The Love Experiment (Stubborn Hearts 1)

She didn’t want to leave. “How about this?” She trailed her finger lightly around his shadowy eye socket.

“It’s just a black eye.”

She put her hand to his side over his T-shirt where she knew his skin was branded with a rainbow of color. “And this?” He didn’t answer, but he did kiss her, his hands going to her shoulders just as a heavy weight landed on her feet.

She broke the kiss and looked down to see Martha lying over their toes. “Merrow.”

“She’ll do anything to escape,” Jack said.

“Marah.”

This pussy was a cock-blocker.

Jack bent and picked the cat up, placing her over his shoulder while he opened the door. Martha made a disgruntled noise that sounded a lot like she’d said, “Noooo” and flicked her tail against Jake’s torso.

“Go before she decides to dig in,” he said, then winced as she obviously did.

Derelie had arrived at Jack’s place a thief looking to steal up on the truth, but she left with more than she’d bargained for. All her hushed outrage and cautious awe was recast as a hum of anticipation that woke her with enthusiasm next morning and floated her through the early yoga class.

She separated her spine anchors and tucked her butt bones with more ease than normal or maybe it was less anxiety about getting it right. She didn’t even think about looking around for Yogaboy. They were on the same weekday schedule, but on weekends it varied, and in any case, she was far more interested in putting her ankles behind Jack’s head and prone to spontaneous bursts of smiling thinking about that. Only a few hours and twelve questions before she’d get the chance to try.

While she was rolling up her mat she felt a tap on her shoulder. “Namaste,” he said. She really should’ve come up with a better name for Yogaboy. He wasn’t a boy, for a start. He was in some ways ageless as well as being like a muscly rubber band.

“Hi,” she said, because namaste sounded wrong in her mouth.

“You enjoyed your practice this morning,” he said.

“Yes, it was a good class.” Whatever she’d seen in his exotic appearance, and island of calm manner, so different to any of the men back home, was thoroughly muted by twenty-four questions and their unimaginable answers, and having been kissed silly last night by a man she desired more than was sensible.

She made a move to go and he put his hand on her arm, a touch so light and quick it might not have happened at all. “I’d like to have sex with you.”

Now, this wasn’t a Spinoza-type of proposition—there was no mistaking it for what it was. Something she’d have been seriously all over, if it wasn’t so blunt and there was no Jack.

“Why?” It was out of her mouth before she realized she didn’t care what his response was.

“I like your ass.”

Gosh. “That’s not very, um, spiritual.”

“Screw spiritual. We’ll get chai first, then we’ll fuck.”

She laughed.

He looked confused. “You don’t like chai?”

“I don’t like you.” He’d spoiled the fantasy of himself altogether now.

“But we have a connection.”

The only connection they had was situational. “I’ve been coming here for months, putting my mat beside yours, and we only made eye contact once that whole time.”

He looked at the ceiling. “If I made eye contact with every novice, I’d never have a moment to myself.” Gross. He wasn’t an island of calm, he was river sand in your bikini bottoms. “But I just chose you.”

“Like I’m a fun fair prize? An oversiz

e stuffed bear?”

“Exactly. You get me.”