A hell of a lot of tension in the office since I pulled the stunt with the bikini? Yes. Roman’s hands on me in some sensual exercise scenario? No, no, no, a thousand times no.
That devious, sly bastard.
It’s like he knows I spent all last night in my employee bungalow using a cold compress to lower the temperature in my cheeks. I was a firework that burned too bright. I used up all my sexy energy yesterday in order to get the upper hand.
The thing about getting the upper hand is that you have to do something with it. It’s not unlike a game of hot potato with an actual hot potato. I’m serious. I still haven’t quite recovered. Plus, I thought the smartest move would be to pull the old switcheroo on Roman. I had my brief, shining moment as the ultra-confident bikini-wearing goddess, and then I transformed back into the real me, wearing my skirt suit like a shield of armor.
I should have known Roman Bliss was not so easily bested. When he showed up with that gift basket—
Running. I was thinking about running, but Roman is still chatting easily with Azalea as though the prospect of couples yoga doesn’t faze him at all. Meanwhile, the most I’ve done is take a tiny step backward. It’s hardly a full-on sprint.
“—started in a couple minutes, okay? By the way, I love your outfit. You’ll have to tell me where you got it,” Azalea is saying to me. She gives me a casual wink, which I didn’t think was possible until this moment, and blessedly heads back toward the giant sand mat to gather herself before the class. At least I don’t have to say my boss gave me this outfit in a gift basket to get back at me.
“You ready?” Roman says. He has brought along his own mat in a holder, slung over his shoulder just like mine, and it reminds me of a quiver when he stretches his glorious biceps above his head. “Azalea’s one of the best-rated instructors we’ve ever had at Bliss, so that’s probably something you’ll want to include in your social media campaigns.”
“Sure. Of course.” His eyes are so blue. They’re a mix of sunlight and shadow, a mix of dusk and dawn, and I honestly can’t tell what he’s hoping to get out of this. He can’t possibly be getting revenge for yesterday.
No. He absolutely can be doing that.
“I think I’ve time-traveled,” he says. I’m staring at him like he’s a mystery egg about to hatch, though of course Roman is giving no sign of revealing his secrets.
Stand up straight—confident women don’t slouch. I pull myself upright and plaster on the winning smile I practiced so many times in the mirror after my high school exit interview. It took almost two years of college, but I shaped myself into the opposite of what I used to be, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to slip back into those old habits just because we’re about to touch each other’s...hands and waists during couples yoga.
“To when?” I reach up and pat at my bun, the movement designed to show off the best angle of my chin. “Ah—I know. You miss your time in the pool yesterday. Don’t worry too much. We can plan another shoot.” To my immense pride, my voice doesn’t quiver at all.
Roman cracks a broad grin. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be a model. But I do miss one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Let’s all gather round and set out our mats,” Azalea calls.
He turns toward the sand mat, with all the other couples, and it’s not until he’s a few steps away that he answers. “The view.”
“Take a deep breath in. Inhale peace. Exhale worry,” Azalea intones.
I inhale the clean scent of Roman’s skin and try to exhale the fact of his manly sexiness.
I fail.
“Plant your feet and spread your toes. Ground yourself in the earth and its energy. Imagine you are a puppet, with a string extending from the top of your head to the outer limits of the sky. Stand tall, palms forward. This is mountain pose.”
I can guarantee that real mountains do not vibrate with the closeness of Roman Bliss.
On second thought, maybe they do.
But I’m pretty sure most mountains haven’t had his hands on their hip bones during a half-headstand or whatever it was I tried to do earlier. Most mountains haven’t stood palm to palm with Roman, looking easily into the eyes of another human treasure. At least, that’s what I think Azalea said. I had partially blacked out from sheer proximity and from the fact of doing downward dog in front of him multiple times, extending my hips toward the resort.
And, by extension, toward Roman’s face.
“Partners in the second row, step forward and place your hands on the waist of your partner.”
Roman doesn’t even hesitate. His hands are on my waist almost instantly, those big, strong hands.
“Add your encouragement to your partner’s pose with gentle intention. You are both grounding them and raising them to the sky, as the earth—”
Her voice fades out, a staticky radio, as Roman’s breath brushes the back of my neck.
“Feel free to lean into the hands of your partner as you would lean into the earth,” Azalea says, and God help me, I do it. Just a little. Just to see what it’s like. I may never get another chance to do something like this before I die, and I would hate to—
Something skitters across the top of my foot.
With a strangled screech, I jump a few inches into the air. What is it, what is it, what is it? I pick up my left foot and brush it over my right. Even in abject terror, I try to maintain the palms forward pose, and in the process of trying to brush both feet with the other foot I find myself tipping fully into Roman’s arms.
“I’m fine,” I call breathlessly, raising my gaze to discover that Azalea is looking at me with a healthy dose of concern while the rest of the class is struggling to ignore me like an impassive mountain range.
“Everything all right?” She’s so genuinely worried.
“Yeah,” Roman says, and I swear to God that he’s laughing. Not outright, but I hear the amusement in his voice. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes.” It’s the last thing I want to do in the world, but I push myself away from the steady embrace of his arms and resume mountain pose, closing my eyes as gently as possible.
“Take a deep breath in,” Azalea says. “Exhale doubt.”
Roman puts his hands back on my waist, and I exhale a shuddering breath instead of doubt.
“It was a miniature tumbleweed,” he murmurs into my ear.
“What?” I hiss back.
“The thing that rolled over your foot. It was a miniature tumbleweed, made out of the tendrils of some beach grass.”
Heat rushes to my face. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I just want you to know that you’re in good hands at Bliss Resort.”
I have to stifle a snort, and I’m partially unsuccessful. “You can prevent insects from crawling on your sand mat? That’s impressive.”
“Not as impressive as you.” He says this with such warmth that I almost fall for it. I almost fall into it. Would it be so bad if I turned around and put my arms around his neck? I need a breather from the intensity of this yoga class. “I can’t wait to see how you position this on our social media accounts.”