In Good Hands (8 page)

“And nothing else. I'd never see you again.”

She bit her lip, obviously conflicted. “You asked for my friendly advice. You're getting it. As for not seeing you again…” she shook her head “…I don't know. I haven't processed the, um, the other yet.”

Neither had he. So he went back to the advice he'd forced her to give him. “So, raw food. No dairy. Just…”

“Living food,” she said with a nod. “There's no halfway right now. Maybe not ever.”

He zeroed in on the wiggle room in her statement. “You mean I can go back to a normal healthy diet once my blood pressure drops?”

She brandished her fork. “The definition of healthy diet is rather flexible, don't you think? Changes drastically depending on who you ask.”

He had no argument to that, just the certainty that he had run out of all the standard options. And he already did the healthy diet and exercise. It wasn't like she was suggesting he inject some bizarre concoction into his veins. Hell, she wasn't asking him to do anything beyond eating salad and contemplating his navel for a while. In terms of drasticness,
it wasn't all that bad. And it was way better than quitting his job, which was what everyone else had told him to do.

“Fine,” he said, giving in with as much grace as he could muster. “Where's the salad dressing?”

“Oh,” she said, biting her lip. “I haven't made any up. I never use it. Here. Try this.” She grabbed a rather sad-looking lemon and sliced it in half before squeezing it over his bowl of leaves.

Great. Just great. He forced himself to smile as he dug in. This cure better work damn fast or he was going die from the frustration of
not
eating a steak. Hell, forget red meat. At this point, he was thinking longingly of a lean piece of chicken breast. And then she added one more piece of misery to the pot.

“After dinner, we'll do a little yoga to relax and then start meditating.”

I
T WASN'T UNTIL
Roger stripped out of his clothes that Amber realized the depth of her mistake. So far he'd accepted her decrees with less grumbling than she had done two years ago when she decided to completely change her life. He'd eaten his salad and managed to pretend he liked it. It was really kind of endearing the way he kept saying that it was good to have greens stripped down to their natural flavors. She wondered how many salads it would take before the “natural flavors” started losing their appeal.

They'd talked casually during their meal, chatting about her move to Chicago, about the favorite parts of his job and, best of all, his favorite Broadway shows. There was a time when she'd made a point of seeing the most recent productions, and it was wonderful to discuss the pros and cons of stage versus screen or book. It's not like she had a lot of that kind of talk with Tammy or her other neighbors.

But then as the light began to dim, she declared it was time for yoga. After all, that was her usual routine. She saw no reason for it to be different than any other night. She'd often shared her evening practice with one or more of her neighbors.

But tonight she wasn't stretching with Sandy, the single
mother down the hall. It wasn't even like the slow practice she sometimes did with Miller, the emaciated alcoholic who was struggling against his addiction. Tonight, she'd be working out with Roger—who didn't have a change of clothes. Ripped, muscular and very macho Roger, who said he could do yoga just fine in his boxers. After all, she'd already seen all the important parts of his body. By comparison, this was almost sedate.

Except now he stood before her, completely naked except for a pair of silk boxers covered in tiny robots playing basketball, and there wasn't any part of his body that she could look at without blushing. Not the corded expanse of his chest. Not the bulky muscles of his thighs. Not even the tiny little orange basketballs that danced over his boxers. Nope. In fact, every single inch of his glorious body brought her skin to heated, blushing, sensuous life. And all he'd done was disrobe in front of her.

God, she was depraved. She'd gone nearly two years without sex. She'd been so chaste she'd practically regrown her virginity. Then one single elevator mishap later, and she'd become a sex addict.

“So now what?” Roger asked, looking a little awkward standing before her in his underwear. He didn't cover himself with his hands or do anything else obviously nervous. He just stood before her, his arms loose by his sides, as he rose up onto the balls of his feet then rocked back down. He looked like an animal thinking about attacking something. And, depraved woman that she was, she wanted him to leap on her.

“It's—” Her voice came out on a squeak, so she had to clear her throat and try again. “Couples yoga is really simple. Just face me and mimic my actions. I'll walk you through anything hard.”

He arched a brow at her, but didn't comment. He'd already told her that he'd never done yoga before, but was ready to try.
His whole attitude had been slightly dismissive. After all, he was athletic. How difficult could some stretching be?

She'd smirked in response, and the game was on. Her goal this evening was to make him sweat. Just a little. Just enough to bring a sheen to his glorious chest and a gasp of relief when they finally stopped. She just hadn't counted on how good he looked standing facing her.

