Whiskey Beach Part 51

He lifted his head. "s.e.xy thoughts into the universe."

"It couldn't hurt. Where do writers and artists and inventors and all the creative people get their ideas?" She lifted her hands, circled her index fingers in the air.

"Is that where they come from?"

"They're out there." Lowering her hands, she ran her fingers in a firm line down his spine, up again. "People have to open up, reach for them. Positive or negative thoughts, it's up to you. One of the ways to grab the good ones is to start the day opening up."

"I think we accomplished that."

"Step two." She nudged him aside, made a dash toward the bathroom. "See if you can hunt me up a pair of sweatpants or shorts. Drawstrings would work. I'm using one of the spare toothbrushes stocked in the cabinet in here."

"Okay." She'd know more about the amenities than he did, he figured, as she'd probably put them in there.

He found a pair of shorts with a drawstring and dragged on a pair of sweats himself.

"They're going to be too big," he told her when she came out.

"I'll make do." She pulled them on, began adjusting them. "You can meet me in the gym."

"Oh. I really-"

"We've spent considerable time naked and intimate, Eli."

Hard to argue when she stood there in his shorts, naked from the waist up.

"I think breathing and stretching comes pretty low on the list of embarra.s.sments." She grabbed her white tank, wiggled into it. "I need a hair tie-got one in my bag. In the gym," she repeated, and left him.

Maybe he stalled a little. It wasn't embarra.s.sment, he told himself. He just preferred starting the day with coffee, like normal people.

But he found her in the gym, sitting cross-legged on one of the two yoga mats she'd laid out, her hands on her knees, her eyes closed.

She should've looked ridiculous in his shorts. So why did she look s.e.xy, and peaceful, and just exactly right?

Eyes still closed, she reached over and patted the second mat. "Sit down, be comfortable. Take a couple minutes to breathe."

"I usually breathe all day. At night, too."

Her lips curved a little. "Conscious breathing now. In through the nose-expanding the belly like blowing up a balloon, out through the nose, deflating the balloon. Long, deep, even breaths. Belly rises and falls. Relax your mind."

He didn't think he was very good at relaxing his mind, unless he was writing. And that wasn't relaxing it but using it. He'd get coffee quicker if he breathed, though.

"Now, inhale your arms up till your palms touch, exhale them down. Inhale up"-she continued in that quiet, soothing voice-"exhale down."

She had him stretch over his crossed legs, from side to side. Over one extended leg, the other, over both. He relaxed into it, a little. Until she told him to stand at the front of his mat.

Then she smiled at him, the day dawning behind the window at her back. If she'd asked him to twist his body into a pretzel, he'd have given it a shot.

Instead she had him repeat vertically what they'd done on the floor. Just breathing, reaching, bending, with a few variations of lunges, all as slow and easy as their morning lovemaking.

In the end she had him lie on his back, palms up, eyes closed. She spoke of letting go, of inhaling light, exhaling dark, while she rubbed his temples with her fingertips.

By the time she brought him back, had him sitting again, bending forward to-as she called it-seal his practice, he felt like he'd had a little nap, in a warm sea.

"Nice." She gave him a pat on the knee. "Ready for breakfast?"

He looked into her eyes. "They don't pay you enough."

"Who?"

"Whoever comes to your cla.s.ses."

"You don't know what I charge for my cla.s.ses."

"It isn't enough."

"I charge more for private lessons." Grinning, she walked her fingers up his arm. "Interested?"

"Well ..."

"Think about it," she said as she rose. "And for now, do those neck stretches I showed you every couple hours when you're at the keyboard. Those and the shoulder rolls for now," she continued as they started downstairs. "Since I'm smelling spring, I'm thinking spring omelet. You can make the coffee."

"You don't have to go to the trouble. You have a cla.s.s."

"I've got time, especially if I can come back for my ma.s.sage equipment when I bring the groceries and do the house."

"It feels-I feel-a little weird having you take care of the house, and cook, and everything when we're sleeping together."

She opened the refrigerator, began taking out what she wanted. "Are you firing me?"

"No! I just think it feels like taking advantage."

She got a cutting board, a knife. "Who initiated s.e.x?"

"Technically you did, but only because you beat me to it."

"That's nice to hear." After was.h.i.+ng the asparagus and mushrooms, she brought them to the board to slice. "I like working here. I love the house. I love cooking, and I get a lot of satisfaction seeing my cooking work for you. You've put on a little healthy weight since you've been eating it. I like s.e.x with you. Why don't we say if any of those things change, I'll let you know, and we'll deal with it. If you decide you don't like how I take care of the house, or cook, or don't want to have s.e.x with me, you let me know, and we'll deal with it. Fair enough?"

"More than."

"Good." She got out a frying pan, olive oil. Smiled. "How about that coffee?"

CHAPTER Fourteen