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“You okay, Rose?”
That deep, gruff timbre lifts the hair on the back of my neck. I cant my head over my shoulder and nearly graze Mark’s nose. I leap forward a step then whirl around. “Dammit, you scared me,” I hiss.
“Sorry. You ran out of the office so quickly I thought something might be wrong.” A slimy smile curls his mouth.
How did I ever find this guy attractive? Oh right, it was probably the beautiful blue eyes, tussled blonde hair, and the totally in age gap. The M.D. at the end of his name didn’t hurt either. My thoughts flicker back to the vase of dead roses. It couldn’t be him … He’d been annoying and slightly stalkerish, but never that creepy.
“Nope, nothing, just in a hurry,” I finally force out.
“Where are you going?” His eyes narrow as they slowly scan over my body, inch by inch. His measured scrutiny has nausea creeping up my throat. Thank gawd I hadn’t changed into my skimpy yoga outfit yet.
“Class,” I blurt.
His light brows slam together, and he drags his hand through his dirty blonde curls. “Rose, why would you lie to me? It’s Christmas break.” He cracks his knuckles, the snap of bone sending goosebumps spilling across my flesh.
“Yoga class,” I amend.
“Oh.” His practiced smile returns, and that older man charm I’d found irresistible finds its way back to the surface.
Why hadn’t I looked into his file more closely? Narcissistic personality disorder hadn’t sounded that bad at the time.
“Anyway, I have to run.” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder at the subway entrance up the block.
“You know I love yoga. What studio do you go to?” he calls out as I start to back pedal.
“Sonic Yoga.” I blurt out the first name that comes to mind. No way in hell I’m telling this guy about Palestra. He’s crazy enough to follow me and rich and well-connected enough to get in.
I spin around and jog up the block. If I waste another minute with this guy, I really will be late.
* * *
I’m smiling like a lunatic as a few men approach at the end of class to thank me. Even a few females shoot me their praise. My heart feels so full I’m scared it’s going to burst. For years, yoga has been my escape, and to be able to share that with others fills me with a happiness I never thought I’d experience.
A super attractive guy with light hair pulled into a sexy man bun walks up as I dab a towel across my forehead. Beads of sweat glimmer over every inch of me, and Mr. Hot Yoga is making me feel each and every one.
“Hey,” he whispers. “Great class.”
“Thanks. I was so nervous.” An embarrassing giggle spills out.
“You shouldn’t be. You were amazing.” He smiles, his parted lips revealing perfect white teeth. “I was wondering if you could teach a private lesson at my penthouse?”
Heat races up my neck and blossoms across my cheeks. Hell, yes.Wait. My thoughts fly back to Mark and the mess that turned into. What does Dr. Winchester always say about the definition of insanity? Oh right, repeating the same actions over and over again and expecting different results.
Steeling my resolve, I force the words out of my mouth. “I’m sorry, but it’s against Palestra policy. I’d be happy to schedule a private lesson here on property though.” It is also against Palestra policy to have relationships with clients, but according to Maisy it happens on the down low all the time.
I resolve to not be that employee this time. No matter how tempting.
“Sounds good. I’ll schedule it with the front desk.” Mr. Hot Yoga offers me a goodbye, and I give myself an internal high five for staying strong. Once the studio has emptied out, I grab my mat and water bottle and saunter into the hallway.
The workout floor is filled with half-naked men pumping iron, and damn, I could get used to this view. I bring my water bottle to my lips and slurp down a big mouthful of cool water. If I stand here any longer, I’m going to need a cold shower.
Across the room, a broad tattooed back catches my eye. Swirling black ink paints the male’s flesh, the intricate patterns too difficult to make out from this distance, but damn, it’s hot. The guy sits on a bench curling massive weights, more ink spiraling around his thick arms. Dark wavy hair falls in wild tumbles and sweat glistens across muscled shoulders.
Hot damn.
A tall, blonde with a cute bob creeps into the periphery of my vision, and I hiss out a curse. Caroline. Which means …No! I inch closer as she approaches the tattooed god sprawled on the bench.
He turns toward her, revealing a familiar profile. That Roman nose, sculpted cheekbones, scruffy jaw. Dammit. Dante. Why did I have to land a job in the one place I’d be forced to see that asshole every day?
