The Heart Has Reasons (19 page)

As
she walked him through the poses, lightning flashed outside the window with an
accompanying crash of thunder that shook the walls of the building.

“Now
lower your upper body while raising your hips to the sky.”  When he had
done so, feeling slightly ridiculous, she said, “This pose is called
Adho
Mukha Svanasana
, or Downward Facing Dog.”  She stepped around behind
him to straddle his outstretched legs, then grasped his hips and shifted his
weight back toward her.

Lightning
pulsed through the curtain with strobe-like effect, bringing the shadows in the
room to brief, frenzied life.  “Let your shoulders drop a little
lower.”  She ran her palm down his spine from waist to shoulders and the
feel of her hand on his bare skin sparked like static electricity, causing his
breath to catch audibly.

“You’re
not feeling any pain, are you?”

“No,
but don’t touch me like that.  It’s very distracting.”

There
was an awkward moment of silence.  “Sorry.  Step your left leg
forward between your hands, into a lunge.  Now bring the right leg
forward, and straighten both while bending forward at the hips.”

As
he returned to Mountain Pose, he became aware once again of the rain drumming
against the windows.  She gazed at him, her face ethereal in the
candlelight.  “Ready to go again?”

At
his nod, she walked him through it once more, a little faster this time, and
when he was once again standing in Mountain Pose, she said, “That was very
good.  I’m impressed.  Since you seem to have the hang of it, I’ll
join you.”

While
the storm raged outside, they went through the series of poses together, as he
tried to concentrate on maintaining proper form, rather than the taut and
supple body next to him.  As she offered an occasional bit of advice, her
voice was low and husky and oh-so-sexy.

After
going through the vinyasas numerous times, they returned once again to Mountain
Pose.  Sweat trickled down the small of his back from the combination of
his exertions and the lack of air conditioning.  Candlelight glistened on
the perspiration on Larissa’s face.

“That
was
Surya Namaskar
A.  Would you like to move on to
Surya
Namaskar
B?”

He
nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

She
walked him through the new series of slightly more complicated poses. 
From time to time, she would place her hands on his body to adjust his
posture.  It was all he could do not to throw her to the floor and ravish
her.

When
he had the hang of the new poses, she once again joined him in performing
them.  As testosterone continued to exert its sway over him, the air
seemed to grow heavy with repressed sexual tension and he wondered if she could
sense it.  The image of him plunging himself into her kept appearing,
unbidden, in his mind’s eye.  To distract himself from such thoughts, he
tried to concentrate on matching his breath to hers.

Finally,
they came back once again to Mountain Pose and, with the glow from the candle
flames gilding the edge of her face, she said, “That’s it for me.  Yoga
practice is always finished with
Shavasana
, or Corpse Pose.

She
lowered herself to lie face up on the carpet.  A fine sheen of
perspiration covered her, creating dark patches on her sport bra and making her
exposed flesh gleam like the petals of a lily.  He gazed down at her, his
already rapid pulse quickening and sending a rush of blood to his loins.

Jesus,
he hadn’t been this horny since returning from Afghanistan, and he wondered if
he’d have to take a sleeping pill himself just to get through this night. 
Tempted nearly beyond willpower and self-control, he eased himself to the floor
to lay an arm’s length from her.  Beyond his closed lids, candlelight
flickered while lightning flashed.

She
was apparently unaware of his discomfort.  “Your feet should be a little
more than hip distance apart, your arms out to the sides, palms up. 
Continue to breathe slowly and deeply as your heart rate returns to
normal.  Empty your mind of all thought.”

Yeah,
like that was going to happen.

* * * * *

Taut with sexual awareness, Larissa lay
on the floor beside him as candlelight and flashes of lightning played off the
walls and ceiling.  Her body felt heavy and ripe and she could feel every
heavy beat of her heart as it pumped blood through her veins.  It pulsed
and throbbed in her body’s most sensitive spots.

Even
with her eyes closed, her attention remained focused solely on him.  She
was acutely aware of every slight movement he made, the rise and fall of his
chest, the warm, masculine scent of his body.  In the short time they’d
been together, she seemed to have developed an acute sensitivity to his presence,
noticing every little thing about him.  Sometimes, the way he looked at
her made her feel as if he could strip away all her reservations, not to
mention her clothes.  The craziness of this situation had her all
discombobulated.  Her reactions to him were too intense, all out of
proportion.  Her body was responding to him as if she hadn’t had sex in
years.

When
their breathing had returned to normal, she sat up.  “So, what do you
think?”

He
sat up next to her.  “Wasn’t what I expected.  I’d always assumed
yoga was for New Age sissies, but there’s absolutely nothing sissified about
it.  Moving through and holding the poses is a hell of a workout.  I
see why you’re so toned and limber.”  He glanced at his watch.  “Jesus,
we were at it for almost an hour-and-a-half.  It’s nearly seven-thirty.”

He
rose to his feet in one smooth movement, and then reached down to her, the
candlelight playing off the rippling muscles of his abdomen.  She
hesitated, then raised her hands to his, and he pulled her to her feet as
easily as if she were a child.  The pleasant scent of masculine sweat
assailed her as he stood before her, a frightening mix of longing and restraint
in his stance.  For one breathless moment as he gazed at her, she caught a
glimpse of the emotion flickering behind his eyes.

Lust.

There
was an odd intensity in his eyes as they looked into hers, and they seemed to
hold an unspoken question.  When his gaze lowered to her lips, the memory
of yesterday’s kisses shocked through her.  Oh, crap, he was going to kiss
her again.

“Lie
down on the bed,” he said, his voice sounding strained and almost hoarse.

A
tremor of alarm shot through her body.  “Why?”

“So
I can shower.”

