“Okay everyone, we’re going to start in a cross-legged position, hands on knees, spine straight, breathing deeply.”
Even from here, she could see Michael studying Izzy’s back, but Kat—God bless her—knelt beside Izzy and murmured something in her ear that caused her to get up and follow Kat into the dining hall. Bex’s shoulders relaxed, and she almost found it within her to laugh at the frustration and disappointment painted across Michael’s face.
By the time Kat returned, the group were on their hands and knees, doing cat-cow pose. Kat dragged her mat to the front, where they could speak without being overheard. “She’s helping Megan make waffles,” she said under her breath. “Tione won’t let anyone in to talk to her.”
“Thanks, babe.” She finished her last cat-cow and smoothed her back into tabletop pose, checking that everyone else was keeping pace. “As you inhale, come up on your toes, and when you exhale, rise up into downward-facing dog.”
Of its own accord, her gaze skittered back to Michael. He moved fluidly, as though the actions were familiar, and when she guided them into a lunge, followed by warrior poses one, two, and three, she decided he definitely wasn’t a novice. Whether or not he’d come here with the intention of spying on her daughter, at some point he’d been a regular yoga practitioner. That shouldn’t surprise her. He’d always been a physical guy.
Yeah, she thought as she watched his thighs flex, horrified when her mouth watered and she wanted to sink her teeth into him,really physical.
She’d always suspected he’d be a generous and passionate lover, however buttoned-up he may appear, but she’d been ashamed of herself for wondering about it, even for a fraction of a second, while involved with his brother. Now her body heated in response to those very same thoughts. The damn thing was betraying her, hormones pumping through her veins, tightening her nipples and causing tingles in places that hadn’t tingled in forever.
“Lower to your knees,” she called out, “then step back into a high plank.”
He did as she said, and she tried not to ogle him, but his shoulders were as juicy as his thighs. And hisass. She bit her lip. Suddenly his eyes lifted to hers, dark and hot, skimming down her body and making her traitorous nipples pucker even tighter, like they were vying for attention.
God, she was glad Izzy wasn’t here to witness this. Being turned on under the same roof as her daughter felt wrong. Bex wasn’t just a woman anymore, she was a mother, and she couldn’t indulge in sexual fantasies—especially not about Michael Briggston.
Tearing her gaze away from his, she tried to remember what pose came next in the sequence, flustered when her mind emptied. She improvised. “Ease down to your stomach, onto your forearms like a sphinx.”
For the rest of the session, she was a fizzing mess of hormones that bubbled higher with each stolen glance. She only stuttered once more, and when she drew their time together to a close, she got up while the others were still recovering and slipped out through the kitchen rather than staying to chat as she usually would.
Chapter Eight
Michael wasa giant knot of frustration. His attempt to spend more time around Izzy had proved fruitless, and worse, he was worked up from seeing Bex’s limber body in tight-fitting clothes, bending like a pretzel. He tried to exercise off the frustration during the cycle from Sanctuary to his place, but no matter how hard he strained his muscles, he couldn’t erase the image of her in downward dog from his mind.
Her yoga class had conjured a whole new Bex-related fantasy, in which they were alone and he came up behind her, took her by the hips, and drove into her. He pedaled harder, but it did no good. The only thing that could calm him down at this point was a frigid shower, which he gladly climbed into within a few minutes of arriving home.
He needed a new plan. One that didn’t rely on cornering her and Izzy during yoga. Wracking his brain, he considered his options—which were, admittedly, few. And that was why, eight hours later, he found himself standing outside the school, wearing a bright orange high-vis vest and manning the crossing. He’d told his new colleagues he wanted to spend some hands-on time around the students and their parents, to interact and get a feel for who they were, and while that was partly true, there was only one little girl he really wanted to get a better look at.
Izzy hadn’t left yet. He knew this because she hadn’t passed by, and there was only one way in and out of the school, which was a safety risk, as far as he was concerned, and one he intended to address soon.
Waving a car through, Michael waited until it had peeled away and then stepped onto the road, wielding a Stop-Go sign. “Away you go, kids.”
A group of children, who’d been waiting less-than-patiently, bolted across to their parents, and one boy on a scooter shot down the road, juddering over the rough seal. When the last of them had made it safely to the other side, he stepped off the road and allowed the traffic to flow freely again. Not that there was much of it, even at pick-up time. The school had a couple of hundred students, many of whom seemed to walk the short distance to their homes. Even the ones who lived on the outskirts of town would take no more than forty minutes to walk home.
“Hi, there.”
He glanced up, startled. A pretty brunette with bright pink lipstick and a stroller smiled at him. He cleared his throat. “Hello.”
“You must be the new principal,” she continued, holding his gaze until he wanted to squirm. “I’ve heard all about you from the other mums.”
The other mums? He wasn’t aware he’d met any of them, and it wasn’t as if he’d done anything particularly social since he arrived in the bay. He kept a smile in place. There was something predatory about her, even though she was only half his size. A quick check of her ring finger revealed a massive hunk of diamond, and he relaxed a little.
“Yes, I am.” He offered her a hand, and she took it, her fingers caressing his palm as they slid away. “Michael Briggston. And you are?”
“Mandy Helm. Dexter is my son.”
Michael nodded, as if that meant something. “Pleasure to meet you.” He hadn’t been around long enough to learn any names yet, other than Izzy’s. Speaking of, a short, dark head appeared in the corner of his vision and he swiveled under the guise of checking for traffic to confirm it was her. Izzy’s cloud of hair was restrained by a red headband, and her navy uniform skirt, clearly made for someone taller, reached halfway down her shins.
“I thought they were kidding when they said how handsome you were, but if anything, they were playing you down.”
Michael’s head snapped back to Mandy Helm. Had she just said what he thought she had? “Mrs. Helm, I don’t think—”
“Mandy, please,” she interrupted, her smile widening. “They also said you were a prude.”
Huh. Who were “they?” And why was he offended?