by Hill, Sierra
“Flirtatious, for one. It’s like he’s just trying to get a rise out of me. And you know I can’t hold my tongue to save my life.” Taking a napkin Sasha had just handed her, she wiped off the crumbs that had spilled down her shirt. “He just…drives me crazy. Everything from him is innuendo.”
Sasha got up, taking the trash over to the wastebasket at her desk and threw it away. “Oh, I see. He’s getting a reaction from you because you’re trying too hard to resist his charm.”
Rylie snorted at her friend’s wholly inaccurate analysis. As if she thought Mitch had any charm, whatsoever. “Whatever. The guy’s a total player and I’m not falling for anything he’s dishing out. I just don’t know if I want to continue to put up with his antics. What if you move him to Carmen?”
Carmen Flores was another therapist, but part-time and only had a handful of clients she saw weekly due to her family commitments. Rylie knew immediately after making the suggestion that it wasn’t a solution. Carmen would frequently trade patients with Rylie based on their scheduling needs and demands, but just the thought of Carmen touching Mitch brought a foreign stab of jealousy to the surface.
Although part of her rebelled against the idea of continuing to work with Mitch, the other half wanted to be near him. She didn’t want to admit it to herself, but she liked the feeling of butterflies that arose from every single touch and point of contact she’d had with Mitch. It might be torture or career suicide, but she knew she couldn’t walk away. Plus, she was great with these types of injuries and would have a sense of satisfaction by getting him back to fighting form.
Sasha moved to her desk and pulled up her scheduling assistant in her laptop. “Listen, I can see if we can get Carmen assigned to him, but it may not be for a few weeks. Can you handle it until then?”
It was Sasha’s concern for her friend’s well-being in that moment that overwhelmed Rylie to the point of tears, and she wasn’t a crier. It made her feel like a spoiled, tantrum-pulling twerp. Rylie, not normally prone to physical expressions of adoration, bent down to hug her friend around her neck.
“If I haven’t told you lately, you’re an amazing boss, Sash.”
Sasha glanced up in surprise at Rylie’s PDA, obviously unaccustomed to that type of response from her. “Well aren’t you just the kiss-ass today. I should really milk this for all it’s worth and make you buy me dinner tonight. Or better yet,” she grinned, “Neiman’s is having their fall sale, and I’m in desperate need of a new Tory Burch handbag.”
“That sounds just riveting...NOT. How about we go out this weekend after we see Mark off to Africa. I’m exhausted from being out late last night and tomorrow night I’m going over to Dad’s for dinner and football. You’re welcome to come over with me.”
“I’ll take a pass on that one, too. Maybe I’ll swing by Mark’s to see if he needs any help packing tonight. That reminds me, are we driving together to the airport on Saturday?” she asked, taking a sip of the herbal tea she’d just brewed.
“Yeah, I’m teaching my self-defense class at nine and then I’ll come pick you up. Sound good?”
“You bet. And I’ll be on pins and needles waiting to hear how the Friday session with Mr. Charming goes,” she quipped, heading out toward the clinic gym.
Giving her a mocking shove, Rylie followed her out the door. “You bitch, don’t make me regret what I said earlier.”
****
Thursday nights during football season were spent at her dad’s house where Rylie, her dad and older brother Dylan would root for their favorite teams, eat nachos and pizza, drink several six-packs, and generally banter with each other over their fantasy football wins and losses for the week. Rylie always enjoyed this time with her small and uniquely male family, joking and cavorting as one of the guys. Male bonding, with a little estrogen thrown in the mix.
Just after leaving the clinic Thursday evening, Rylie stopped off at the liquor store to pick up her favorite snacks and beer before heading to her childhood house. The store was packed with jersey-clad football fans, all of whom had similar ideas on pre-game libations. Her day had been much less stressful than the previous one, only because Mitch hadn’t been scheduled. While her caseload kept her extremely busy, she still found time to think about him. And that pissed her off.