“
Oh
.”

With
a roguish gleam in his eyes, he asked, “What did you think I had in mind?” 
Her eyes automatically dropped to the bulging crotch of his pajamas and, cheeks
burning, she dragged them away.

Working
quickly and barely looking at her, he secured her to the bed, then grabbed two
candles and disappeared into the bathroom without another word.  In a
quandary, she couldn’t tell if she was relieved or disappointed.

Their
forced proximity was creating a false sense of intimacy, which in turn was
making the situation extremely uncomfortable.  He found too many reasons
to touch her and always stood just a little too close but, except for those two
imprudent kisses, he did nothing so blatantly lascivious that she could
confront him on it.

Not
only did he clearly find her sexually arousing, they were sharing a bed — a
certain recipe for disaster.  How much longer would his self-restraint
last?

Once
again, she wondered if she should take advantage of the situation. 
Seducing him would facilitate the process of persuading him to let her go, but
the thought of having sexual relations with the man who’d kidnapped her was
beyond disturbing.

Was
she that good of an actress?

Would
she even have to act?

He
stayed in the shower longer than usual.  When he finally returned to the
bedroom, he was once again wearing nothing but pajama bottoms that hung
tantalizingly low on his narrow hips.  His broad, muscular back gleamed
faintly with moisture, and she tried not to think about how he’d looked that
first night when he’d stepped, naked and dripping, from the shower.

Since
his mood was considerably lighter, she assumed that, while in the privacy of
the shower, he’d taken matters into his own hands to relieve his sexual
tension.  His may have lessened, but watching the muscles of his chest
ripple as his lungs expanded and contracted only served to ratchet
her
tension
up several more notches.  When he turned to untie her feet, the flickering
candlelight played across the scars on his back, and she couldn’t help but
stare at the thick columns of hard muscle to either side of his spine.

By
the time he’d released her from her bonds, her nerves were stretched as taught
as bowstrings.  Her nipples felt hard as diamonds, but she wasn’t about to
glance down and draw attention to them.  She got a change of clothes and
headed for the bathroom.

When
she passed him, his hand shot out to smack her bottom.  She let out a loud
squeak of surprise and spun around to stare wide-eyed at him.

He
laughed.  “Jesus, you’re wound tight.  Both your feet left the
floor.”

As
a rush of tension swirled in her groin, she managed to say, “Gee, I wonder
why.  And I seem to remember a conversation regarding inappropriate
actions.”

“Sorry.” 
His grin was anything
but
contrite.  “Your ass is so cute I
couldn’t resist.  Those pants don’t leave much to the imagination.”

“Well,
don’t blame that on me.  I’m not the one who packed my travel wardrobe.”

She
took her own shower by flickering candlelight.  Crap, she
was
wound
tight.  Maybe she should follow his example and, here in the privacy of
the shower stall, give herself an orgasm to relieve some tension. 
However, with the bathroom door open and him in the next room, she’d be so
nervous that it would take forever.  What if he got worried and jerked
open the shower curtain?  She’d die—simply drop dead of freaking
embarrassment.

No,
she’d just have to deal with the tension.

After
drying her hair, she exited the bathroom to find him sitting in a chair in the
middle of the candlelit room.  While thunder rumbled and lightning pulsed
brilliantly through the curtain, she went over to the bed and lay down on one
edge, staring up at the shadows that twisted and danced on the ceiling.

He
brought her a sleeping pill and a glass of water.  After she’d swallowed
the pill, he joined her on the bed and handcuffed their wrists together. 
Hugging the opposite side of the mattress, he lay on his side facing her. 
An aura of intimacy seemed to surround them and, after several uncomfortable
minutes of silence, he said, “You really don’t have any family?”

He
was curious about her, which was a good sign.  She needed to play on that,
make herself more real to him, so he’d see her as a person with a life and
feelings, rather than just a job he’d been hired to do.  In addition, for
some strange reason, talking to him seemed to comfort her somewhat.  And
the more they talked, the better the odds that she might glean some bit of
information that might help to send him to prison.

Assuming,
of course, that she survived this ordeal.

She
rolled over onto her side to face him.  “My mom died of leukemia when I
was ten.” 

“I’m
sorry, that must’ve been rough.  That’s her in the portrait in your
hall?”  At her nod, he added, “She was very beautiful.  It’s obvious
where you get your looks.  And your father?”

“Dad
had always been a functioning alcoholic but, after mom got sick, he stayed
drunk twenty-four-seven, so I was the one who took care of her.  She
slowly wasted away until she was just a shriveled up shadow of her former
self.  Then, after she was gone, Dad decided to drink himself to
death.  He was never a mean drunk but by then he was too deep in the
bottle to be much of a father.  There were nights when he didn’t come
home, nights when I went to bed hungry.  I stopped going to school and
missed nearly a whole year, but he never even noticed.  Several days after
my eleventh birthday — which, of course, he forgot — he was coming home from a
bar and crashed his car into a bridge abutment.  The moment I opened the
front door and saw the uniformed policemen standing there, I knew I was an
orphan.”

“I’m
so sorry,” he murmured.  Their handcuffed hands rested side-by-side on the
mattress.  He shifted his arm slightly to take her hand into his own and
the gesture seemed more intimate than another man’s kiss.  Her heartbeat
accelerated, but she didn’t pull away.  “No brothers or sisters?”

“No.”

The
candles filled the room with a soft, flickering light.  “After his death,
where’d you go?”

“A
group home.”

“No
relatives to take you in?”

She
shrugged one shoulder.  “None who were willing.  The home wasn’t so
bad.  They took care of me, fed me, and made sure I got my high school
diploma.  The worst part was being crowded into a dormitory with nine
other girls.”