Physical Touch (5 page)

“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.

Shit. What the hell is happening
?

The thought hammered into her brain, bringing her back from the haze of pleasure she had been submerged in. Without thought or hesitation, Rylie drew back sharply, slapping him hard across the jaw. He staggered back, protesting with a groan as she pushed him out of her way, nearly sending him to the ground. He rubbed his jaw as his face reflected a look of bemusement. Remembering her case of beer, she picked it up and ran to her car, leaving him gaping at her sudden departure.

Opening the door and jumping into the driver seat, her hands trembling with adrenaline, she fit the key into the ignition and turned on the car. 

Rylie had never before run from anything or anyone in her life, but all she could think of at the moment was flight
- getting the hell of out there and putting as much distance between her and Mitch Camden as possible.

Her heart pounded as if she had just run a marathon and her thoughts clouded with the reality of what just happened. She was just kissed, deeply and satisfyingly, creating an insatiable need within her that she’d never known was there. And it was planted there by one of her patients. Something against all of her rules and moral conduct and an action that could never, ever, happen again. She wouldn’t let it. She had more control over herself than this, Rylie chastised herself, as she pushed the accelerator to the floor and sped off.

Mitch was both amused and a bit dazed, and slightly pained, as he rubbed the spot on his jawbone where she clocked him, reflecting on what just occurred. Had Rylie really just run off like a frightened schoolgirl? Come to think of it, this was twice now she’d run off on him. That was a first for him and it put him in foreign territory. 

Most women he’d charmed over the last fifteen years would have eagerly followed a kiss like that with a trip to bed, allowing him easy access to their carnal pleasures. No chasing required. And he’d never been with a woman who reacted
so instantaneously with that much passion, returning his kiss as sensually as Rylie just did, just to turn so cold so quickly on him. He was left there in a haze of confusion, standing there looking like an idiot with an unsatisfied erection.

Mitch had no clue what was going through Rylie’s mind when she took off. All he did know was she was pure passion, bottled up in a package made for pleasure. Her kiss was like warm honey, hot and sweet. The heat that emanated from her body and scorching kiss was enough to drive him over the edge. It was all he could do to control himself and not reach out and caress every part of her body, starting with her luscious breasts. He felt her nipples harden as they pressed up against his chest, her breasts full and ripe. All he had wanted was to throw her T-shirt over her head and take one of her firm breasts into his greedy, wet mouth and relish in its erotic luxury. Damn the parking lot!

Wanting nothing more than to drive after her, Mitch instead hobbled into his car and cursed, turning to drive in the opposite direction. He was due at Jackson’s home a few blocks away and was already fifteen minutes behind. During the drive, he quickly collected his thoughts and his breath resumed to its normal rhythm. 

Mitch reflected back to the passionate exchange just minutes earlier and his sheer surprise to Rylie’s immediate and fiery response to his kiss. What he’d half expected to get was a fast punch in the gut, or even worse, his balls. Instead, he was caught off guard by her intense physicality and heated desire. He had wanted to kiss her sassy mouth since the night in the bar, when she was spouting her wisdom on football history. She was sexy as hell and it turned him on. But he didn’t have a chance before she left him hanging, leaving him and his invalid ass to dream about her. He had hoped he’d have the chance again, but didn’t realize it would be so soon. Never one to forgo a second chance, Mitch found the opportunity and took it.

Now armed with this newfound knowledge of her feisty temperament and fiery physical touch, Mitch was eagerly anticipating his appointment with Rylie the next day. He chuckled, thinking of the way she sprinted back to her car and peeled out of the parking lot, like a bat out of hell. His appointment could turn out to be very interesting. Interesting, indeed.

Pulling in to the driveway, Mitch turned off the car and grabbed his crutches, honking the horn to alert his friend of his arrival. At the front door of his Spanish-style Colonial, Jackson
Koda emerged from the house wearing a 49er’s jersey and jeans, sans socks or shoes, making his way to the driver’s side of Mitch’s car.

“Took you long enough,
ya gimp. These things putting a crimp in your strut?”  Jackson joked, motioning to the crutches and slapping Mitch on the back as Mitch rounded the side of the car. “How ya doing, hop-a-long?”

“Why don’t you stop being a dickhead and help a brother out here.”

“Touchy, touchy. Are you sure you don’t need a psychologist instead of a physical therapist, you puss?” Grabbing the bag from the car floor, Jax shut the car door and lead the way to his front porch. Opening the door and stepping aside, he let Mitch enter first, following close behind him.