She hoped that an evening of football would calm her nerves and keep her attention on something else for a while. Heading back to the refrigerated section of the store, she opened the cooler door and pulled out a case of Heineken. Just as she was about to turn back around, a voice from behind caught her off-guard, nearly making her stumble head-first into the cooler.
“I didn’t expect you to be a beer drinker,” came the low, silky baritone. “But Heineken’s a good choice.”
Rylie regained her balance and swung around, gripping the sides of the case of beer, as if holding on for dear life.
“What the…how the?” she stammered, clearly at a loss for words to see Mitch standing in front her. “Are you one of those stalker patients already? You know, I had a feeling about that.” Letting the door close behind her, she tried to step forward and around him, but was blocked.
Mitch didn’t budge, his crutches planted firmly on each side.
“It does appear that way, doesn’t it, IQ?” He responded with a sexy laugh. “Is it so strange to run into your clients outside of the clinic?”
Mitch shuffled and turned to his left to let Rylie get around him. “But for the record, I’m just here picking up some things for the game. Looks like you might be doing the same thing,” he said, gesturing to the beer she was holding, or maybe her Patriots jersey. Rylie stood, gripping the case of beer in her hands, a bit of the deer in the headlights thing going on.
Mitch cleared his throat. “But, since you’re here, could I ask you to do me a favor?” He gave her a pleading look. He may have even batted his eyelashes at her.
Rylie eyed him suspiciously, unsure if she should say yes before knowing what he wanted from her. Knowing him, it would be something sexual, no doubt. She looked over his shoulder past him to the right and then the left, returning her gaze back to him slowly. “I don’t know. What kind of favor?”
He gave her a low chuckle. “Well, I’m sure I could think of a few, but in this instance, I failed to consider how I’d manage to carry the items I need in my current handicapped state.” He gestured down to his crutches. “If you could help me pick up the things on my list, I’d be more than happy to throw your beer and chips on my bill.”
Feeling like a bitch if she left him to his own devices, Rylie reluctantly gave in to his plight. “Sure, okay. But let’s make it snappy, I have someplace to be. So, where’s the list?”
“In my iPhone…which is in my front pocket.” He raised his eyebrows, as he gestured with his eyes down to his jeans.
A strangled noise erupted from the back of her throat.
“Nope. No way am I going there. Get the list out yourself.” She shook her head in disgust and waited for him to comply.
“What, no helping an invalid? Fine.” Mitch reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone and entered the code to bring up his Notepad. Handing the device over to her, they proceeded around the corner to the wine aisle.
A quick glance down at the list had her questioning her limited knowledge of wine. His first three listed were French Bordeaux from some winery called Chateau Margaux. She had always been a beer or cocktail drinker and didn’t know a thing about wines. Walking slowly so that he could keep up with her, they rounded the corner and he pointed to the two bottles he wanted. Grabbing them off the shelf, Rylie noticed the price tag in big, red digits. Twelve-hundred dollars?
She turned her head back to him, letting out a tsking sound. “You know what they say about men who drive sports cars and buy over-priced wine, right?” she quipped, uttering a hmmph of disgust and placing the bottles in the cart she’d acquired.
“No, as a matter of fact I don’t. And who says I drive a sports car?”
“Just a hunch. You look and act like the type. Pretty Boy’s who try to impress.”
“Oh really? And what type are you, IQ? The “all men are pigs” garden variety woman?” He was pushing her buttons and she knew it. Rylie could once again feel the blush creep up over her face. She’d not let him get her riled up. She would remain in control. Keep her cool.
Her hands gripped tightly around the cart handle, she turned to face him with the intention of giving it back to him. Instead, it struck her how handsome he was, staring down at her with that sexy five o’clock shadow and intense hazel eyes. Just how he looked when she met him at the bar on Tuesday night, which shot sparks of electricity through her body. The color of his eyes were enhanced by the green T-shirt and gray cashmere crewneck sweater he wore, paired with worn jeans. She had to look up to meet his gaze, even though she was five-foot-eight, he towered over her. She thought he had about six inches on her, which did not improve her level of confidence when he stared, giving her a look that told her he’d easily throw her over his shoulder and carry her off to his bed.
