Bent Out of Shape
A Total-E-Bound Publication
www.total-e-bound.com
Bent Out of Shape
ISBN # 978-1-78184-799-2
©Copyright Bebe Balocca 2013
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright September 2013
Edited by Sue Meadows
Total-E-Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2013 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a
heat rating
of
Total-e-burning
and a
sexometer
of
2.
This story contains 32 pages, additionally there is also a
free excerpt
at the end of the book containing 6 pages.
BENT OUT OF SHAPE
Bebe Balocca
Jamie’s going to have to stretch like she’s never stretched before in order to get out of this hot mess.
Jamie Davis dreams of devoting herself to yoga full-time, but has to work two jobs to pay the bills. She jumps at the chance to teach lessons at Twisted Fork Ranch, lavish home of reclusive tech billionaire Marcus Paul.
When she arrives, Mr Paul’s assistant, Peter Fletcher, informs her that the first class will be a one-on-one affair. Peter is to report back to his boss with his impressions, so Jamie’s determined to put on her best class ever. Sparks fly in the studio and both Peter and Jamie are feeling the burn, but their hot session ends in flames when guards come knocking.
Peter’s not everything he’s made himself out to be, however, and soon he and Jamie are on the lam in Twisted Fork. With Dobermans on their trail, they try out some exotic new positions that Jamie never learnt in yoga school.
The clock’s ticking, though, and even the most fabulously gruelling workout has to come to an end. Jamie just hopes that their cool-down doesn’t involve time behind bars…
Dedication
For Megan and Kimberlee, with gratitude.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Academy Awards: Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences
Vanity Fair: Condé Nast
StairMaster: StairMaster
Mack Truck: Mack Trucks, Inc.
Spandex: DuPont
Club Cars: Club Car, LLC
Home Shopping Network: HSN, Inc.
Honda: Honda Motor Company, Ltd.
Lemony Snicket: Daniel Handler
Perrier: Nestlé Corporation
Jaws
: Universal Pictures
Gulf Stream: Gulfstream Aerospace Corporation
Chapter One
Madame Callais’ Daily Prognostication
Libra September 24 – October 23
Exciting things are in store today! The stars are perfectly aligned for you. Once-in-a-lifetime opportunities will present themselves. You must act boldly to seize them. In addition to a fortuitous business arrangement, a new romance beckons.
The key to success in both arenas is to avoid overthinking. The logical side of your brain will try to dissuade you, but hesitating out of fear will cause the opportunities to slip away.
Trust your inner self, throw caution to the wind, and experience pleasure and success beyond your wildest dreams. Most of all, remain flexible and receptive to the gifts the world has to offer. Be wary of false claims, for deception and danger are ever near, while bearing in mind that even the blackest lie can harbour a nugget of golden truth.
* * * *
“Identify yourself.”
Jamie steadied her nerves and spoke into the intercom. “Jamie Davis. I’m here to give a yoga lesson to members of the staff. I’m expected.”
“One moment please.”
She strummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Security, obviously, was of paramount importance at Twisted Fork Ranch. Jamie had spied cameras at regular intervals along the top of the fence as she’d driven up, and she suspected that there were hidden ones as well. The window at the guard’s station was a two way mirror shaded by a deep overhang. She could see nothing inside the small structure, but she knew she was being studied carefully.
“Identification please.” A drawer in the wall of the guard station slid open. Jamie smiled, determined to appear cheerful and professional as she withdrew her driver’s licence from her wallet and placed it in the drawer. This job was a big deal—huge—and she was bound and determined not to screw it up.
“One moment please,” the deep voice intoned once more.
Jamie counted her heartbeats—
one, two, three, four, five, six… Whatever he’s doing in there
,
he’s being pretty fucking thorough.
At the count of forty-four, the drawer reopened at last. “Thank you, Ms Davis. Please turn right when the drive splits and park in front of the first building you come to. Have a nice day.”
The automated black gates swung open for her, and Jamie pulled onto the grounds of the estate. The clink she heard as they shut behind her sounded oddly ominous, but she shook off her apprehensions. A permanent gig at Twisted Fork Ranch would be one very big step towards quitting her hideous waitressing job at the Bongo Burger Shack and devoting herself to yoga full-time. This appointment was a dream come true, and scoring this position could truly start her on her way to legitimate success doing what she loved. She’d been thrilled to read her daily horoscope this morning—what if she had wild success in love
and
in her career? It was almost too much to hope for.