For a bachelor, Mitch was always impressed with
Jax’s skills in decorating. To the point where he razzed him on a regular basis for his ‘feminine instincts’. Muted colored walls allowed for his bold taste in artwork to capture the warmth of his large first floor entry and family room. A Spanish tiled floor and kitchen, with a wine bar area next to the TV room. Mitch and his buddies spent a good deal of time at Jax’s, watching football and soccer, playing billiards in his downstairs man cave, and hosting plenty of  pool parties out back, where there was never a shortage of women. 

Mitch and
Jax had never had much trouble in that area, dating back to their sophomore year in college, when they met and became friends. It was Jax who helped bring Mitch’s business plan to fruition, being the financial wizard behind his investments.  Jax was the Eduardo Saverin to Mitch’s Mark Zuckerberg, minus the Facebook technology or the legal woes that drove the Internet moguls apart. Where Mitch went on to get his Master’s in Business, Jax became an attorney, and after passing the bar, he joined his friend as his counsel, a man he trusted with his assets and his life’s work.

Mitch and
Jax were night-and-day different, but their friendship had endured over the years and continued to grow stronger. Mitch relied on Jax to keep his investments and projects on track and could count on him to give him the truth, even when he didn’t want to hear it. 

Plopping down on the plush brown leather chair and propping his leg up on the wide ottoman, Mitch grabbed the remote to turn on the game. The New England Patriots, whom he had thoroughly despised until now, were playing the
Philadelphia Eagles. Tonight’s game winner became even more of an interest to Mitch, as he was curious as to the outcome of tonight’s match-up. There was nothing more he’d love to do than to give Rylie a little grief tomorrow if her favorite team lost against their opponents. It might be sacrilegious to root against the home team, but it would be a hot button for a certain beautiful therapist. It might put her in an even feistier mood with him tomorrow, which he hoped he could use to his advantage to draw out that hot response again. If she got that worked up over a football game, imagine what she’d be like in bed? A tiger, to be sure.

Mitch was lost in his thoughts when
Jax set down a bowl of chips, a beer and the open bottle of wine on the table next to him. 

“Did you hear me?”
Jax asked again, as he got comfortable on the sofa across from the flat-screened TV wall, opening the cap on the beer bottle.

“No, sorry, I was thinking about something else. What’d you say?”

Jax shook his head, squeezing a small crevice of lime in his beer before taking a swig.  “I asked how the knee’s doing? Do you think you’ll be ready for our mid-winter ski trip to Telluride in January? Or should we head to Cabo instead?”

Mitch knew his friend always preferred the warmer, tropical climates to snow any day of the week. In a sense, he didn’t blame him, considering the women were bikini-clad on the beaches of Mexico versus the fifty layers of clothing they wore on the ski slopes. His friend wasn’t quite the adventurer that Mitch had become and typically enjoyed a more low-key vacation, where he could read and enjoy the local art scene.
Jax was bookish and serious, both in business and his art and hobbies, but never dull. Music was one of his other pastimes. He’d often find a local pub on their trips where he’d spend hours listening to the local musicians, buying them drinks after their gig and getting to know them personally. Had Jax not gone into business with him, Mitch could have easily envisioned him being a talent scout or agent to up-and-coming musical talent. He certainly had the ear for it and was always on the lookout for something new. 

“Therapy is okay, better than expected. Looking forward to more of it.”

Jax nearly spit out his beer. “Let me get this straight. You’re happy about physical therapy? Jesus, you’re a sadistic one,” he said incredulously. “I know you believe in all that “no pain, no gain” bullshit, but PT for a torn ALC is no Disneyland, dude, and you’re acting like it’s a walk in the park. I want whatever pain meds you have.”

Mitch grinned at his friend and he raised his eyebrows in exclamation.  “Truthfully, the therapy is hell. But the therapist? She is fucking heaven.”

Describing to Jax that Rylie was his impromptu
Jeopardy
opponent from the bar, he went on to share the story of him running into her at the liquor store and their little make-out session in the parking lot. While he did provide his opinions on how gorgeous she was and her mean left-hook, Mitch failed to describe the sharp electric currents he felt when he touched her or the severe stabs of desire that coursed through him in her presence. That was not something he was ready to share with his long-time friend, as he himself didn’t even understand what it meant. All he could think about, though, was how to find ways to experience more of it. 