“As a matter of fact, I don’t think that. I’ve lived with my father and brother who were always respectful to women and they didn’t feel the need to impress women with the money they could throw around.”
“Is that what you think I’m doing, trying to impress you? You must have a very high opinion of yourself. If you recall, I came here with the list already written and no way of knowing I’d run into you. And what’s so wrong about enjoying good wine? I’m sure you have favorite things you’ll spend good money on. Now, if we can move along, you have somewhere to be.”
Well, she felt like an idiot. She didn’t know why she made such a big deal out of his purchases or why it bothered her so much. So what if he dropped a grand on a bottle of wine? She knew for a fact that Sasha would easily spend five-hundred dollars on a pair of heels or a handsome sum on a Hermes bag. Why she got so agitated over Mitch’s spending choices was a mystery to her.
Moving back down the aisle, she grabbed another bottle, this one a Chateau Lafite Rothschild Pauillac 2006. The last item on the list was Magnums.
She was no wine connoisseur by any stretch of the imagination, but she knew a Magnum was a very large bottle of wine, but she didn’t know what kind he was looking for or which aisle to locate it in.
Rylie extended her arm to press the phone into Mitch’s chest.
“A little help on this one,” she asked.
Mitch’s mouth pressed up into a playfully naughty smile, lighting up his eyes with mischief.
“You want me to explain what they are or how they’re used? Because I’d be happy to demonstrate if you need a visual explanation.” His body shook with laughter.
She was perplexed. What did he mean? She looked at the list again and then back to Mitch, his face lit up with mocking interest. Finally getting it, she gave him a shove, sending him off-center and unsteady on his crutches.
“Oh my God…whatever, you perv. I do not need any demonstrations, thank you,” she shuddered as if shaking off the thought. “You’re on your own for this one. Do they even sell condoms at a liquor store?”
A low bubble of laughter rumbled from his throat. “Of course they do. Too much wine often lends itself to too much of something else, which may require precautionary measures. But let’s not worry about those now,” he winked, putting the phone away. “We’ll revisit it later in case the need arises in the future.”
Rylie felt the heat rise from the very depths of her core and she had to concentrate on breathing. Was he planning on getting lucky with someone tonight? And was his innuendo aimed at getting her in bed someday? Good Lord, she needed to get away from him and fast.
She rolled her eyes, turning toward the front of the store. “Whatever. We’ve got your goods, now let’s get out of here.” She headed to the open register and began placing the items on the counter.
“So where is it that you’ll be heading tonight?” he asked nonchalantly, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. “Got a boyfriend you’ll be enjoying your Heineken with?”
She blinked at him, resisting the urge to make up a story about her body-building fiancé who was waiting at home for her this very minute, or tell him the pathetic truth about her non-existent love life and the embarrassing reality of her weekly football ritual at her dad’s house.
“I don’t see how that’s your business,” she blurted with indignation. “Didn’t we cover this yesterday? All you need to know is I’m going to enjoy my beer and some football tonight. And if you’re lucky, my team will win so that I’m not in a pissy mood tomorrow for your therapy session.” She smiled when she saw his eyes flicker with a realization that her mood could bring about all sorts of difficulties for him. She could definitely make this work to her advantage.
“In that case, IQ, I do hope your beloved Patriots win with a very large margin so I don’t face the firing squad tomorrow.”
Taking the brown paper sack the cashier shoved in her direction, Rylie turned to hand the bag to Mitch, who was already heading out the door. Why was he leaving without his stuff? “Wait, where are you going?”
“Out to my car. I assumed you’d finish the job by delivering it for me.”
She grumbled, fighting the urge to kick the floor like a two-year-old. Fine, she thought. I can just drop the bag in his car and get the heck out of here. She followed him out to the parking lot, the late afternoon sun still high in the sky and casting shadows on the row of cars. She watched him walk toward an old beat up Dodge Caravan and she inwardly laughed at her own guffaw. Here she assumed he was a sports car guy, when in reality he drove a mini-van. She chuckled and he turned his head back to her.