Almost.
Madame Callais’ horoscopes had never steered her wrong before… Jamie’s heart skipped a beat.
Think flexible. Think receptive. I can do this.
She drove slowly, admiring the rolling lawn and beautiful landscaping. Two rabbits scampered from a bed of purple petunias to a copse of redbud trees and a bluebird fluttered over the driveway.
Must be tough being Marcus Paul and living in paradise
. When the road split and she veered right, Jamie caught a glimpse of Mr Paul’s famous grotto pool behind his mansion. The huge pool boasted a waterfall, slide, swim-under archway and underwater sound system.
I gotta get certified in pool aerobics,
Jamie decided.
ASAP.
Today, however, was all about vinyasa flow yoga. The famously reclusive tech billionaire had wanted his staff to be healthy, so he’d tasked his assistant with finding a yoga teacher to lead them through stretching and strengthening exercises. For all Jamie knew, he wanted to take the classes himself, which would be a bit like teaching yoga to Donald Trump and Simon Cowell, only she suspected that Marcus Paul was even more of a cranky male diva.
The man had been schooled by private tutors and educated at prestigious and fiercely private schools in Europe. Even as a teenager he’d been camera-shy, which is why the only public photos of him were a few snapshots from the 1990 Academy Awards. The picture of the shrimpy freckle-faced little boy, wedged in-between Julia Roberts and Meryl Streep at the Vanity Fair Oscars Party, had been cropped and publicised widely, but no one knew what the man looked like today.
Probably a ninety-pound nerd in a hipster clothes,
Jamie figured,
but as long as he writes the checks, he can be as geeky as he wants to be.
Marcus Paul, already a wealthy hotel heir, had grown his sizable inheritance to a jaw-dropping fortune by the time he was twenty-two. Who knew that internet dating, coupon sharing and bargain fashion sites could be so lucrative?
Marcus Paul, that’s who.
When she’d replied to the online ad for the job, she’d had no idea that it had originated from Twisted Fork Ranch. The position was an opportunity she hadn’t been able to refuse. ‘Private daily yoga classes for a group of no more than ten adults on site in a secure and luxurious environment’ sounded pretty awesome, and it paid twice what she earned for her classes at Village Yoga. Jamie had been delighted and somewhat surprised when she’d been chosen for the job. After all, there were teachers at her studio with many years’ more experience. Ruth Davis had taught yoga for over thirty years and Joshua Martin owned the facility. Both were total pros, and she knew for a fact that they’d applied for the job as well. She’d been even more astonished to learn that she’d be conducting the classes at Marcus Paul’s estate.
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Jamie had happily submitted to a background check and agreed to a strict privacy clause. No photos, no interviews, no media—no problem, Mr Paul. She parked in front of the exercise studio, which was three times as large as her own tiny bungalow, and removed her bag and portable stereo from the car.
Knock, knock, knock.
Jamie plastered a perky smile on her face and waited. The grounds of the ranch were peaceful, but she caught snatches of a finch’s warble and the
rat-a-tat-tat-tat
of a woodpecker. Her bag and stereo grew heavy in her arms.
Knock, knock, knock.
She placed her things beside her feet, rolled her shoulders and checked her watch. Five after nine. The assistant who’d set up the class, Peter Fletcher, had stressed the importance of punctuality for her arrival, but evidently that wasn’t a reciprocal obligation. Jamie, feeling tension rising in her body, began to bend and stretch to ward off the negativity. “Who cares if my students are late?” she told herself. “I’m being paid for my time.”
Five minutes later, while thrusting her rear up to the sky in downward dog
asana
, the door opened at last. “Hey there,” a man said. “I’m Peter Fletcher. Sorry to have kept you waiting. Come in, won’t you?”
Jamie rose and shook his hand. He was adorably rumpled and unassuming, which somehow increased his hotness level by several degrees. In a fitted T-shirt, knee length athletic shorts and bare feet, he looked like a sweet college athlete who’d been around the block a time or two.
Mr Paul must like having a rugged assistant
for when he crawls out of his techie hermit cave.
No one, even a surly billionaire, could help but feel invigorated with a body like that around. Jamie was glad that she had exertion to blame for her flushed cheeks.
