More Than Physical (The Physical Series Book Book 2)

by Hill, Sierra

  Now, if you can get your hand back out of your panties, let me say that you have quite the over-inflated ego to surmise that you are the best woman. Because really, I’d say pretty good-to-average better articulates your skills a bit more adequately. But, I digress.

  As for the planning of the time honored tradition of getting our affianced friends trashed and rethinking their lifelong decisions before their big day, I find your idea of pole dancing and strippers to be a bit passé and severely unoriginal. I would have expected a woman of your experience and creativity would offer up something with a bit more finesse.

  I’d be happy to review a much more cultured list of ideas when we see one another on Monday. Until then, feel free to return all the dildos you just purchased. Unless, of course, you need them for your personal use this weekend.

  Regards,

  Jackson, aka The Best Man

  She blinked.

  Stared.

  Fumed.

  Sasha’s skin prickled with sweat, the beads of perspiration dotting her forehead. She wanted to hit something. Or someone, that is, right in the middle of his smack-talking mouth.

  But damn, what his mouth could do to her. And had done to her that one perfect night. She sat back in her chair, absently stroking her finger over her bottom lip, remembering the way Jackson’s mouth felt against hers. His lips, tongue and mouth were made to worship a woman and turn her into a puddle of goo. And she would know because it was exactly what he’d done to her. But she’d die before she ever admitted that to him.

  Yes, she did remember every detail of that amazing, crazy night she had with Jackson in Cabo eight months earlier. It was burned into her memory. Those images were what fueled her nights alone and brought her many, many self-induced orgasms since then. She could never forget the way he’d made her feel or how he felt when he was buried deep inside of her.

  And that just incensed her even more.

  The problem with the insane attraction she had toward Jackson? She couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Not only was he completely wrong for her, and would never make the potential marriage list her mother had been designing for her since her Bat Mitzvah, but Jackson Koda was just too…what? Too serious? Straight-laced? Too tall? Too annoying?

  Maybe all of the above.

  She thought about it for a moment, wondering what exactly it was about Jackson that made her want to pack her bags and leave the country.

  The only horrifying conclusion was that he was just too fucking perfect. And it scared the bejeebers out of her.

  Deep down, she knew that the attraction toward Jackson could, without a doubt, bring her down to her knees. If she let herself fall for Jackson, it could destroy her carefully constructed walls like a strong nor’easter storm. And she’d boarded up that blood-pumping organ tight to ensure it didn’t happen again.

  Love did not work for a woman like Sasha. She avoided emotional entanglements at all cost. Nothing good ever came from them. Only heartbreak, a messy aftermath, and recovery – all of which she could not afford to let happen.

  She didn’t even want to like Jackson, afraid of the strong possibility that he might be extremely likable. And likeable could get her into trouble. Getting to know him any more intimately than she already did was just a recipe for disaster.

  Since ‘the incident’, as she privately referred to it, Sasha worked hard to keep her life in control, her mind stable, and her heart in remission. Her career, her business, her friendships, her family, her home - all those things she could control to some degree, and she balanced them well.

  The one thing that could ruin her perfectly centered existence?

  Fear of that deceptive emotion called love. It was as if she walked a tightrope on a daily basis, and was at any given time just moments away from losing her grip on reality. Exactly like she had done in college.

  No one but her family knew about this past secret. Not Mark. Not even Rylie. It was before she had met either of them, and the pity she was sure to see in their eyes if they ever found out that she went “crazy” and had to be hospitalized for a month due to severe manic depression was not something she ever wanted to see.

  They were both aware that she still regularly saw a shrink, but neither were aware she was once one fry short of a Happy Meal. Only Sasha knew that she walked a very fine line between normal and nuts, and anything revolving the heart could send her spiraling out of control faster than a Jimmy John’s delivery.

  Losing her shit over a man sent her to crazy town her senior year in college after the break-up with her boyfriend Andrew. Had it not been from the psychological toll on her brain, coupled with severe anxiety and stress over school, she would have never become so depressed. Even suicidal. Instead, her coping mechanism was to shut down from all reality, becoming crippled with a bevy of psychological disorders. It was no picnic, that’s for sure.

