Sharon Hartley - The South Beach Search

But the sight of his bare arms and legs created a long, slow pull on her center.

“Assume a comfortable seated position. Close your eyes and allow your attention to focus on your breath, inhaling and exhaling through your nostrils,” Taki instructed, relieved her voice didn’t waver. Yeah, that would inspire confidence in my students.

“You’ve been in your head all day at work,” she said. “Now it’s time to come into your body.”

A class opening she frequently used, but a bad choice of words for tonight, she decided, trying to block the image of Reese’s well-toned arms and shoulders. She regained her concentration by filling her lungs with oxygen and exhaling with a controlled, even release.

She remained aware of Reese’s total attention as she led the class through warm-ups, sun salutes and the various poses she’d selected for tonight’s practice. Long used to students watching her, she couldn’t fathom why his intense scrutiny made her aware of herself as never before. The energy in the class felt sharper tonight, cutting through her distraction with a laserlike quality.

Only Reese’s presence explained the difference.

Why hadn’t she realized he might come to class? She’d encouraged him to try yoga, believing the practice would be therapeutic for him.

“And when you’re ready, you can come out of deep relaxation,” Taki said softly, alerting her students that class time had expired. Sitting with her back against a mirrored wall, she watched Reese, who still lay in corpse position. She hoped he’d been able to relax. Buddha knew the man needed it the way he was always rushing around.

Taki sighed at her ridiculous oath. When had she picked up that saying? Buddha certainly knew no such thing. In her never-ending search for a quiet mind, she’d managed to confuse the different philosophies she’d studied. Now with everything muddled inside her head, she’d never find the path to enlightenment and happiness.

If only her bowl hadn’t been stolen.

But she was probably putting too much faith in that remedy. Hadn’t Navi told her there was never one sure answer?

With her hands steepled in prayer position, she nodded and smiled at her students as they streamed from the yoga studio, and waited for her last student to leave. Reese.

He sat up, appearing more than a little dazed. But new students frequently reacted to their first savasana and deep relaxation the same way. Most people, definitely including Reese, were so stressed by a fast-paced life that their nervous systems remained in a constant state of agitation, which inevitably led down a path to one of the deadly modern diseases.

He’d recover in a few minutes. Tonight was likely the first time he’d managed to truly relax in years.

“How did you like the class?” she asked when his gaze sharpened and focused on her.

He rotated his neck left and right. “Wow. I haven’t been able to do that in a long time. What’d you do to me?”

“Nothing. You did it for yourself.”

“Listen,” Reese said, rising and stepping beside her. “I need your cell number in case something comes up on the bowl.”

“I don’t own a cell phone.” Taki rose and slipped on her sandals.

“Seriously?”

“Refusing to be at the mercy of a machine isn’t against the law.” She eased a loose gray sweatshirt over her camisole, feeling a slight chill now that she’d stopped moving.

“Then give me your home number. You do have a landline, right?”

Without replying, Taki removed her digital player from the spa’s sound system and stuffed it and other personal possessions into her class bag. She didn’t want to give him any phone number. She had good reasons to keep it private. Plus, it would be hard to avoid Reese if he could just call whenever he wanted.

But what if, like he suggested, he needed to speak to her about the bowl? Well, if she gave him her number, he had to respect her privacy and promise not to share it. She needed to make that clear.

When she faced him, his thick eyebrows were drawn together in puzzlement. No doubt he was used to women throwing their numbers at him without being asked.

“Will you miss another meeting if we go upstairs for a cup of herb tea?” she asked. “Before I give you my number, I need to explain something to you.”

He hesitated. “I don’t have a meeting, but...”

“But you have work to do,” she finished for him. Of course. She should have known that he’d feel compelled to use every second of the day to work. Even at night. So Mr. Workaholic could just wait to learn her phone number until he had a spare second.

He took a quick glance at his watch and sighed. “I guess I can make time.”

* * *

“THE PAWNSHOP DIDN’T have your bowl,” Reese told Taki as he relaxed onto a comfortable cushion. Until tonight, he’d never enjoyed this cozy nook of the spa where casual futon-style couches faced a picture window on the Atlantic Ocean. Five miles offshore, the lights of huge freighters glowed on the horizon.

At the service bar, she examined various boxes of tea, selected one and poured steaming water over tea bags in two white foam cups. Always in a hurry to get somewhere else, on occasion he’d grabbed a cup of coffee at this free beverage station, but never knew they provided herb tea. No doubt Taki’s doing.

“Lourdes promised she’d order biodegradable cups,” Taki said, frowning at the tea. “I’ll have to remind her again.”

“All Jacques’s Hock had was a silver chalice from Hialeah Race Track,” Reese said. “Sorry.”

She nodded. “I no longer believe my bowl is at a pawnshop. Honey?”

“What?” he asked, startled.

“Do you want honey in your tea?” She turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Or would you rather add another sweetener yourself?”

They stared at each other across the tiny area, and Reese wondered at the uneasiness in her eyes. In the soft lighting, their startling blue color appeared subdued, but her fair skin glowed. What was she worried about?

“Please,” he said. “And thank you.”

“In fact,” she said, while dribbling the thick liquid into the cups, “I’m not at all certain that your bad guys even took my bowl.”

When Reese accepted the tea from Taki, his hand brushed her slender fingers. She lowered her eyes at the contact.

“Why is that?” he asked, enjoying the connection between them. Hell, for some demented reason he enjoyed himself whenever he spent time with Taki.

“It’s a feeling I have,” she said. She parted her lips as if to say more, then pressed them firmly together.

Wishing he knew what she was about to say, he said, “Do you always rely so heavily on your feelings?”

She leaned back on the sofa. “What are you relying on to believe that Romero’s people took your briefcase?”

“Clear, logical assumptions supported by indisputable facts.”

“Well, my feelings may not be logical, but they’re usually right. Are your assumptions always correct?”

“Not always,” he said, smiling at her perceptive question. “Okay. Then what happened to your bowl?”

She stared into the white cup. “I don’t know yet.”

“Well, I do. Believe me, Taki, I’m trying like hell to get my briefcase back. If I do, I’ll locate your bowl.”

“Thank you,” she said.

But Reese could tell she didn’t believe he would find her lost artifact. He looked forward to witnessing her pleasure if he did. He took a hesitant taste and found the brew sweet and refreshing.

“What kind of tea is this?”

“Rosemary. It improves the memory, so it’ll help you with your work later.”

He stared into the amber liquid and shook his head at her constant attempts to help everyone. Then he grinned at her.