At appropriate intervals, she joined other female rehab professionals for lunch. Since they were all of a similar age, occasionally there’d be jokes about “cougars”, women who preferred younger men. Women who fantasized about those strong agile bodies, someone who would make them feel in their twenties again, males who could match their surprisingly expansive forty-something sexual appetites. Though she enjoyed the harmless frivolity of it, that wasn’t what she felt for Jon.
She wasn’t seeing herself as the older, wiser woman, taking him over like some kind of Mata Hari, guiding his steps in her bed. When she looked at him, instead she sensed his ability to take her over, guide her steps. Why couldn’t she say it, even in her mind? She’d already opened that can of worms, hadn’t she?
Jon was a sexual Dominant, the same as Peter was. A Master. Now that she knew it about Peter, she was certain of it for Jon. In between the lines of that gossip column, there’d even been a couple of snarky hints about certain sexual tendencies the Knights shared, but nothing stated overtly enough to invite problems for the paper or confirm Rachel’s suspicions. But now she was sure, and wondered that she’d ever doubted it.
Though being a Dom didn’t make a man more mature, Jon gave her that feeling. She responded to him, far more than she had to any Master close to her age, those few she’d encountered on her Internet forays. It was as if whatever his particular brand of Mastery was, it was calling to her, and her alone.
Foolishness. The K&A men had never lacked for female companionship. They were regularly paired with Louisiana’s most beautiful women for large charity events or other prominent social occasions. But always different women. As if it was more for show than a real relationship, no commitment or meaning.
Oh God. Was she really doing the rock star groupie thing? All those other women mean nothing, because he hasn’t met me yet. The real me. For the millionth time, she reminded herself all he’d ever been toward her was warm, cordial. Anything else was her, reading things into his behavior. The few times he’d tried to draw her out about her life beyond the studio or PT, she’d firmly discouraged that. He’d been enough of a gentleman to take the hint, mostly because she’d seen his eyes fall on the wedding band she wore. She liked that about him, that he respected that, no matter how false a signal it truly was. However, now that she knew what he was, she thought it was even more than a respect for the institution.
In his world, a man did not encroach on what belonged to another man. When she thought of it in such an archaic way, a way that would appall most modern women, it sent that inappropriate thrill through her again. Men with such a code might demand a woman obey their will, but they considered that a gift that should never be abused. Their dominance wasn’t a lack of respect, but rather an acknowledgment of their responsibility to care for that woman.
Yeah, right. Damn it, she never learned, already tripping along in a romantic fantasy land again. People were far too messed up to figure things out like that. Those who understood it, on both sides, were too few. Instead, they usually crossed the lines and abused the boundaries, making it all pointless. She knew, from trying with her husband. She hadn’t known how to articulate what she needed, and Cole…
It didn’t matter anymore. She’d enjoy her avid fantasies from behind the safe gate of her mind. It was a torment she was obviously willing to endure, because she was here, wasn’t she?
He was wearing natural cotton drawstring trousers, soft and worn, like the white tank tee that showed off the well-muscled arms and chest. After class, if it was a weekday, he would shower in the locker rooms and change into his expensive suit. His dark hair would fall in sexy disarray over those thoughtful, incredibly intelligent blue eyes, the cut emphasizing the slope of cheekbones, a firm jaw and mouth that would actually cause her to stammer if she made the mistake of looking at it while she was addressing the class.
He was sliding off the shoes he’d worn from the locker rooms. As he straightened, he saw her. She couldn’t speak, looking at him there. When he walked over to her, he passed through shafts of early morning sunlight, filtering through the rice paper shades. Shadows and light.
“Good morning,” he said, and it echoed through the empty room, a resonance that enchanted the senses. She wondered if it was the same kind of voice the Virgin Mary had heard when an angel appeared and told her about her divine fate.
Okay, just because she was meeting him on Sunday morning didn’t mean she could intertwine sexual yearning with biblical passages. She’d be on a one-way course for hell for sure. She already felt the flames licking over her body, and the fact they felt good wasn’t reassuring.
As he stopped in front of her, she still hadn’t said a word. She couldn’t. Particularly when he slid a knuckle along her cheek, catching a loose curl of her blonde hair and tucking it back into one of her hair clips. They all laughed about her wayward hair that she French-braided along her nape for class. More than one student had done the same thing he’d just done. Only it meant so much more when a male hand did it, a hand attached to a body like that and intense eyes like those.
Snap out of it, Rachel. You’re making a damn fool of yourself.
The words came straight out of her dead marriage, in the same abrupt, impatient tone. They propelled her back a step, the startled jump of her heart making her clear her throat with a rasping cough. “Good morning,” she said, though “Good” broke into two syllables because of the catch in her voice. She shrugged her shoulders, a mental shake that might look odd, but it helped get her mind back in the right place. Or at least turned in that direction. “Do you have anything in particular you want to practice today, or should I follow our usual class format?”
She should have indulged in more inane conversation. How was traffic, how was your week, the weather? Did you have a Danish for breakfast? Because your breath has a sweet iced sugar scent that makes me want to devour your mouth.
However, since the rest of her class wasn’t here, she needed to get this progressing forward, before she really did do something foolish.
“You already know what I want, Rachel.” As her stomach lurched, he gave a half smile. “I prefer the more advanced sessions. Are you up for it today?”
Her advanced class met on Friday mornings. He often couldn’t make that one because of the executive staff meetings he’d told her were held on that day. When he attended her basic and intermediate classes, he chose the more intense modifications of the asanas, but he rarely had the opportunity to do some of the truly advanced positions.
“Yes, that will be fine.” She nodded like her head was jerked by a string. “Let’s get started.”
Since he was studying her curiously as they moved to their mats, she tried to relax her shoulders, loosen up some. Then his next question coiled her up like a spring again.
“What are you doing on the last Saturday of this month?”
She blinked. Was he about to ask her out on a date? The very idea could make her legs buckle beneath her, even as her mind scrambled for a way to deal with it. Saying she was knitting boots for an expected grandchild might be sufficiently off-putting, except of course she didn’t have one of those. And she didn’t know how to knit. “I’m not sure. Why?”
“There’s a Tantric yoga workshop for couples at Independence Park that weekend. If the weather’s nice, they’ll have it in the botanical gardens. It’s going to be taught by a visiting guru from Bangkok.” At her nonplused look, he lifted a shoulder. “You mentioned that some of your married students have been asking you to teach that form, but you needed to brush up on it. The setting is beautiful, of course, and we could go have a coffee at a café afterward, maybe somewhere on the riverfront.”