Hot & Heavy (Lightning 2)

Hell, yeah, I like watching her eat what I made for her. Any sane man would.

Still, there’s more to Sage than her beautiful face and seriously bendy body. More to her than her sly wit and obvious intelligence. It’s there in her eyes—quiet, serious, tough. In the way she holds herself, like she’s always poised to fight or flee. In the way she answers questions with questions and never says too much about herself, no matter how hard I try to draw her out.

There are a million things I want to know about her, a million things I want to ask her right now, but I’m pretty sure she won’t answer any of my questions. Still I’ve got to try and I might as well start with the one that’s been circling my brain for most of the day.

“Why are you a yoga teacher if you don’t like doing it?”

She stiffens, those gorgeous eyes of hers going a swirling, mysterious mix of brown and green that’s as frustrating as it is intriguing.

She reaches for her wine, takes a slow, careful sip. “What makes you think I don’t like doing it?”

And there it is—yet another answer that’s really just a question. I can tell from the look on her face that she expects me to back down, but I’m not going to. Normally I couldn’t care less if a woman doesn’t want to share too much—in fact, I like it better that way. But if we’re going to have any chance of making this work, she needs to talk to me sometime. About something.

It’s my turn to reach for my wine, my turn to watch her over the rim as I take a long, slow sip. “You said so earlier,” I tell her after putting the glass back on the table. “In the workout room. You told me you might hate being a yoga instructor but you’re damn good at it. But after spending time with you, I’m pretty sure you’re good at a lot of things. So why spend time teaching yoga if you don’t like it?”

She sighs, reaches for her drink. Then seems to think better of it because she drops her hands, leans back in her chair. “It’s complicated.”

“Okay.” I want to push, but she’s putting up NO TRESPASSING signs faster than I can even think about ripping them down. “No pressure, but just so you know. I can do complicated.”

“And here I thought simple was more your style.” The words are low, teasing, and I know she’s using them to get us back to where she feels safe. I think about fighting her on it, but the look on her face tells me there’s no way I’m getting anything more out of her.

But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to let her direct everything—especially when it means pushing me into a role I don’t want to play.

I don’t say that, though. Instead, I settle for giving her my trademark smirk and saying, “Styles change.”

Her eyes widen a little, and it’s obvious she doesn’t have an answer for that. Part of me wants to let her stew in the shifting dynamics of this thing I hope will turn into a relationship, but at the same time I can’t stand the idea of her being uncomfortable with me. I put her on notice and that’s going to have to be good enough for now, no matter how impatient I suddenly find myself.

Reaching forward, I push her hair out of her face so I can see both her eyes. And say what I’m pretty sure is the last thing she’s expecting. “Want to go for a swim?”

“A swim?” She sounds disoriented, a little off balance—which is exactly how I want her for now. It’s so much better than watching her try to relegate this thing between us into a box marked ONLY FUN AND GAMES.

“Yeah.” I push back from the table, take her hand and pull her to her feet. “I was in earlier. The water’s beautiful.”

“I don’t have a suit.”

I grin at her. “That’s pretty much the point.”

“Oh.” Her eyes are huge now, her skin flushed.

She doesn’t say anything else as I tug her through the kitchen to the family room and the French doors that lead to the vanishing-edge pool that’s the focal point of this half of the backyard. I strip off the shorts I pulled on after our last round in the kitchen then reach for her and yank my too-big shirt over her head.

If possible her eyes get even bigger…and darker.

“Nev

er skinny-dipped before?” I ask, pulling her close.

She shakes her head mutely, even as her body melts against mine.

“Better hold your breath, then.” I press my mouth to hers, wait for the moment when her lips open to mine and her whole body yields to mine. Then I pick her up, wrap her legs around my waist. And jump straight into the pool.

She comes up sputtering and laughing and spends the next ten minutes chasing me around the pool, trying to dunk me. She’s a good swimmer, strong and fast, but the water’s always been my favorite place besides the football field and she’s not quite quick enough to catch me.

Until I let her, because really, what’s the fun of getting away if it means I don’t get to feel her long, lithe body pressed against mine? If it means I don’t get to run my hands over her slight curves, don’t get to press my lips to her cool, wet skin?

I reel her in at the far end of the pool, near the diving board, pretending to run out of breath just long enough for her to launch herself onto my back and try to dunk me.

I let her push me under, but pull her with me and kiss her just as the water closes over our heads. I expect her to struggle a little, like she did when we first jumped in. Instead, she just wraps herself around me and gives herself up to the kiss. Gives herself up to me.