  She’d blamed Andrew at first – going through the stages of grief. Although, to be fair, and with the help of her psychiatrist, she realized that Andrew had no way of knowing that falling out of love with her could bring on such a catastrophic event.

  And it didn’t matter anymore. She lived through it – earning her stripes - learned how to cope, took her prescribed medications, and vowed never to go through it again.

  Love was not worth it in her book. Sasha would never again put herself in a position where she loved someone so deeply that she lost a grip on herself. Or on reality.

  Sasha’s fingers tapped on the desk, a nervous clack, clack, clack rhythm she unconsciously drummed on the wood surface. Her knee-jerk reaction was to reply to Jackson’s email with a briskly worded, snappy and snarky comeback. To beat him at his own game. To ruffle his ever-so-calm feathers.

  Instead, she took a deep breath and counted to ten before shutting down her computer. No, she was not going to take the bait. That’s exactly what Jackson would expect her to do.

  Smiling to herself, she decided the better way at getting back at him was to leave him hanging the entire weekend. It would only stroke his ego if she replied right away, anyhow. And looking at the time, she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing she had nothing better to do on a Friday night at nine-thirty p.m.

  Even if she didn’t have anything better to do. Getting up from her desk, she walked into her kitchen, opening her freezer door, pulling out the mint cookie crisp ice cream container. The first bite almost had her climaxing. It was that good.

  Kind of like sex with Jackson.

  That’s just craptastic. All roads led back to him – even a half gallon of ice cream got her revved up. The way his hands ran the length of her body. His mouth finding that spot just underneath her ear, sending ripples of pleasure down her spine. His thick, hard…

  Her phone chimed from her kitchen counter, prompting her to lose the image of Jackson, bringing her back to the present. With a frustrated groan, she picked up the phone to see what it was about.

  A text from Mark Olsen, her other bestie, who was currently in his second year tour of Doctors-Without-Borders in Ghana. He had impeccable timing, probably sensing even from three-thousand miles away her need for some cheering up.

  Mark: Hey. How’s my sassy, man-eating, Jew princess bff?

  Sasha: Bite me, dickhead. I’m eating a pint of ice cream by myself on a Friday night. How do you think I am?

  Just then, her phone display indicated an incoming FaceTime chat from Mark. Reluctantly setting down the ice cream tub and spoon, she pressed Accept.

  Mark’s bright, friendly smile filled the screen, making her simultaneously happy and sad. God, how she missed that man. Since meeting him in college, Mark never failed to be there for her, during her darkest hours or her greatest triumphs in life.

  “Hey sweetie. How’s my girl?”

  The connection was a bit warbley, but that was to be expected. He was in a third-world country, fighting off disease and death. The depressing thought immediately had her cursing herself for being so self-centered. She made a me
ntal note that she was going to donate to the One campaign first thing on Monday.

  “Well, don’t you look all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. You finally getting laid?” she quirked her eyebrows, giving him a knowing smirk. “That cute little British doctor giving you some much needed oral medical attention? I was getting worried for you because I hear blue-balls can cause blindness.”

  He threw his head back in laughter. The sound was music to her ears.

  “I plead the fifth. But Elise is brilliant, in every way.”

  “Oh my God. Are you blushing, Mr. Olsen? My, my, my. There’s a first time for everything.”

  Sasha sat down on the couch, tucking her feet underneath her butt, grabbing a blanket to cover her legs. She’d never witnessed Mark so smitten over a woman before. He was just adorable and dammit if she wasn’t going to exploit it by getting in some good digs at his expense.

  She and Mark had met their freshman year in college, going on to med school together, each pursing their degrees and specializations as orthopedic surgeons. They’d even shared an apartment together through med school, and were each other’s confidants through every hook-up and break-up, their friendship the one true constant in their lives.

