Reviews for Elle Keaton

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“Place your palms together in front of your heart, breathe in slowly and hold for a moment. Good, good. Now breathe out and push your breath away and your hands, still pressed together, toward the ceiling.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the studio door begin to open, interrupting my instruction and catching everyone’s attention. Automatically tensing, I glance at the wall clock; it’s ten minutes past the hour. I don’t like it when people are late, and unless someone stole my sign (“no entry ten minutes past the hour” in bright all-caps lettering, hung at eye-level), my policy is clearly posted. Just because I teach yoga doesn’t mean I can’t be an asshole sometimes.

“Class is — ”

The door fully opens, and whatever I’d been about to say, something pissy about how class is already in session, dies on my lips, and I’m helpless. The universe is smirking at me, I can just tell.

One of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen in real life hovers on the threshold, an apprehensive expression on his face. There is no way I am going to tell this man he can’t join the class.

“There’s space at the back,” I murmur, trying not to telescope that I feel like I’ve been hit by the universe’s very own MAC truck.

His chin dips down and messy blond hair falls across his face, hiding him for a moment. He impatiently pushes it behind one ear, exposing high cheekbones and winged eyebrows in a darker blond than the hair on his head. I’ve never felt this before — his golden-caramel gaze seems to pierce right through me, plumbing my deepest darkest secrets. Which is funny because I’ve never really thought of myself as the kind of person who had deep dark secrets, until now.

But if I’m suddenly going to have some, I want to share every last one of them with this man. I want to open myself up and offer all that I am to him.

And I don’t even know his name.

“Thanks,” he says, and I fall even further. One freaking word.

My eyes stay glued on him as he makes his way to the back of the room, unrolls his mat, and flops down on it. Belatedly I realize the rest of the students are watching my reaction. One woman in the front raises an eyebrow and winks at me, barely suppressing a grin.

I am so fucked.

I’d say I have some idea how I got through class, but it was probably just muscle memory. All I know is my attention was one hundred percent on the newest student for the entire hour.

An hour and fifteen minutes later, he follows the rest of the students out into the summer evening, taking my heart with him. I want to say something — seriously anything — but I can’t. No words coming out of my mouth would be the right ones. This man needs epic poetry, he needs the northern lights. He needs things that are not in my power to give because the universe simply isn’t enough. Stupid universe.

“I’m sorry I was late,” he says as he passes by me and turns up the street.

I nod. The cat, as my grandmother would say, has got my tongue. And I’m an idiot because he’s given me an opening, but I just stand there and watch him walk away, taking my heart along with him. A heist in plain sight.

Crimes of the Heart Series

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