A Word With The Bachelor

“It’s just an exercise.”

Erin glanced up at him and felt a little flutter around her heart, the one that made it hard to take a deep breath. The way his biceps strained against the material of his black T-shirt made her want to touch and find out for herself what they felt like.

It was obvious that Jack was in excellent physical condition, which meant he’d retained habits from his time in the army that kept him in shape. She knew he ran three or four times a week. There was workout equipment in the upstairs bedroom. One didn’t just jump into a fitness regime. Maybe she could explain this to him in a relatable way.

“What do you do before a run?” she asked.

His gaze narrowed on her. “Why?”

“Bear with me. I have a point.” Their shoulders brushed as they walked. Personally she was glad the bushes and trees around them weren’t tinder-dry because the sparks would have ignited them. She drew in a breath. “What’s your preexercise routine?”

“I stretch out. Warm up.”

“Exactly.”

He looked at her as if she had a snake draped around her neck. “I thought you had a point.”

“Stream-of-consciousness writing is like stretching your muscles for work.”

“Shouldn’t I put that energy into something productive?”

“The point is to not think about work. Free your mind and let the ideas flow.”

His expression was still skeptical, but he asked, “What should I write about?”

“Like I said. Anything that pops into your mind.”

Jack looked down at the dog, who had thrown himself on the ground at his feet. Automatically he picked up the animal and rubbed his hand over the hairless back. “I still say it’s a waste of time.”

This man was results-driven. He’d spent over a decade in an organized, mission-oriented environment. The creative process was the polar opposite. But if she could give him a focus, he might be more inclined to give it a try.

As they headed back to the house, she watched him with the dog. His protectiveness with the animal. The way he automatically picked up Harley when he got tired. Jack had done the same thing that first day when she’d arrived. There was a bond between the two and that homely little creature might just be what he cared about most in this world.

“Write about Harley,” she suggested.

“What?”

“Stream-of-consciousness warm-up exercises. Think about your dog and jot down whatever comes into your mind.”

With the dog curled happily in his arms, Jack stared at her for several moments. She wondered how it would feel to be safely tucked against his wide chest, wrapped in his strong arms.

Then he shook his head. “It’s official. You’re crazy.”

About you, she thought.

For a moment Erin was afraid she’d said that out loud. Fortunately, the words stayed in her head, where they belonged. He already knew she was attracted to him. If she confirmed it he would say I told you so and send her packing.

* * *

Erin didn’t want to get out of bed after a lousy night without much sleep. And that was all Jack’s fault. He was a bundle of contrasts. Gruff and argumentative with her; tender and protective of his unattractive pet. He measured out a quarter cup of organic chicken or grass-fed beef for Harley’s meals! He was a really off-putting combination of macho and mush.

And she knew very little about him. Was there a girlfriend? Wife? But those questions fell into personal territory, which technically made it not her business. And don’t even get her started on the geographical situation here. Last night she’d heard him pacing like a predatory tiger.

Back and forth. Back and forth. At least an hour. Maybe more.

Then it got quiet and she’d waited for him to come downstairs to bed. That kept her tense and wide-eyed for a long time. Her body tingled and her skin was hot whenever he was in the master bedroom just across the hall from where she slept. She would challenge anyone to try sleeping when every nerve ending was sparking like a live electrical wire.

After starting a reread of his bestselling book, she finally fell asleep sometime after one o’clock. Now it was six in the morning. Soon she’d need to start breakfast, then meet Jack at nine in his office. If she hauled her hiney out of bed there was just enough time to get in some yoga. Maybe some flexibility poses would flex thoughts of the difficult man out of her mind.

She put on her nylon-and-spandex capris and the stretchy, racer-back tank top she wore for workouts, then rolled out her mat. Mountain pose was first. Standing straight, heels down, shoulders directly over hips. Breathe. Then raised arms. Grounded in her heels, shoulders away from ears and reaching through her fingertips. She held that for the required time and went into the standing forward bend. Exhale and fold down over legs. Let head hang heavy with feet hip distance apart. That was followed by the garland pose, which she hated.

For the lunge pose she started with the right leg forward and the left straight and strong, the heel reaching. She repeated switching legs. About an hour later she’d gone through her routine and worked up a sweat. She rolled up her yoga mat and stood it in the corner next to the unpacked boxes stacked there.

After leaving her room she listened for sounds of Jack and heard none. His bedroom door was opened, meaning he wasn’t there, and she thought he’d either slept upstairs or gone for an early morning run. In the kitchen she pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator and started to twist off the top when she heard the front door open and close.

Jack walked into the room and his shorts and sweaty gray T-shirt told her she’d been right about the run. He looked her over from head to toe and there was a dark sort of intensity in his eyes.

Erin felt the power of that look slip deep inside, tapping into a place where she wanted to be just a tiny bit wicked. He didn’t even have to say a word to make her respond to him. When she felt as if she could speak without stammering, she said, “Do you want water?”

“Yeah.”

She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle, then handed it to him. “So, exercise is the word of the day.”