Lover Undercover (McCade Brothers 1)

“That led you to LA?”

She nodded. “Stacy wanted to dance professionally, and from there, maybe move into acting. I wanted to study yoga, become an instructor. Hopefully own my own studio someday. We both wanted out of Two Trout just as fast and as far as my ancient Honda and seven hundred and fifty bucks could carry us. LA seemed like the place to turn all those wants into reality.”

“And how’s reality shaping up?”

She laughed. “Slowly. Much more slowly than either of us imagined. Stacy used to talk about how, as soon as we got to LA, she’d land a gig with an LA production of a Broadway show, or maybe get a part on a television show.”

“Didn’t quite happen that way, huh?” He kept his voice gentle.

Setting the box down, she shifted to face him, a strangely excited light dancing in her eyes. “Not quite. But she stuck it out and now she’s got a shot at something that could launch her career in a big way.”

At his inquiring glance, she went on. “She’s landed a role on a pilot for a TV series. They start filming in a couple months.”

“Hey, that’s great. Give her a big attagirl from me.” Though genuinely happy for Stacy, he had to admit the prospect of Kylie ending her stint as a stripper pleased him even more. Wrong attitude, considering without at least one Roberts twin dancing at Deuces their chances of catching the killer dwindled significantly, but so be it. “What does it mean for you? Can you retire from Deuces now?”

“Yes, though I’m not sure exactly when. She only got the news today, and we haven’t had a chance to figure out the finances yet.”

While he watched, her eyes clouded and awareness dimmed her happy glow. “Oh, but…the case. You guys still need me to dance—”

“No. We don’t. I want you gone from Deuces. We’ll find another way to track him down. Besides, now that Stacy’s career is looking up, I’m sure you’d like to get back to concentrating on yours. You’ve got all those big dreams.”

She aimed a self-deprecating smile at her knees and shrugged. “I do, but unlike Stacy, I always knew mine would take some time. First I had to get certified as a yoga instructor. Then I had to find an opening at a studio, refine my teaching style, and build a clientele. Eventually, when I have enough of a following and enough collateral to qualify for a small business loan, I hope to open my own studio.”

Small businesses opened every day in LA. Most of them ultimately failed. But she had all the right ingredients to beat the odds, as far as he was concerned—guts, determination, an unstoppable work ethic, a willingness to do what needed to be done. “I have no doubt you’ll succeed.”

“Ha. You’ve never seen me teach a single class. For all you know, I might be a terrible instructor.”

“Even if I watched you teach, I wouldn’t be able to judge your competency as an instructor,” he admitted with a grin. “I’d have nothing to compare it to.”

Her eyes widened. “You’ve never tried yoga?”

“I’m a yoga virgin.”

She jumped to her feet and tugged his hand. “I can’t let you continue through life so unenlightened. Get up. We have to fix this.”

He slowly stood. “Hey, now…there’s a very good reason I hit the gym instead of rolling my rubber mat and heading off to class. You need brute strength, I’m your guy, but I’m not one of those double-jointed human pretzels.”

That earned him a finger in the chest. “Yoga requires lots of strength, you weight-training snob. The practice benefits all skill levels, all capabilities. It’s not about becoming a human pretzel. The practice helps you discover and respect the connection between your mind, body, and spirit.”

“And turning me into a human pretzel facilitates this how?”

She rolled her eyes and led him to the open space between the coffee table and the wall. “Come on. I gave up my actual virginity to you. The least you can do is surrender your yoga virginity to me.”

Interesting argument. One he really couldn’t counter. With a sigh of defeat, he pointed to his temple. “Just remember, I’m injured. Go easy on me.”

“Stop worrying. This will be good for you. Get your chi flowing. Stand straight, with your feet hips distance apart like this, and then, on an inhale, bring hands together over your head, arms extended, keeping your elbows tight.”

He watched as she demonstrated, and then followed her lead. “Piece of cake.”

From there, she led him into sort of a lunge position she called “warrior one,” and then, deepening the lunge, she brought her arms down to shoulder level and extended them straight in front and behind her. “Welcome to warrior two.”

Mimicking the pose, he felt the beginning of a burn in the thigh of his bent leg and the calf of his extended leg. She circled him and inspected his effort. Something about the feel of her eyes on him got his chi flowing—straight between his legs.

With a gentle hand to his bent knee, she instructed, “Try to get this angle to ninety degrees.” While he complied—and the burn intensified—she ran her hands over his shoulders and along his arms, lengthening the extension of the limbs. “How’s that feel?”

“It’s getting a little hard,” he admitted, meaning every bit of the double entendre.

“Good,” she responded, sounding suspiciously breathless. Running her hand down his spine, she silently reminded him to keep his posture straight. “Effort generates reward. But you want to stop short of pain. Think you can hold this pose for a minute, Mr. Brute Strength?”