Hot & Heavy (Lightning 2)

“I’m not an idiot. I do know what the cliffs in Acapulco look like.”

“Oh, yeah?” His brows go up. “You like to dive?”

“No!” I can’t help laughing at just the idea. “But I’ve watched a lot of Love Boat reruns in my life.”

“Love Boat reruns? What are you, ninety?” He’s joking, but the insult hits a little too close to home. Probably because it’s what my mom says every time I try to convince her not to do something foolhardy.

“I’m not. No.” I stop next to the registration desk, which is in the front of the studio. The first classes of the day start in five minutes, and people are milling around, chatting and getting tea or water from the small refreshment counter we have set up against the back wall.

People are staring at us, and at first I assume it’s because Shawn is so freaking hot. I mean, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off him since I first spotted him at that damn bachelorette party. But as people start reaching for their smartphones, I realize something else is at play here.

“Come on. Let’s go to my office.” I link my arm with his and spin him away before anyone can get a shot of his face. I thought he was just being overly cautious—not to mention a little egotistical—when he mentioned not wanting to take class for fear of being recognized, but obviously he was right to worry. I must be one of the few people in San Diego that don’t know who Shawn is…

The only problem with taking Shawn to my office is that now we’re alone again. To combat that fact, I motion for him to sit in the small chair in front of my desk while I practically dive toward my own chair—on the other, safer side of the desk.

He looks amused, and like he’s about to say something. I rush to get in there before he does, partly because that Love Boat crack still stings and partly because I don’t trust him not to say something that will make my panties drop despite my best intentions.

“So, if you don’t want to take classes, then I assume you’re interested in personal lessons.” I rummage in my desk drawer for the stack of brochures and price lists I always keep there. “We have a few instructors who meet one-on-one with clients. For therapeutic yoga, and for discretion, I recommend Indigo. She’s one of our master instructors, and she’s really excellent, but she doesn’t come cheap. Still, she’s more than worth the money.”

“How much if I want you to give me private lessons?” he asks.

My stomach jumps a little, whether with nerves or excitement I’m not sure. Either way, I tamp it down because there is no way I’m working with Shawn. No way. “I don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t have time. Yoga’s my second job, so the several classes I do teach a week are pretty much all I can handle.”

His eyes narrow suspiciously. “I thought this was your studio?”

“It’s my mom’s studio. I do the books for her and help out when she needs it.”

“Help out?” He looks around my office. “Looks like you do a little more than that.”

I do a lot more than that, but it’s not his business. “She’s in India right now, and I’m running the studio in her absence. But I still have my day job.”

“And that is?”

I think about ignoring him, but he looks genuinely curious. Besides, what’s the harm? Maybe knowing I really do have another job will get him to back off a little. “I’m an accountant.”

“Emerson told me,” he says with a chuckle.

“I’m not so sure what’s so funny about that,” I tell him through gritted teeth.

“It’s just…” He stops laughing abruptly, like he’s just figured out that I’m bothered by his amusement. “I’m sorry. But you have to admit accounting and yoga are an unusual combination.”

“Maybe.” Definitely, but the why and how are none of his business. “Still, it works for me. But it also keeps me very busy, so there’s no way I can take you on as a client. Why don’t you give Indigo a try? If you don’t like her, there are a couple of other instructors we can try. But I’m pretty sure you’ll

love Indigo. Everyone does—”

“How much will it take to get you to adjust your schedule?”

“I already told you, I don’t have time to take you on.”

His smile turns wicked. “And here I thought you already had.”

“You know what I mean. If you’d like to meet with one of our instructors, please give us a call, and we can set that up for you. If you don’t…”

I push my chair back, get ready to show him the door. And absolutely, positively ignore the fact that my knees have gone weak at the reminder of all the things we’ve already done to and with each other.