I inhale the clean scent of Roman’s skin and try to exhale the fact of his manly sexiness.

I fail.

“Plant your feet and spread your toes. Ground yourself in the earth and its energy. Imagine you are a puppet, with a string extending from the top of your head to the outer limits of the sky. Stand tall, palms forward. This is mountain pose.”

I can guarantee that real mountains do not vibrate with the closeness of Roman Bliss.

On second thought, maybe they do.

But I’m pretty sure most mountains haven’t had his hands on their hip bones during a half-headstand or whatever it was I tried to do earlier. Most mountains haven’t stood palm to palm with Roman, looking easily into the eyes of another human treasure. At least, that’s what I think Azalea said. I had partially blacked out from sheer proximity and from the fact of doing downward dog in front of him multiple times, extending my hips toward the resort.

And, by extension, toward Roman’s face.

“Partners in the second row, step forward and place your hands on the waist of your partner.”

Roman doesn’t even hesitate. His hands are on my waist almost instantly, those big, strong hands.

“Add your encouragement to your partner’s pose with gentle intention. You are both grounding them and raising them to the sky, as the earth—”

Her voice fades out, a staticky radio, as Roman’s breath brushes the back of my neck.

“Feel free to lean into the hands of your partner as you would lean into the earth,” Azalea says, and God help me, I do it. Just a little. Just to see what it’s like. I may never get another chance to do something like this before I die, and I would hate to—

Something skitters across the top of my foot.

With a strangled screech, I jump a few inches into the air. What is it, what is it, what is it? I pick up my left foot and brush it over my right. Even in abject terror, I try to maintain the palms forward pose, and in the process of trying to brush both feet with the other foot I find myself tipping fully into Roman’s arms.

“I’m fine,” I call breathlessly, raising my gaze to discover that Azalea is looking at me with a healthy dose of concern while the rest of the class is struggling to ignore me like an impassive mountain range.

“Everything all right?” She’s so genuinely worried.

“Yeah,” Roman says, and I swear to God that he’s laughing. Not outright, but I hear the amusement in his voice. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes.” It’s the last thing I want to do in the world, but I push myself away from the steady embrace of his arms and resume mountain pose, closing my eyes as gently as possible.