Well, this just didn’t work for him at all. He stood, grabbed his cell, and checked his emails.
That was precisely how April found him around fifteen minutes later when she hurried from the garage to the back door, stuffing her keys in her purse and mumbling something about turn signals and things that were not optional.
There was definitely an under-her-breath mention of wearing pants in public and shoes in restaurants as being not optional, either.
She continued her rant, rummaging through her purse, not looking up.
He slipped his hands to his hips and waited. The suit he’d planned for the day had been scrapped in favor of his running shorts and T-shirt. Not that he couldn’t do a lot of things in a suit, but yoga was not one of them.
Almost through the back door to the kitchen, she finally glanced up and gasped. “What are you doing?”
“Impromptu yoga lesson.” He held his hands up. “If you’re game.”
Her hair on the top of her head in a bun, she was already the picture of a walking athleisure advertisement.He’dbuy what she was selling, the rant about turn signals notwithstanding.
She scrunched her nose adorably. “You want me to teach you?”
“I’ve never had a lesson before.”
“Are you going to take my picture while I teach you?”
“Probably.” But not right away. He pointedly set his phone to the side.
“Okay. Sure. But I get to approve the pictures.” She slid her purse from her shoulder, dropping it beside his phone.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He settled in. “I look forward to learning from the best.”
The edges of her lips twitched at that. “I’m hardly a transcended yogi.”
“I’ve heard only good things about you.”
“First thing, no shoes.” She slipped her tennis shoes from her feet. “No socks, either.”
He followed her instructions.
She gave him a rundown of the basic poses. He gave them a decent effort but was pretty sure he’d slaughtered them. Though he continued his effort and followed her lead.
The movement appeared to come effortlessly from her body. She was an artist, there was no doubt.
“Ground yourself. Feel the connection,” she said on an upward move that he followed.
He wobbled when he reached the same pose she held effortlessly. “Connection with what?”
“With everything.” Turning her focus to him, she tilted her head. “Can I adjust your stance?”
He nodded. Might as well, given that he wasn’t doing a bang-up job on his own.
Stepping to him, she moved his hands, then trailed her palm along the outside muscles of his abs, to his waistband, giving a slight correction to his hips so they faced forward with more prominence.
The correction was innocent.
His body’s response was not.
“Now breathe.” She inhaled deeply. “Feel that connection.”
He must’ve jacked up her correction because the length of her torso pressed lightly against his to move him back to where he apparently should have been.
The connection. Oh, hell, he felt that connection. Hell, yes, he felt the power. Felt it in the marrow of his bones.
