with movement to it.”
“Okay, but tomorrow we’ll try this again and you can build up your tolerance. Meditation is key to your self-discovery.”
He muttered something that sounded like “God help me,” but she didn’t pursue it. Things were going according to plan.
She started with an easy warm-up, then some simple postures—Rama’s Easy Pose, Stretching Dog, Standing Sun Pose, Tree Pose, then the Dancer Pose. Luckily, he was a quick study and had great balance. She dreaded having to adjust his postures by touch. Putting her hands anywhere on his body would be tough to do without showing some reaction.
“Don’t rush your movements,” she said, watching him do the Easy Fish, which required him to arch his back and reveal the incredible line of each abdominal muscle. “It’s a smooth movement and a slow stretch. That’s it. Yoga is a deep muscle activity, so don’t underestimate its power.” Damn, he was in good shape.
She explained the Easy Bridge, which required lying on his back and thrusting his pelvic area upward. She didn’t demonstrate because it was too suggestive. “Hold it, that’s it, hold it….” Man, could he hold it! She was dying. She couldn’t help imagining how he could use all that holding in bed with her. “Now release.”
He released the position, thank God.
“This next posture is the Cobra,” she said. She demonstrated for him, lying on her stomach, palms braced parallel to her chest, then pushed her upper body into a slow curve meant to resemble a cobra about to strike.
“Nice technique,” he breathed. He lay on his side, propped on an elbow, his chin resting in his palm, his eyes glued to her chest. There was an edge to his voice that made her realize that all the stretching and holding and panting was having an effect on him, too. She was partly pleased, but mostly nervous.
“Now you,” she said.
“Okay, but I don’t think God meant me to bend that way.” He rolled onto his stomach, put his hands in place and pushed up. “Ow,” he said. “Is this supposed to hurt?”
“Not if you’re doing it right. You don’t want too much strain on your back.” She checked the angle of his arms, lying on her side almost under him. At that moment, his elbow gave and he landed on her, tipping her onto her back so they were chest to chest.
“That’s much better,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “You’re right. This yoga stuff is powerful.”
The moment stilled. Nathan’s terrific body was right on top of her, his face inches away, his mouth so close. How she wanted to kiss that mouth. Would it feel the same as it had eight years ago? She began to tremble. This was insane. “Nathan, we don’t want…I mean this wouldn’t be good.” She pushed at his chest, but he stayed stubbornly in place.
“There’s still something between us, Mariah,” he whispered hoarsely. “I can tell you feel it, too.” His eyes locked on hers and she knew if she held his gaze any longer they’d be trying some positions that were more likely to be in the Kama Sutra than her yoga book.
“What’s between us is just…just…nostalgia.” She squeezed her eyes shut.
“Nostalgia? That’s a new name for it.”
“You know what I mean,” she said shoving him off and sitting up. She straightened her leotard and smoothed her hair. “I think that’s enough yoga for today,” she said primly.
“If you say so, O, Spiritual Advisor,” he said, a trace of a smile on his lips, “but I was just getting the hang of it.”
“We’ll do more tomorrow.”
“Great.” More wicked twinkling.
“But you have to behave yourself,” she warned, knowing her own face was still flushed with heat.
“Oh, absolutely.” He crossed his heart.
“I mean it.”
“Oh, me, too.”
“You’re impossible,” she said. “Tomorrow, we’ll start fresh. I have some more ideas.”
“Mmm, I can hardly wait.”
“Oh, don’t be so sure,” she said, deciding she’d start with counselling. That would make him completely uncomfortable and put an end to this flirtation. “I’ll leave a couple of these books for you to look over, and the mats and candles. You can practice the yoga positions on your own.”
She picked up a few of the career counseling books to do a bit of studying, and started toward the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Nathan asked.
She turned to him. “Home. We’ve finished for the day.”
“Uh-uh. We had a deal. You’re coming to the factory.”
“Today? But I’m not dressed,” she said, indicating her leotard and gauze skirt.
“Go get dressed. I’ll meet you at CC in one hour.”
“But—”
“No buts. We made a deal.”
Damn, he was going to get technical on her. She’d definitely have to figure out a way to turn this to her advantage.
4
MARIAH PULLED INTO the parking lot of Cactus Confections precisely an hour and a half late. What better way to prove to Nathan that it was a waste of time to drag her into the business than to show him she had no sense of time? She’d never deliberately goofed up before, but she’d decided it could be fun. A new way to be creative.
The solid sandstone building with Cactus Confections in copper letters across its face brought back complicated memories—love and frustration, comfort and boredom.
She pushed through the glass door and met the delighted smile of Lenore, the receptionist who’d worked there forever.
“Mariah, honey, you’re here! Your daddy said you’d be coming to work, but I didn’t expect you today. Gimme some sugar.”
Lenore wore the same blond beehive with a little curlicue at the top she had always worn, and her nails were as long and sharp and fire-engine red as ever. Mariah’s father hated when she painted them in the office, since the fumes interfered with the candy smell he loved. “It’s so good of you to help the poor man,” she whispered, enveloping Mariah in her soft hug.
“I’m not here to work,” she said, stepping back. “I’m just here to, um, observe, get a feel for the place.”
“Oh, I see,” she said, smiling a your-secret’s-safe-with-me smile, a dimple in her chipmunk cheek. What the devil had Mariah’s father told her?
“Louise, get your hiney in here,” Lenore shouted over her shoulder into the business office. “Mariah’s starting work today.”
“I’m
