Sharon Hartley - The South Beach Search

She allowed her gaze to roam over the eclectic collection of furniture and curios from her Eastern travels and secondhand shops. She was especially fond of her collection of statuettes of Lord Ganesha, the Hindu elephant god, a deity so powerful it was said he could remove any obstacle. Now, that was some symbolism she really liked.

Everything had meaning to her, although her possessions probably looked like a bunch of old junk to Reese.

But there were no trappings from the Spencer fortune, she realized with relief. Even if he had heard of a runaway heiress, he’d never make a connection to her.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, “and I’ll put on some water.”

Taki poured distilled water into a kettle and placed it on her stove. With a quick push of a button, she ignited the flame, and gas burned with a quiet hiss. Reaching for two mugs from wooden cabinets, she mentally kicked herself for letting Reese in when she knew she should avoid him. How could she keep a calm mind when the man stirred emotion she was better off burying?

He’d been sweet to meet her at Puerto Sagua, but she could have just said she was tired, that she needed to get some sleep. That wasn’t a lie, not at all. She hadn’t slept well since she’d met Reese. She frowned. Since her bowl had been stolen.

But oh, no. She’d been entranced by the color of his eyes, by the shape of his lips, by the rich timbre of his voice as he’d asked about tea. It was beyond foolish to allow Reese inside her home, and dangerous because she found him so absurdly attractive. And why did she? The man represented everything she’d run away from four years ago. She should stay away from him, as she did all negative influences.

So how to explain her intense rush of pleasure when he showed up at the restaurant? Her reaction had nothing to do with her bowl, much less any past or future karma. She’d been thrilled from her crown chakra to the tips of her toes that he had come to help her.

Definitely beyond foolish.

Waiting for the water to boil, Taki rejoined Reese in the living room. He stood with folded arms squinting at a print of Buddha hanging near the door to her bedroom. Sensing he was chilled in her unheated home, she turned on a rectangular space heater by the ancient pink brocade sofa.

He’s from Miami, she remembered. Miami natives took great offense whenever the temperature dropped below sixty.

“It’ll warm up in a minute,” she said. As she closed the door to the bedroom, Taki smiled at her dangling angels and prayed for luck.

“Is this also from Tibet?” Reese asked, indicating the colorful print.

“No, a secondhand shop on Lincoln Road.” Taki admired the peaceful scene of Buddha seated beneath a leafy tree. It was one of her favorite images, one that usually put her in a serene frame of mind. But not tonight with Reese standing right next to her.

“Tell me about your bowl,” he said, “why it’s so important that you’d risk your life.”

She continued to stare at the bright colors in the print. “I didn’t risk my life.”

“If Romero’s people are involved, you did.”

“But why would Romero’s people want my bowl?”

“I keep hoping you’ll tell me.”

Taki leveled her gaze at Reese. Something in his voice made her uneasy. He observed her steadily, a hint of five o’clock shadow on his chin and cheeks. Did he think she knew something about his stolen briefcase?

“I don’t know any more than you do about the theft, Reese.”

Before he could respond, the kettle issued a shrill whistle.

Reese followed her into the tiny kitchen and less than an inch separated their hips. Not for the first time, she noted how small her kitchenette was. He was so near, she could sense every movement, every shift of his weight on his feet.

“It’s amazing what someone did with this old garage,” he said, loosening his tie and looking around. “How did you find it?”

“I give private lessons to Victoria Van Buren, the woman who owns the estate. She was a friend of...” Taki trailed off, realizing she’d almost told Reese that Victoria was a friend of her mother’s. Better not reveal anything about her history.

“Years ago,” Taki continued after clearing her throat, “Victoria’s husband converted this garage to an apartment and loaned it to friends in need. Since his death, she’s continuing that tradition.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Almost six months,” Taki said as she poured steaming water into a ceramic teapot. Of course she couldn’t tell him an outright lie. She had to be careful. Satya, truth, was an important yogic principle, one she believed in.

“It’s nice,” he said. “Cozy.”

“I really love this cottage. It’s full of such good energy. I think old buildings retain the souls of all the people who once lived inside.”

Reese blinked. “Like ghosts?”

“No, not exactly. Just some part of their essence—or spirit maybe left behind.”

“Come on, Taki,” he said with a laugh. “You don’t really believe drywall and wood retain dead souls?”

She nodded, again confused by the strange connection she felt to Reese, which made no sense. He was nonreceptive to her beliefs and plainly had a lot of lives yet to live, a lot of issues left to resolve.

Not that she didn’t, she reminded herself. Maybe she should be more open to his way of thinking.

When she didn’t answer, he said, “Seriously?”

She ought to push him far, far away, but couldn’t since he could help her find the bowl. She stared into the brewing tea, knowing that now she wasn’t being honest with herself. Her interest in Reese wasn’t all about the bowl anymore. Maybe it never was.

“Do you really want this tea?” she said. She dropped her hand to her side, brushing his arm.

With a grin, he raised his eyebrows. “Do you have anything stronger?”

“Wine. Red or white?”

“Red might warm us up,” he said.

Reese stood close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek. Between his overwhelming presence and the steaming water, she didn’t need to warm up. She felt as if the flames from the stove would consume her any second.

For a crazy moment she wanted to touch him. She wanted to take the palms of her hands and glide them up the sleeves of his jacket, pressing firmly enough to feel the hard muscle she knew lay beneath the fine blue fabric.

“Taki?” he said, a soft question in his voice.

“You’ll have to move so I can reach the wine bin. It’s overhead.” Her voice sounded strained to her own ears.

“I’ll get it for you,” he offered.

When Taki met his puzzled gaze, her breath caught in her throat. She, a woman who prided herself on fabulous breath control, could barely inhale because of swift, overpowering physical desire. Reese no longer seemed familiar. He was now a stranger who awoke a hunger she’d thought buried beneath mounds of guilt and sadness.

She swallowed and pointed to the cabinet. “The far corner,” she said.

Reese’s eyes searched hers, but he raised his arm and easily withdrew a bottle of California Cabernet Sauvignon from the high cupboard.

“How’s this?” he asked.

“Perfect.”

When she accepted the bottle, she placed her hands over Reese’s long fingers. For a brief moment he didn’t let go, and she felt his cool hand beneath her warm palms.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Sure.” His gaze locked on hers, he released the wine and took slow backward steps out of the kitchen.

Trying to regain her focus, Taki took deep inhalations as she searched for the corkscrew in a messy kitchen drawer. Why could she never achieve order in her life? Guru Navi always lectured about order and cleanliness, saucha, another essential of a good yoga practice. She located the chrome utensil, grabbed two wineglasses and moved into the living room.