“What’s so funny, IQ?”
“Oh nothing. I just didn’t peg you for a family car kind of guy.”
His face held a strange expression, as he rounded the vehicle. As she came up behind the van, it was then that she noticed a sleek, yellow, two-door Tesla Roadster Sport, parked in the spot next to the Dodge.
She about dropped the bag on the pavement. This was one of the most expensive, all electric sports cars in the world. This gave her two new insights about Mitch Camden. One, he must be incredibly wealthy, because no one earning less than a million a year could afford this car. And two, he liked speed and adventure. These cars, she’d learned from her brother, could hit sixty miles per hour in less than four seconds flat.
And the third thing she potentially learned about this gorgeous man. Well, it could go one of two ways. He might own a car like this because he was extremely eco-conscious. Either that, or he had a serious complex. As in, little dick complex.
“Sports car. I knew it! Trying to make up for a lack of something, Pretty Boy?”
“I’ve never heard any complaints about my lack of anything.”
Hmm. Whatever, Stud Muffin.
Mitch opened up the passenger side door and held the door so Rylie could place the bag on the seat. She leaned in and carefully set the bag on the floor. Shifting herself up right, she turned around and came face-to-face with Mitch, who now was just inches of her. One step closer and he would have her pinned against the doorframe.
Her breath caught and a warm tingle shot up her spine. He was too close. Way too close. Totally in her personal space. She willed him to move. Instinctively, her hand rose to place it on his chest, presumably to push him away. His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, yanking her toward him.
Breathe.
“I’m glad I ran into you, IQ,” he whispered into her ear, his hand dropping her wrist and moving to her face to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I appreciate your assistance and hope I can reciprocate in the very near future.”
Rylie’s hand remained on his chest. She could feel his body heat and the beating rhythm of his heart. She meant to push him away, to maneuver around him and place herself a safe distance from him. But her hand somehow had a mind of its own and stayed there, enjoying the texture of his soft
sweater and the marbled feel of his chest. In fact, the other hand joined in on its own volition. His lips quirked up, apparently showing his approval.
She had just opened her mouth to say something and without warning, his mouth was upon hers in lightning-fast speed. He placed his hands on the sides of her face and tilted her head, allowing him to gain access to her lips. He gently pried her lips open, rubbing his tongue sensually along her bottom lip. Rylie’s mind rebelled, but her mouth betrayed her, giving in to the suppleness of his kissable lips. Her first instinct was to push him away and knee him in the balls, but the feeling was so intense and pleasurable, she gave in to the feeling that she was floating.
His chin scruff grated against her lips, excruciatingly erotic. His tongue began a full-on assault, tangling with hers in rapid fire bursts and her own tongue gave in to the seductive dance. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t move. Her brain told her to get the hell away, but her body wanted more. Craved more.
Her hands moved instinctively around his neck, and she shoved her fingers into his thick mane, pulling him in closer. She heard him groan. Or was that her? She didn’t know, as she was lost in a trance of ecstasy. He deepened the pressure, changing up the pace to a slower, more rhythmic cadence. His tongue probed deeply, exploring the hot crevices of Rylie’s mouth.
Her vision grew dim, as her eyelids closed, her head tilting back even further. Mitch’s kiss grew sharp and punishing, pleading with her to give in fully. The kiss was filled with lust, hot and needy. His right hand slid down her neck and he pulled his lips away from her mouth, placing them just below her ear. He skimmed his tongue down her long neck and then began to suckle the sensitive spot at the base.
She forgot all time and space, making a free fall with every hot kiss he bestowed. She hadn’t realized it, at least consciously, but something deep within her had wanted this since she met him the other night. Everything in her lit up with his touch. She felt a stab of electricity pulse through her, the heat pooling between her legs, and her breasts waiting to be touched and caressed. Her body curved into his, as his hard length pressed against her belly. She was quickly losing control of her senses, giving in to the pleasure he evoked.
