Resisting Roots (Lotus House Book 1) by Audrey Carlan Read Free Book Online Page B

“It’s kind of my thing.”
    “Yeah, mine too.” His voice was a low rumble.
    Tremors skittered through my body. I flung my hands out, releasing the excess energy. Getting to work right this minute would be the best approach to relieve some of this built up sexual tension.
    For the first thirty minutes, I took Trent through a series of poses while seated on the floor. It was obvious by the lack of flexibility that he needed yoga in his life. The man was strung tighter than a drum.
    “Okay, lie on your back and place your right ankle on your left knee.”
    He followed my instructions precisely.
    “Now lift the leg up, bringing the leg and ankle closer to your chest.”
    The leg didn’t budge too far before a pained expression stole across his face. I leaned toward him and placed the extended foot against my abdomen. I moved my hands to his knees and supported him while I leaned forward, putting pressure on the legs, forcing him to move them closer to his chest.
    “Now lean up toward me.”
    Trent leaned closer, and for a few moments, we were face-to-face. His breath wisped across my lips. I licked them reflexively, and he zeroed in on the movement.
    “Genevieve, has anyone ever told you how ridiculously beautiful you are? It’s almost hard to look at you without reacting inappropriately.”
    I leaned back, trying to hide my response while still feeling a tad shaky. Lust swirled low in my belly, and moisture pooled between my thighs at the mere hint of what he could possibly want to do to me that would be categorized as inappropriate. Just thinking about it again had my sacral chakra reacting with a fiery need to be filled.
    Trent’s slick back slammed to the mat when I bounced backward. Sweat pooled in the creases of his rigid abdomen, bringing additional attention to the perfect mountain range that was his cut abs.
    “Other side,” I said, not giving any credence to his comment and doing my best to get my libido under control. Perhaps Luna was right. Maybe I did need to have sex to take the edge off. My battery-operated boyfriend was obviously not doing the trick.
    Trent inhaled a few breaths, lifted the injured leg to his ankle, and instantly winced. I placed my hand on the back of his thigh. His hand immediately covered mine, and he held it to the injury as if the double amount of pressure provided relief. He gritted his teeth and breathed through his nose.
    “Here?” I pressed more firmly into the hamstring, applying a gentle pressure.
    He nodded brusquely.
    “Breathe with me, Trent. Inhale…two, three, four, five. Pause, holding all the air within your chest. Now exhale…two, three, four, five. Repeat.”
    Together we breathed through the pose called threading the needle . Putting my abdomen once again to his bare foot, I leaned over him but not pushing the leg as I had with the other side. With his injury, I needed to be far more cautious.
    “You’re doing great. Keep breathing.”
    His hand left mine, but instead of moving my own away, I ran the heel of my palm lightly up the length of his hamstring. Closing my eyes, I imagined the muscle and the repaired tear, focusing on sending healing energy through my hand chakras. I rubbed up the tight muscle from bum to knee and then back and forth in a consistent rhythm. He groaned, but I kept the massage going until the sound of him grunting broke my concentration. I opened my eyes and met Trent’s gaze. His hazel eyes were blazing hot.
    “Gumdrop, whatever you did, you’re going to keep doing it. For a couple of blissful minutes, I didn’t feel an ounce of pain. You’re like a voodoo healer.” His stare was intense, never wavering from my face. Awe and relief seeped into his features, lightening every pained line around his eyes and mouth so he looked younger, less stressed. Dropping my head, I moved back to my mat. “I don’t practice magic, voodoo, or any of that nonsense. Yoga is about self-discovery, finding balance between the mental and