching?
I must be seeing things. He’s not hard right now. He can’t be. It’s all in my head, despite the evidence right in front of me.
My tongue feels thick, my mouth so dry it’s like sandpaper. “Hold that for a minute or two and you’re all set. I’ve got everything I need.”
I’m still staring at his dick, and I have no idea what’s wrong with me. I need to push Ryan so far out of my head that the next time I look at him, there will be no sexual thoughts. Not a single one. This date with Michael can’t come fast enough. I need to get out of his space and forget all about him, even if it’s only for one night.
But I’m not there yet, not even close. Seeing as how I can’t pull my gaze from his erection, I’m in the danger zone. So I do the only thing I can. I dance around his legs, grab my phone, and hightail it to the patio.
As soon as the door closes behind me, I’m gripping the rail, taking in mouthfuls of air .
Get a grip on yourself, June. You need his help. This can’t happen again.
I draw in breath after breath until my heart no longer feels like it’s going to rip from my chest, until my insides untie themselves from the hundreds of knots they’re in. This is why I knew moving in here was a bad idea. He makes me question everything. He makes me want things I have no business having.
Lusting after a taken man, the father of my child, won’t do me any favors.
“Hey. You all right?”
I nearly jump out of my skin and I cough, choking on nothing but my own oxygen.
“I’m fine.” I turn around, barely stifling a gasp. Ryan is directly behind me, so close that our chests nearly touch, and I have to tilt my head back to meet his stormy gaze. His eyes are so full of emotion, each one contending with the next. He’s confused, clearly fighting something, but I’m not so sure it’s the same thing. He can’t want me like I want him.
The wind catches his dark hair, flopping it on his forehead, and before I can stop myself, I sweep it away.
The second my fingers trail through his soft hair, time stands still. I’m frozen in place, and aside from a sharp inhale, he doesn’t move either. The air is thick, charged with an electricity that caresses down my spine and pushes me toward him.
He’s so handsome it hurts, a deep ache that’s been there, hidden below the surface since I left him in that hotel room all those years ago.
What would have happened if I stayed?
It’s a question I’ve asked myself over and over since our night together, and each time, the answer is different. Not that it matters. I left. I’m not the same girl I was back then, and I have so many more reasons why this can’t happen. Why it should never, never happen.
He shifts, his hand coming up to land on my hip, the pads of his fingers resting along my exposed side. “My leg feels great. And I’m more relaxed than I’ve been in days.”
“Yoga isn’t just for the body, it’s for the mind too. The spirit.” My words come out light, airy, and I’m not sure what’s happening to me.
“It’s you,” he says softly, so quiet I wouldn’t have heard him if I weren’t standing so close.
I don’t know what to say to that, and even if I had a response, I’m not so sure I could get it out anyway. Especially not as he leans down toward me. My legs tremble. My hand falls to rest on his shoulder, loving the feel of his skin, his strength.
His lips are centimeters from mine, and I’m powerless to turn around, to walk away, to break this spell he has me under.
My body is vibrating with need. I’m so desperate to feel his mouth on mine, his hands on my body. All the excuses, the reasons this won’t work, have faded into the background, and it’s just him and me.
No logic, no thinking, just his pull.
He leans a touch closer, just a—shit. Shit. I jump backward, the doorbell buzzing loudly as reality settles back in around us.
“Oliver,” I murmur, slipping past him and back into the house.
I don’t look at his face.
I can’t.
Not if I’m going to push him away.