Fall Into Temptation (Blue Moon Book #2)(6)

“What’s this for?”

“It helps with modifications for some of the poses.”

Beckett eyed her. “I doubt I’ll need to modify anything.”

“Suit yourself,” she said with a wink and sauntered back to her mat.

Beckett took a spot in the back row and pulled off his sweatshirt.

The woman next to him smiled at him and he recognized her as the reigning women’s champ of the Blue Moon Five-Miler for the past four years. She also managed to kick his ass every time they met up on the running trail.

“Hey, Taneisha. How’s the training going?”

She greeted him with a toothpaste commercial-worthy grin. “I should be Boston-ready for next year. What brings you to yoga?” She flowed forward over her extended legs, reaching for her feet.

“Just supporting the small business community,” Beckett answered evasively.

“What other mayor would willingly walk into a hot power flow class to show his support? Blue Moon is lucky to have you,” Taneisha said, gliding back up and stretching her arms over her head.

“Hot power flow?”

Gianna cut off any response to his question from the front of the room. “Okay, everyone. We’re going to get started. If you’re new, don’t worry.” Her green eyes locked on to Beckett’s face. “Just follow your neighbor and I’ll be around to help. So let’s start in child’s pose.”

Four minutes into the class, and Beckett had a steady trickle of sweat working its way down his back and a growing concern that he wasn’t going to survive the class. Gianna wandered around the room calling out instructions in a soothing voice that belied the fact that she was basically asking her students to work themselves up to and past death on their mats.

Beckett gritted his teeth and rolled forward, triceps shaking as they dipped into a low plank again. Hadn’t they already done like fifty of these? This constant flowing — or vinyasa, whatever the f*ck that was — wasn’t awakening his body as she claimed it would. Instead it was drawing his attention to body parts that screamed in agony.

He was in great shape, wasn’t he? Why did he feel like the Tin Man clunking around in shorts?

He shoved back to down dog again, a brief respite, before kicking one leg forward. He rose up, a second behind his neighbors, and reached for the ceiling, praying for a meteor to strike the studio.

Beckett was thinking about collapsing on the floor and taking a breather when he felt hands on him straightening his arms.

“Lift through your arms,” Gianna said quietly. “That’s right. Now extend through the spine like you’re reaching for the ceiling through the top of your head.” She ran her hands up his sweat-soaked spine in a sweeping motion that made his skin burn.

“Perfect,” she said when he complied. He was acutely and uncomfortably aware of her hands leaving his body.

He had to admit, the pose felt better with her corrections. But it only lasted another second before she had them plunging through the sequence on the other side. Over and over he careened toward the floor praying his arms would hold him. The sweat was flowing so freely it was tickling his legs. A drop gathered on the tip of his nose and splashed to the mat as he swooped down.

Are my eyeballs sweating? he wondered.

He chanced a glance to his left. Taneisha’s flawless skin was dotted with beads of sweat and she was smiling her way through another sun salutation. Next to her, Fitz had stripped off his shirt and was now only wearing his ridiculous briefs.

There’s a picture he wouldn’t be unseeing anytime soon, he thought. But maybe the skinny hippie had the right idea in this situation. Beckett used the thigh-quivering chair pose to yank his t-shirt over his head. It landed with a wet thwack on the floor behind him.

Gianna had returned to her mat and flowed with the class on another round. She moved with ease and grace, as if she’d been born flowing through yoga poses. He hated her gorgeous, graceful guts.



Something was nudging his foot.

Beckett opened an eye and swiped at the sweat that rolled into it.

Like a siren, she appeared in his line of vision. A shimmering mirage of evil beauty. Gianna grinned down at him.

“What was that?” he groaned, flopping his arms out to the sides.

“That was hot power flow yoga,” she answered, sinking down next to him in a move as graceful as ballet.

“How do you move like that?” Beckett asked, studying her. She had a dimple in her chin and mischief in her eyes.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re dancing. Everything you do is like dancing.”

She was starting to look concerned. “How about we get some water into you?” she suggested.

Beckett rolled to his side and slowly worked his way into a seated position. The studio was empty except for the two of them. He vaguely remembered everyone bowing and saying “nama-something,” but he didn’t really recall the mass exodus.

Gianna handed him a bottle of water and a towel. “How do you feel?”

“Like I was steamrolled, wrung out, and hung up to dry.”

She laughed then, a husky music. She patted his shoulder. “That’s exactly how you’re supposed to feel.”

“You win,” Beckett sighed and drank deeply.

“You hung in there for the entire class. I’d say this one ends in a tie,” Gianna decided. She rose to her feet and reached a hand out to him.