“Are we going to start soon?” he asked. “Or is this part of it? Am I supposed to be meditating or something?”

She flushed. “Um, sorry. I was just thinking.”

His smirk told her he knew exactly what she'd been thinking, and that he was more than ready to ditch the yoga in favor of the “couple” part of the practice. Part of her heartily agreed. But what she said was a very stern, “Try to stop thinking. Just center yourself in your body.”

He blinked. “I have no idea what that's supposed to mean.”

“Stop thinking about sex,” she returned.

“Then you need to change into a parka.”

Zing. She hadn't even realized her nipples had tightened, but at his words, she became very aware of every horny inch of her breasts and groin. Lord, this was
not
going to work. But she had to try it anyway.

“Inhale as you raise your arms up to the sky,” she intoned, fitting words to action. He mimicked her, and she couldn't help but watch the way his chest expanded and his pectoral muscles seemed to dance as he raised his arms. Shadows were such amazing things, she thought. They flicked in and out of existence according to the shift and slide of his body.

“Exhale and bend over. Try to keep your legs straight without locking them.”

She bent over, stretching her buttocks high as was the pose. Of course, that reminded her of when she'd done exactly this in the elevator and the way he had pushed right in. She gasped
in memory, her concentration shot. She barely managed to say the next words.

“Touch your fingertips down, then arch your head up and back into monkey pose.”

She demonstrated, feeling the pull in her hamstrings, the arch in her back and the general lengthening in her spine. Until she realized that she had misjudged the distance between them. As he lifted his face, they were barely two inches apart. Their foreheads nearly collided, but that was nothing compared to the way their gazes locked and held.

She watched his nostrils flare, felt heat lick her skin, and her legs went weak with hunger.

“We need to be in our bodies.”

“I'm not having an out-of-body experience,” he drawled. “You?”

“Not what I meant,” she returned rather curtly. Then she moderated her tone. It wasn't his fault that she couldn't keep her mind out of the gutter. “Don't think of anything but your body. Just feel the stretch of muscles, the air filling your lungs—”

“The way my dick is so hard this position is painful.”

She blinked. “Oh! Sorry.” Her cheeks felt like they were on fire from her blush. “Um, right. Release your head and neck, then roll back up to vertical. Try and let your vertebrae click into place one by one.”

She fitted words to action, but her mind was on his words and the way her body was liquid with desire. She'd wanted to see him sweat, but she was the one who was wet. And in these light gray yoga pants, it wouldn't be long until he knew it, too.

Then they were standing again, facing each other. She couldn't stop herself from seeing his erection. It was huge and right there in front of her. In fact, they were so close together her mind immediately conjured at least seven poses
that would force her to touch it. And just like that she started guiding him into one of them. It wasn't a conscious decision. It just happened. At least that's what she told herself.

“Step your right foot forward and slowly extend into a lunge.”

To show him, she lengthened herself into a lunge. She stepped unerringly to the place she wanted, her knee level with his hips and their bodies much too close. Then his step took them to the point of nearly touching.

“Now stay in your lunge and lift your left hip, opening up to face me more.”

She did as she said, squaring her hips and torso toward him. She knew her nipples were tight, felt as if her whole body was a guitar wire humming with life. She told herself she was simply opening up to the energy that infused all things, herself included. But the truth was that her body and blood were humming with lust. Unfortunately, things weren't going as well for Roger.

This wasn't a pose he could do easily. The lunge was no problem, though he hadn't stepped far enough. It was the opening of his hips that would be difficult for any man. Add to that the erection that stretched hard against his boxers, and he was probably dying.

“You're doing fine,” she said as she stroked a hand along his back leg. “Can you slide your front foot forward a bit more?”

He tried, but his foot caught on her rug. In the end, he had to hop it forward, bouncing awkwardly. She kept her hand on his leg, feeling the tremble in this thigh, and her other went to his chest to steady him. And then he stilled, his right knee extended before him.

“Now,” she said as she stroked up along his back leg, “shift this hip up and open.”

He narrowed his eyes in a frown. “Open my hip?”

She nodded and put her hands on his hips, slowly exerting pressure on the top hip while pulling the bottom toward her. He couldn't go far. He wasn't flexible enough in that direction. And then it didn't matter because his heel slid as he tried to adjust. Her grip wasn't meant to restrain him, just to encourage, so as he moved, she did, too. And a second later, she was stroking his penis instead of his hips.