  Most people couldn’t understand their relationship – how deep their connection was – or how a plutonic friendship actually worked. Truth be told, Sasha didn’t even understand it, because Mark was as heterosexual as she was – they just never had any other feelings toward each other. Sexually, speaking, that is. They just clicked on a totally plutonic, unromantic level, and cherished each other like no other.

  Sasha giggled at how cute Mark looked, his cheeks pink and green eyes gleaming. “Did you just use a fake English-lilt when you called her brilliant? Shit, Olsen. You really must be pussy-whipped. You’re even talking like her now!”

  She laughed harder when his middle finger shot up, filling her computer’s screen with his profane gesture.

  “Suck it, princess,” Mark taunted, shaking his head, his cropped blond hair unjostled by the movement. “Are you going to tell me why you’re stuffing your face with ice cream on a Friday night? Something you need to tell me?”

  Sasha grumbled, pursing her lips to show her displeasure.

  While it wasn’t terribly uncommon for her to relax and enjoy her Friday evenings at home after a long, stressful week at the clinic, she also was more often than not, out with her single girlfriends, trolling for single guys.

  Tonight, however, due to the long-weekend, many of her friends were out of town, or already had plans. Plus, she wasn’t in an over celebratory mood.

  “What? A girl can’t want just a quiet evening by herself, indulging in some high-caloric goodness, watching old eighties John Hughes movie to make her happy? Is there a law against this that I’m not aware of? Give me a break.”

  “Let me guess. Sixteen Candles?”

  “Nope, Pretty in Pink. Young, hot, and wicked James Spader does it for me every time.”

  Mark groaned on the other end. “Oh shit. It must be really bad if you’re lusting over movie characters. As long as it’s not the James Spader from The Blacklist,” he said, giving an exaggerated shudder. “Spill it…what’s got you hot and bothered?”

  Sasha had always shared everything with Mark. The good, the bad and the ugly – except for the stint in the psych ward. Never one to shy away from her feelings or thoughts or any topic with him, Sasha was an open book. But for some reason, and one she didn’t fully understand herself, she never told either Mark or Rylie about her hook-up with Jackson. It was as if she needed to keep it her dirty little secret.

  If she didn’t voice it, then it never happened. It wasn’t real.

  “Nothing. I’m fine. I’m just trying to work through the details of the upcoming co-ed bash for Rylie and Mitch. It still pisses me off that I have to plan this with Jackson. He’s so stuffy and uptight. He wouldn’t know fun if it hit him in the face like a two-by-four.”

  Yowza. Even she could hear the venom lacing her voice when she mentioned Jackson. She sounded like a trapped Cobra, seething and hissing her way out of the corner. That man obviously got under her skin.

  “Really? You think Jackson is dull?” Mark asked, the fierce incredulousness in his tone surprising Sasha. “I’ve never found him to be anything less than intelligent and witty. In fact, I remember a party at Mitch’s back in college where Jackson actually got a drunken sing-a-long going to the music of ABBA. That was quite a spectacle.” He chuckled at the memory.

  “ABBA? Seriously? Now, if you would have said he sang to AC/DC or Guns-n-Roses, then I would believe you,” she grimaced. “Or maybe a good rendition of Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond.”

  “Hey, now there’s an idea…” Mark pondered, his finger coming up to tap his chin. “You guys could throw a 70’s-themed party. Everyone comes dressed up in glittery disco-era clothes, you play the music of the decade, etc. That could be fun.”

  She snorted, trying to picture Rylie dressed up with white pleather boots and mile-wide bell bottoms. And then an unbidden picture of Jackson popped in her head of him dressed like one of the Village people, wearing an open collared button down, chest hair on display, gold chain necklace around his neck, a thick mustache, and a tool belt.

  “Yeah, maybe. I do like the Studio 54 potential,” she snickered, her naughty thoughts taking her to all kinds of possibilities. “I guess I could ask Jackson what he thinks about that idea. I’m sure he won’t care, either way. He’ll probably just leave me to all the details, anyway. Asshole.”

