Page 77 of A Wild Card Kiss
Maybe that’s why we get along so well. We are birds of a flirty feather.
Setting my hands on his hips, I wiggle him into a slightly better position. “Just making an adjustment for you.”
“That’s not the adjustment I was hoping you’d make,” he says, injecting a little more gravel into his tone.
I laugh. “You are relentless today. And you said we were off-limits.”
“We are, but apparently I woke up on the naughty side of the bed this morning.”
“That’s both sides for you?”
“You know it,” he says with a laugh.
“Not surprised at all.”
“Bet your bed has two naughty sides just like mine,” he says.
I’m getting firmer abs just from laughing with him. “Maybe it does. Now, let’s switch to warrior one pose. But I want you to transition from downward dog and flow right into it. I’ll show you.” I drop onto my feet and hands with my butt in the air, then I raise my torso, lifting my arms toward the sky. “See?”
A low rumble comes from his chest as he stares shamelessly at mine. “Sorry, did you say something?” His eyes widen like a cartoon character catching sight of a delicious plate of goodies.
My goodies.
And you know what? I honestly don’t mind him ogling me.
Still, it’s best to segue to tamer teasing. I shake a finger at the NFL’s sexiest player ever. “Tsk, tsk. And I thought you’d be a good student.”
“I thought I wouldn’t want to bang the teacher,” he says with zero guilt, only desire.
It’s an enticing sound that I like far too much.
I, too, like that Harlan truly is a good student, and a devotedone. He’s been doing yoga on his own at home since we started, and he’s making strides in our one-on-one sessions. Once he shifts into warrior pose, I move behind him, sliding a hand down the outside of his thigh.
“You want your spine erect,” I say.
“That’s not the only thing erect,” he mutters.
“If it makes you feel any better, this is torture for me too. Teasing and torture.”
He meets my gaze, a sparkle in his warm brown eyes. “Mmm.Yoga for Sexual Teasing. New class for the yoga empress.”
“I’d only offer that class to you,” I whisper as a spark sizzles down my chest.
“And I’d take that class all day long, since being with you like this is delicious torture. You’re like a cherry pie I just want to devour.”
Oh, my.
That’s quite a dart of lust rushing through my veins right now. I don’t think I’ve ever been compared to a cherry pie. I’m not sure I want a man to ever compare me to anything else.
Harlan makes me feel wanted in a way I never did with my ex. Or, honestly, any other man. None of the men I dated in Los Angeles. None of those guys floated my boat this much, this soon.
Except him, especially since the way he looks at me is incendiary.
And hard to resist. “I bet you’d savor every bite,” I whisper, then want to smack myself.
I’m pushing the limits.
Harlan is a client. Sure, my business belongs to Olive and me,but that doesn’t mean I can do whatever I want. Sleeping with a client is risky no matter what. Word could get out. Our business could suffer. We employ yoga instructors up and down the coast, as well as office support staff. My choices impact many more people than just me. I’d do well to remember that. Monday night’s celebratory evening should have reminded me.