Oops. And double oops because she didn't stop the long caress.

“I think I'm beginning to like yoga,” he drawled, his voice a low rumble.

She let go of him in a second, her heart beating in her throat. “That's not yoga, and you know it.”

“I'm not complaining,” he said, but she shook her head and scooted backward. Not away from him, but farther up his body toward his chest. She needed to be close enough to touch him, to help him find the positions. But she didn't need to be quite so far down his body.

“Okay,” she said breathlessly, as she found her position. “Can you lengthen your torso—still facing me—along your bent leg? Think of yourself as stretching your elbow to your bent knee.”

“You're kidding, right?”

“Nope.” Then she did it. Or as much of the pose as she could manage. And here's where she realized how very, very depraved she was. She was guiding him through a real pose, one she did every day. But never before had she managed to put her face right next to anyone's crotch. Never before had she inhaled deeply or shifted her hands to slip down her partner's boxers. Two seconds later, she had him in her mouth.

“Oh, Jesus,” he breathed, his body frozen. Probably in shock. Her own back leg gave out and she dropped to one knee before him. But he was still in his lunge, and his shorts
were stretched taut, preventing her from getting the full length of him.

Then his back leg gave out as well. It didn't go quickly, in a sudden jerk, but in an excruciatingly slow shift of tension until he, too, was down on one knee. And now, her hands could tug his boxers to below his buttocks.

“Amber,” he breathed, his hands on her shoulders. She felt his bottom tighten as she tongued him. Around and along his length. Loving the way he shuddered beneath her ministrations. “Amber!”

He pulled her off him. Not hard and certainly not fast. And when she looked up into his eyes, she saw a sparkle of humor there that felt odd. Or it did until he spoke.

“You said to mirror your movements exactly.” Then he put his hands on her pants and pushed them down over her bottom. She gasped in surprise as he used his larger weight to topple her backward. She was already down on one knee, so she didn't have far to go. He managed—somehow—to get a hand behind her head so she didn't bang it. And then, the minute she was on the floor, he was back to her knees, pulling her pants down off her feet.

She should have stopped him. This was not at all what she'd meant by relaxing yoga. But her blood was already simmering, she'd already tasted him. And the desire to feel him surging beneath her again made her give up any pretense of exercise. Especially as his lips found the inside of her thighs.

“Roger,” she said, her voice unnaturally low. “You don't have to…” He lifted her knee and began licking his way up. Then he stopped to shoot her a pretend serious look.

“You said to mirror your every move. Believe me, I intend to.”

She swallowed. What he was doing was making her belly quiver and her blood heat to boiling. “Then,” she said, “I suppose I ought to show you what you should do next.”

She rolled to her side and found what she wanted. He was thick and hard and right before her eyes. She grasped him with her hand and rolled her thumb across the top, spreading the bead of moisture there. And then she arched in desire as she felt his thumb do the same to her. He pressed between her folds to slide up and around her clit. Her body arched at the exquisite feel. She wanted him to do that again. She wanted…

She rolled her thumb up and around. So did he. It was delicious and kind of kinky, feeling this echo to whatever she did to him.

She stroked him all the way down to his balls, gripping and squeezing him just enough to hear him hiss. He slid his thumb down between her folds, then thrust inside her. Not quite an identical gesture but the sensations were beyond thrilling. But she was getting impatient, her body already anxious for more. So she went ahead and did what they both wanted.

She took him in her mouth. She gripped his base and sucked him in. And he, in turn, put his lips to her clit and began to tease. Tongue swirl, then suction, then a rapid flick. She experienced all of that in wild chaotic succession, over and over again. She lost track of what she was doing to him. It was too much and yet not enough.

She felt his hips buck and his buttocks tighten. Meanwhile, her back was arching, her body trembling. She couldn't catch her breath. Just as she was pulling back to gasp for air, he abruptly pulled himself away. Then he pressed her hip backward until she was flat on her back. She would have protested. She intended to. But with the better angle, he began to do amazing things to her.

Within moments she was pumping her groin against him. A flick, a swirl and then he sucked. Hard. She cried out as the wave hit her, but he was pinning her down, his tongue still doing things to her while she thrashed beneath him. Wave
after wave crashed through her body. Oh, God, she couldn't take it and…

Oh, yes! She cried out. She thrashed and she bucked, and finally, she bucked him off. And then she was floating in wave after wave of pleasure. Slowly catching her breath. Slowly, smiling.