He stared at her, the image of himself twisting into odd positions in a room full of strangers not exactly appealing.“Yoga,” he repeated flatly.
Her smile widened, and she tilted her head, the tease in her tone unmistakable.“It’s great for core strength and flexibility.You might even find it relaxing.Or…” She let the word hang for a beat, her smirk deepening, “…if you don’t think you can handle it…”
His jaw flexed at the challenge in her voice.She knew exactly how to push him, and damn it, he found her wit just as intoxicating as the curve of her mouth.
“I’ll be there,” he growled, stepping close enough that the air between them charged.“Send me the address.”
Her laughter bubbled out, warm and playful.“Great!I’ll bring an extra yoga mat.”
She turned and descended the stairs, her ponytail swaying in rhythm with the confident sway of her hips.He tracked her every step, his jaw tightening as frustration and desire tangled in his chest.
As her SUV pulled away, he muttered under his breath, running a hand over his face.“Yoga.”
His only consolation was that he’d see her again tonight.And maybe—just maybe—he’d finally figure out how to break through her walls and make this infuriating, irresistible woman his.
But first, he’d have to survive a yoga class.
A slow, wicked grin curved his mouth.Oh, she’d pay for this little challenge—pay in ways that would leave her breathless, trembling, and thinking twice before ever daring him again.
Chapter 19
Rylan was in hell.
Not just any hell—this was the special, front-row, VIP section of hell reserved for overconfident idiots who thought they could impress a woman by stepping into her world without the faintest preparation.
“And now, come back to downward dog,” the yoga instructor announced in a calm, Zen-like voice that made Rylan want to throw something heavy.
How the hell could anyone soundthatpeaceful after that last pose?His hamstring had just filed for divorce from the rest of his body.That move should have been outlawed by the Geneva Conventions.
But Natalie’s legs?Oh, they bent like they were made for it.
He peered at her from under his arm, catching a glimpse of her in the pose—strong, graceful, and maddeningly perfect.She was poetry in motion.He, meanwhile, looked like a cautionary diagram on an orthopedic surgeon’s wall.
She caught him staring.Her lips curved into a smug little smile, and she arched a brow as if to say,What’s wrong, Prince?Can’t keep up?
Rylan winked back, pretending his muscles weren’t on fire.He shifted into the next position with heroic determination, his pride hanging by a very thin, very frayed thread.
Then came the instructor’s cheerful announcement: “Now, let’s ease into corpse pose.”
Rylan’s mind blanked.Corpse pose?He was ninety percent sure that wasn’t a real thing.He glanced around the room until he saw Natalie lying flat on her back, eyes closed, arms relaxed, looking like some serene goddess.
He collapsed onto his mat like a felled tree.Corpse pose,he thought grimly.Perfect.Because this class murdered me.
“That’s it, everyone!Namaste.”
People around him rose gracefully to their feet.Rylan felt like an eighty-year-old man trying to get up from a beanbag chair.His muscles screamed obscenities, but sheer stubbornness got him vertical.
Natalie approached, rolled up yoga mat in hand, every inch the smug, spandex-clad goddess.“Did you enjoy your first yoga session?”
He kept his eyes firmlyabovethe tantalizing curve of her hips.“Loved it,” he lied, voice dry as sandpaper.
“Good.”She bent down to roll up his mat, and Rylan’s brain short-circuited.It took every shred of willpower not to groan out loud.When she straightened—holdingboththeir mats—she handed his over with a satisfied smirk.“You did great.For a beginner.”
He took it and narrowed his eyes at her.“You’re evil.Pure evil.”
Her laugh was light, teasing, and way too pleased with herself.“Oh, come on.You survived.”
“Barely.”
