Resisting Roots (Lotus House Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

bolster under their thighs and an eye pillow. I walked around, giving each of them a drop of essential oil on their chins and the tender space between nose and upper lip to encourage deep breathing. When I got to Trent, he took in a deep breath, which zipped through me like a physical caress, working its way down to curl my toes. His hand jolted out, and he gripped my wrist before I could move away.
    He sniffed my wrist and along my inner arm. I shivered, gooseflesh rising to the surface of my skin.
    “You smell better than the oil.” His voice was a low growl, as if he were halfway between slumbering and awake. I’d go a long way to hear that sexy sound again.
    Yikes. What was wrong with me? I didn’t have time for a man in my life. Between raising Rowan and Mary and working two jobs, the last thing I needed was a distraction or a suitor. Especially one known for being a player on and off the field. No. He was just being flirty. He didn’t really like me. Heck, he didn’t even know me.
    “Thank you,” I said softly. “I’ll be back to do a Savasana massage. Just follow my voice, and I’ll let you know when to rise.”
    “Your class, your rules.” He smirked.
    Even with an eye pillow over his face, just that twinge of lips was drop-dead sexy.
    I guided the class through a meditative scene and provided a head and neck massage to several attendees. Unless I had a teacher trainer in class, I couldn’t get to everyone, but I made damn sure I got to Trent. An invisible tether pulled me toward his supine form. Long heavily muscled legs and arms relaxed in repose. He was so much bigger than I was. If I lay on top of him, his body would swallow me up. I clenched my thighs to stave off the lust that hummed in my system. His arms were at his sides, palms facing up. I wanted to measure the difference in size between our hands, feel the warmth from his hand chakra connected with mine. The white tank he wore did nothing to hide his magnificent chest and abdominals. The man was a brick house of sinewy muscle and bone, perfectly molded as if etched in marble by a world-renowned sculptor.
    Kneeling at the top of his mat where his head rested, I caressed just his shoulders with a featherlight touch, letting him know I was there. My fingertips tingled with the moisture from his sweat. With both palms, I pressed into the upper part of his shoulders at the junction with his neck. He moaned, and that sound tunneled its way into my mind and feathered out through my entire body like an electric charge.
    Taking a slow breath, I removed his eye pillow, placed my hands on both sides of his head, and lifted and held it with one hand. Carefully, I shifted his head to the right and ran my thumb down the side of his neck to those tense shoulders and back up. Then I rubbed the bones at the base of his skull. The average person carried heaps of tension there. A subtle pressure massage usually gave maximum release and helped the person delve deeper into relaxation.
    Trent’s lips parted, and a hint of tongue became visible. That bit of flesh held my attention. If he were my man, I’d have leaned forward and pressed my mouth to his, tasting him while breathing in the scent of the essential oil. Closing my eyes, I repeated the massage on the other side of his head and let my fantasy play out. I rubbed his head, temples, down the sides of his neck, into his shoulders, while dream Genevieve physically molested the baseball player in a private room, where I showed him another version of deep relaxation .
    My music had stopped playing and the room had grown silent. For how long, I didn’t know. Placing his head back down, I moved to the platform, picked up the singing bowl, and counted back from five in a series of instructions that would help the mind and body move from the meditative realm to the physical one.
    “Please sit up and face the teacher and all things,” I called out.
    Numerous sleepy heads lifted, and the attendees shuffled around