With the Patriots up by ten at the half,
Jax and Mitch sat down over pizza to discuss their newest and by far, largest, business project to date. They were nearly six weeks into the planning for the Kendall project, employing over sixty subs to build a one-hundred-and-twenty-million fully sustainable, eco-friendly, nearly carbon-neutral and completely green complex. 

Jax
pulled out his tablet and began crunching the numbers, looking through the various contracts that were already signed and the several that were still in the hopper. He then pulled up his calendar and reviewed the various meetings they had scheduled in the coming weeks.

“
So how’s this therapy schedule going to work out for you? We have Jensen coming into town Monday and Albertson & Tully site visits in Miami the rest of next week. You good with those plans or should we consider moving the dates back?”

Mitch shook his head as he finished his pizza and poured another glass of the Pinot. “My therapy sessions are scheduled three days a week and if need be, I’ll take the therapist on the road with me when I travel. Shouldn’t be a problem or cause any delays.” 

Jax looked up inquisitively. “I’ve never heard of a traveling physical therapist,” he questioned.

“The clinic owner is a friend of Mark’s, so if necessary, I’ll pull some strings. I will not let this be a problem,” he said, pointing to his knee, “Or interfere with our business. Got it?”

If it was one thing Mitch did not look kindly on it was interferences and disruptions. His life was a well-oiled machine and he ensured everything worked like clockwork. That’s one of the reasons why he’d never settled down. Not only were relationships a hassle, but they caused too many unnecessary distractions. From the moment he woke in the morning, which was generally five a.m., his life went according to schedule. It was orderly, efficient and thoroughly planned. Routine in his day-to-day life allowed for more spontaneity in his personal life, which is where he wanted it. He got satisfaction in that, and it was never difficult to find a willing woman to hang on his arm for a few weeks, but never long enough to get close to. He wouldn’t subject himself to loss and heartbreak again. Getting close required opening his heart. The loss of his brother taught him one thing: never let someone in and you won’t get hurt. His close relationships now consisted only of his friendship and partnership with Jax, as well as his mother and father.

As if right on cue, Mitch’s phone rang indicating Mitch Sr. on his display.  Clicking the button on the earbud still lodged in his ear, he answered with a brusque greeting. 

“Hello Son,” came the rich baritone of his father. “Did I catch you at a good time?”

Mitch laughed, wondering what his father thought he would be doing on a Thursday evening or who he thought he was with. “I’m just over at Jackson’s watching a little football. What’s going on?”

“Ah, good, good! Do give Jackson my regards, we haven’t seen him in ages.  Listen, Son, I wanted to talk to you about this upcoming benefit your mother and I are hosting next month. It’s for the Doctors-Without-Borders charity your mother co-chairs.  It’s going to be quite the soiree and she wanted me to see if you’d be willing to escort Betsy Stanwood’s daughter, Eleanor. It would mean a great deal to your mother if you would.”

Mitch tried to picture Eleanor, or Elle, as she liked to be called now, but could only drum up images of the chubby, pimple-faced adolescent he remembered being forced to play with when he was twelve. He even recalled the nickname he’d given her at the time – Ellie Smelly. Not only did it rhyme with her name, but she always seemed to be a bit malodorous, leading him to believe she didn’t like to bathe. He shook his
head at the memory and the girl he hadn’t thought about for over twenty years. 

“Dad, I do have a pretty good track record for getting my own dates for these types of events, if that’s what you’re worried about.” His father chuckled on the other end of the line and then gave a brief sigh before responding.

“I have all the confidence in your abilities to garner your own dates, Son. It’s your mother and her friend Betsy who are concerned for Ellie. She went through a pretty tough divorce recently and needs a little pick-me-up. Surely you can be a gentleman and support her this one evening. For your mother’s sake, if nothing else.”

Mitch groaned inwardly at his father’s mention of Eleanor’s situation. There was nothing fun about an evening with a recent divorcee. For all he knew, she was probably still in the “all men are assholes and deserve to die” stage. Not a classification he ascended to. And then there was the guilt he’d feel for not doing this favor for his mother. A no-win, impossible situation.

Mitch rolled his eyes and inhaled, trying to find his Zen, wanting to appease his parents. They’d always been there for him, even in the aftermath of his brother. He was all they had now and it was his responsibility to be there for them in whatever capacity he could be.