  “Now, now. Don’t go jumping to any conclusions. I think you’re underestimating his creative side. The guy is seriously into music and art. I think he’ll surprise you.”

  She nodded in agreement and they continued their discussion for the next few minutes until Mark was called to assist with a trauma. Sasha hated saying good-bye and ending their call, but her spirits were lifted after their conversation. She missed being able to talk to her friend anytime she wanted. Her best times in life had always been spent with Mark.

  But now Mark was half-way around the world and Rylie, although Sasha worked with her every day, was wrapped up in her new life with Mitch.

  Sasha could feel the first inklings of depression eating away at her psyche. The darkness manifesting like a cloak, slowly creeping over her like the fog over the San Francisco bay. She hated the cloying weight pressing down on her heart, the sadness that occupied her thoughts.

  Shaking off the despairing loneliness, she found the TV remote lodged in the seat cushion and started her movie. No more sulking and sadness allowed tonight. No more wishing Mark wasn’t so far way or worrying about her feelings toward Jackson.

  For now, she’d let the ballsy-ness of Molly Ringwald’s character in the movie delight her with her sense of style and grace, and lift her sagging spirits.

  And a little more ice cream wouldn’t hurt, either.

  Chapter Four

  The Labor Day barbeque party was in full swing when Jackson finally made it out to Mitch’s house on late Monday afternoon.

  He was tired, but sated, after his weekend in New York, and had barely gotten home to shower and change before heading over to Mitch’s. Stopping by one of those hoity-toity, granola-like grocery stores, he picked up some made-to-go salads and pasta dishes to bring with him, along with a nice bottle of wine.

  Jackson made his way through the crowded house, saying hello and shaking hands with those he was familiar with, scoping out the others in attendance. Since it was a Labor Day barbeque and pool party, most of the guests were dressed in beachwear or board shorts. He himself had dressed casual in a navy blue T-shirt, khaki cargo shorts and flip-flops, his hair still a bit damp from his shower.

  Dropping off the salads in the kitchen area, Jackson grabbed a beer from the fridge, scanning the patio outside, quietly appreciating the women in their bikinis and swimwear. It was a hot, Boston end-of-summer day, and the heat was oppressive, the air tinged with just enough
humidity to have the cotton of his T-Shirt clinging to his back. Maybe he should’ve worn his swim trunks, because a dip in the pool would feel pretty good right about now. Although he was standing in the middle of the air conditioned house, a bead of sweat rolled down his back, landing just at the edge of his waistband.

  Even with the cool air blasting through the room, the voice behind him had him breaking out in a cold sweat.

  “Enjoying the view, Rowdy?”

  The nickname she used had him stiffening his spine, ready to either throttle her neck or throw her down on the nearest bed and fucking the rowdy right out of her. A smile edged on his lips, as he closed his eyes and breathed in her sweet and sultry scent, like amber and sandalwood. Warm, earthy, intoxicating. It invaded his senses, and his body immediately reacted. Gripping the bottle in his hands tighter, Jackson turned around slowly, willing his dick to stand down.

  His first glimpse of her had his own voice catching in the back of his throat. Sasha was bent at the waist, digging through the fridge, apparently in search of the beer she liked. Her small frame was clad only in a black bikini, the bikini bottoms barely covering her small, but perfectly rounded ass, which was at this moment pointing straight at him.

  His mouth watered, heartrate sped up faster, and his brain fought for control of his hand, which desperately wanted to spank that fine ass.

  “Yes, the view is definitely fine in here,” he snickered at his innuendo, already feeling amped up in her presence. The woman did that to him like no other.

  Sasha turned then, beer in hand, and gave him an appraising look, a smirk on her full, pink lips. The raven-black curls she normally wore down and loose were pulled back in a ponytail, a few ringlets escaping around her face. Although petite, her breasts were pushed high in her small – very small - bikini top, providing him with a killer view of all that lush, perfect flesh.

  Jackson had to clear his throat, knowing just how soft and full that perfect flesh felt in his hands. In his mouth. Underneath him.