#ThrowbackThursday - Work-Love Balance by Allison Temple

I spotted Allison Temple sharing a milestone of one of my favourite reads and I reached out and asked her to find a fitting excerpt to share... and she found us a hot and steamy one... and she shared this:

"Happy Book Birthday to Work-Love Balance. Nash and Brady are my ultimately snarky love-to-hate-you couple. Brady’s a hardworking IT consultant, and Nash is the single dad executive who seems to break every electronic device he touches. When sparks fly between them, they agree to keep it casual, because that always works so well, doesn’t it?"

From the blurb:

The customer always comes first, but IT consultant Brady Jansen loves to hate Nash O’Hara. Except the fine line between hate and attraction means sometimes Brady can’t help it when he crosses the boundary between professional and personal.

Recently divorced, workaholic Nash knows he’s hard to please. When the smart-mouthed IT consultant he depends on to keep his office running offers a no-commitment hookup, it seems like exactly what he and Brady both need to get through a busy summer at work. No one has to know about their arrangement.

But the more time they spend together, the more secrets they have to keep from the people around them—and from each other. The lies are piling up, until it’s hard to tell who’s fooling whom. If Brady and Nash want to find the balance between work and love, a little honesty will go a long way.

Work-Love Balance is a 70k contemporary MM office romance. It’s hot enough you’ll want to make sure the air conditioning is on in your cubicle, and heartfelt enough you’ll want to smack both characters before the end. HEA guaranteed


So, maybe, instead of focusing on my breathing and finding the length in the pose, I think about the guy in front of me. About those strong calves and the swell of his ass as he stretches one leg out behind him. His hair is cut short as it fades to his nape, and I picture the feeling of it if I were to brush my fingers along it.

And then he turns around, and it’s motherfucking Nash O’Hara, and all my peace and mindfulness dissolves into a puddle of sweat.

I almost run out of the room, except that won’t be obvious at all, will it? The way his eyes widen and his nostrils flare shows he’s just as surprised to see me. His face is flushed, and his hair is matted down onto his forehead. His scruffy U of T T-shirt is mottled with sweat, and now I’m thinking about his chest and whether he might be hairy and—oh God—whether that chest hair might be a little silvery too.

Before I can smile or say hi, or apologize for objectifying him on the phone yesterday—oh my God, was that only yesterday? The universe is fucking with me—Fiona, the instructor, sends us into a tree pose that has him turning back toward the front.

He’s strong. His foot is up in the crease of his groin—don’t think about his groin, don’t think about his groin—and he doesn’t even wobble. The line of his spine is straight, accentuated by the way his shirt is sticking to him. His left leg, planted on the floor, is a solid pillar of muscle that would make my throat dry if it weren’t already parched from the heat in the room.

My concentration is shot. No matter how many times I try to find the balance point, I’m hopping around on my mat like a pogo stick. It’s a relief when Fiona lets us out of the pose, except then she sends us into another sequence of standing warrior poses, and Nash seems to flow through them like water. His whole body melts from one posture to the next, and I don’t know if I’m centered or grounded, or even still on this planet, because all I can do is watch the way his body moves and stretches, highlighting the tension in his legs or the veins in his forearms.

Fiona approaches him and gives him a smile. “Can I make a small correction?” she asks. He nods a little, so she gently puts her hands on his hips, and I watch, mesmerized, as she gives them a soft push, turning him more fully into the pose. And I can’t help myself when I think about my hands on his hips, turning him the way I want to, fitting him just so, so that his muscles are straining as he sinks into—

I’m hard. Holy shit, I’m wearing stretchy shorts and a tank that leaves more of my body open than covered, and now I have a motherfucking erection in the middle of hot yoga and—

I drop to my knees so fast that pain radiates up my shins. Abandoned marionettes have more grace than me right now as I curl in on myself, trying to hide my raging hard-on while wearing next to nothing.

A hand settles on my back, and I flinch, but it’s Fiona’s voice that says “Brady, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I say hoarsely. “Just a foot cramp.” I curl my toes under my feet as if I might be stretching them out.

She rubs a little circle on my damp shirt. “Okay. Stay in child’s pose if you need to. And remember to hydrate. Cramping is a sign of dehydration.”

And the ache in my dick is a sign I have lost all self-control. I need this yoga mat to melt and swallow me up. 

Work-Love Balance is is currently available in e-book and paperback and can be read as part of your Kindle Unlimited Subscription