Hot & Heavy (Lightning 2)

His big hand closes around my wrist, holds me in place when I would have moved to stand up. Heat from his palm spreads through me, and I start to yank my arm away, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Besides, my office is small and if I take too many steps away from him I’ll end up with my back against the wall, and we both know how that ended the last time.

“I’m serious,” he tells me even as his thumb strokes the sensitive skin at the inside of my wrist. “I enjoyed working with you today. Name your price for daily yoga sessions.”

I can’t do that. I just can’t. The gentle way he’s stroking me feels too good, as does the intensity with which he’s watching me—like I’m the sexiest woman on the planet when I know very well that I’m not. If I take him on in private lessons, it won’t be long before we’re sleeping together. From there, the fall from lust to love isn’t that far, especially with a guy like Shawn. And I don’t do love. Not right now and not like that, with daredevils who care more about the next rush than they do their own safety.

When I don’t answer, he steps around the desk. Tugs me closer. “Come on, Sage. What’s it going to take for you to be my trainer?”

He’s close now, so close that I can smell the bergamot and orange scent of him and feel his hot breath on my cheek. I can feel myself melting, feel myself giving in to this ridiculous attraction between us.

Panic overwhelms me, and I blurt out the most outrageous number I can think of. “One hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

I expect him to recoil in horror considering Indigo’s rates are outrageous at a hundred and fifty dollars an hour. But I underestimated Shawn because he just smiles like the cat that caught the canary and can’t wait to eat it.

Then he says “Done,” and my whole damn life flashes before my eyes. Because I. Am. Screwed.

Chapter 11

Shawn

I really wish I had a picture of Sage’s face right about now. Then again, maybe a GIF would be better. The way her mouth is opening and closing like a guppy’s is guaranteed to amuse me for days to come.

Not that I blame her for being shocked. It was absolutely absurd for her to ask me for a hundred fifty K for two and a half weeks of yoga lessons—which, I’m sure was the point—and it was even more absurd for me to agree to it. But one of the best things about being paid thirteen million dollars a year? If I want to spend one hundred and fifty grand for yoga lessons (and to get an exceptionally interesting woman to spend some time with me), then I can. That Sage was so sure I would say no makes the fact that I can say yes even sweeter.

“Excuse me?” she finally manages to sputter.

I can play with her a little, but I decide why be a sore winner. I got what I want—or will have soon, if things continue going as planned. “Who do I write the check out to? You or Soul Studio?”

“I…what…you…but—”

Not gonna lie. It’s amusing as hell to see her so lost. Still, I’ve got things to say, terms to lay down, and I can’t afford to get distracted by how cute she looks when she’s flustered. And she does look cute. Really, really cute. Her eyes go all wide, her cheeks go all pink, and she keeps shoving a hand through that sexy as fuck hair of hers, like somehow she’s going to find the answers if she just tugs on it hard enough.

“I do have some requests, though,” I tell her as I pop the case off my phone and pull out the check I put there this morning before heading over here.

“Requests,” she repeats.

“Yes.” I plop the check on the one corner of her desk that isn’t covered. “Do you have a pen I can borrow?”

“Pen,” she repeats again, and this time I swear she sounds even more flummoxed than she did a minute ago, when I told her I accepted her terms.

“Yes. Pen. So I can pay you.”

That must shake her out of her shocked stupor, because suddenly she’s springing up from the desk like a damn jack-in-the-box. “You can’t pay me a hundred thousand dollars for two weeks of yoga classes.”

“A hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” I remind her helpfully as I finally find a pen hiding under the large blue binder on the corner of her desk. “And sure I can. It’s what we agreed on.”

“I didn’t mean it. I was just trying to get you to…”

“To settle for India or whatever that other instructor’s name is?” I start filling out the check, leaving the payee line blank for now.

“Indigo. Her name is Indigo.”

“Good for her. I’m still not interested.”

Sage shakes her head as she stares at me with eyes that have turned a light brown color. “I don’t understand you.”

“What’s there to understand?” I give her the breeziest smile I’ve got. “I need a yoga instructor. You are a yoga instructor. I want you to train me, and you want a hundred and fifty thousand dollars to train me. It’s pretty straightforward if you ask me.”

“Yeah, well, no one’s asking you,” she snaps.