Page 75 of The Billionaire's Baby
"Don’t all of you get complimentary all at once." Why is it that when we get together, we somehow, lapse right back to being twelve and pre-pubescent wankers again?
"You don’t have anything to lose, do you?" Saint, that asswipe, adds his two pennies’ worth.
Yeah, I have nothing to lose… Except for my sanity, and my balls… God help me. Not only has she ensured that I’ll never want to fuck another woman, but hell, if I don’t want to be inside her already again. This entire thing is turning out to be a nightmare. Perhaps I should have turned the yacht around after all, and dropped her off at port, huh?
And then what? I’d have always wondered how it could have been. Hell, it’s not like me to overthink my actions… Not when it comes to business, and certainly not when it came to facing down storms.
"What-bloody-ever," I growl. "Thanks for nothing, you guys." I disconnect, then head toward the chalet.
I am used to living life on the edge. Surely, I can manage one tiny woman with attitude, huh?
28
Karina
What the hell? He did it again. He’d accepted my proposal. He’d agreed to marry me. This time, I’m sure he’ll cut and run. I mean, why the hell would he agree to something like that? Surely, he is going to back out, right? Except, I don’t think so. Shit, why did I propose that? Clearly, when I am with him, I can't think straight.
After the asshole had pulled out and left… I’d straightened my clothes, then the scrabble board. Then put away the stupid board game. I’d hyperventilated on what had just taken place, had been glad that he’d decided to head out and give me a chance to compose myself. And clearly, the only thing that’s going to help me when I get so stressed is yoga.
So here I am, flowing into the most basic, yet most challenging pose of all.
On my hands and knees, I position my wrists under my shoulders and my knees under my hips. Stretch my elbows and relax my upper back. Spread my fingers wide and press firmly through my palms, exhale as I tuck my toes and lift my knees off the floor.
Reach my pelvis up toward the ceiling, then draw in my tailbone, and gently begin to straighten my legs, bring my body into the shape of an "A."
Press down and lift through my pelvis. As I lengthen my spine, I lift my tail bone up toward the ceiling. Then press down equally through my heels and the palms of my hands.
Engage my quadriceps.
Align my ears with my upper arms. Relax my head, gaze toward my navel.
Hold… Hold… Hold for one, two, three… My hamstrings elongate, my biceps tremble... Shit. Focus, on how your palms dig into the rug—Yeah, I chose the place before the fire because it’s the warmest spot in the room, not to mention, the rug is thick enough to shield my knees when I need to push down on them to rise up... And continue to count, four, five, six.Stop grimacing. That’s not the point of yoga. Don’t forget to breathe, in-out-in.
I exhale as I gently bend my knees and come back to my hands and knees. A bead of sweat trickles down my spine. The hair on the back of my neck rises. I glance up to find him at the breakfast counter. He leans a hip against the edge, then crosses one leg over the other.
"Why did you stop?" he rumbles.
I scowl, then shift to a kneeling position.
"Why don’t you join me?"
"No thanks."
"Worried you can’t replicate the position?
"Baby, the only position I want to replicate is you under me, over me, reverse-cowgirl me, face-off with me—"
"Stop," I plead.
"—as I corkscrew you. Hell, I could even do the Om with you, or we could snow-angel together—"
"Enough," I scowl at him, "so you know your sexual positions."
"We don’t need to go that far." He prowls over to me, "Why don’t you do the plow, or the cobra or hell, the bridge position?"
"You know about them?"
"I know they are yoga positions that make for very gratifying sex." He smirks.
