Call Me Wild Read online

  “Right. The last thing I want to do is beef up on how to write a trashy, formulaic romance. Crap. I’m a journalist, not a writer of sex-infused purple prose.”

  Chapter 3

  Jessie crawled out of bed, tore through a PowerBar, and chugged a glass of juice before going on her morning run. She considered skipping it. She was meeting Karma later for tennis, but since she didn’t know if Karma was any good, she decided to get her run in anyway. She got cranky if she didn’t get enough exercise. Besides, if she skipped it, she might not see Fisher, who had turned up in her dream last night.

  It wasn’t as if she’d meant to dream about him, but there was no mistaking the eyes she stared into while he did amazing things to her body. Too bad she woke up before the grand finale. Between reading that hot romance last night and dreaming about Fisher that morning, she’d woken up feeling… edgy. Edgy was not good.

  Maybe it was time to start dating after all. Not that she’d date a guy like Fisher, but heck, there must be a nice, single guy in Boise.

  She grabbed her iPod, shoved it into her armband before stuffing her key into the pocket of her running shorts, and slammed out of the house. After a few warm-up stretches, she was off. She took it slow for the first few blocks and then quickened her pace as she hit Camel’s Back Park. It was nothing like Central Park with lush trees, lawns, and blacktop running paths. Camel’s Back Park looked like the inside of a salad bowl. The bottom was green grass, and the sides looked as if they’d strip-mined a foothill at a forty-five-degree angle. It was a striking contrast to what she was used to. At first, the barrenness shocked her, but now, she noticed all the subtle colors—a palette dotted with earth tones from dark ocher, to sepia, to taupe, softened by sagebrush and punctuated by the backdrop of a cerulean sky. It amazed her that at seven in the morning the moon hung like an orb over the foothills that rose above her in the bright morning light. It was almost surreal.

  She passed the tennis courts and took the path toward Hull’s Pond. She hadn’t gone a hundred yards before she heard the thud, thud, thud of running shoes against the hard-packed earthen trail beside her. She checked her watch. Fisher was punctual, if nothing else. Okay, punctual and hot. Today, instead of following her, he was running with her. Pacing her.

  ***

  Fisher had been running late and hadn’t had time for a real warm-up before Jessica ran by at full throttle. He poured on the speed, wishing he’d grabbed a water before leaving the house. “What’cha listening to?”

  “The Exit, ‘Don’t Push.’”

  He hoped that was the name of a band and a song—not that he knew which was which. He’d never heard of either. Fisher matched her pace, but couldn’t say anything intelligent about the music. That was what happened when you’d had your head buried in academia for ten years. College, med school, residency, and then his fellowship took over his life. When he finally got home, he was all about studying for his boards and buying into a partnership. There was no time for a relationship more demanding than a roll in the hay. Even then, sometimes that was too much, which might explain why none of his relationships got past the hot sex stage. If it hadn’t been for Hunter and the rest of his family, Fisher would have had no contact with anyone outside the medical community.

  “This is my hard-run playlist. It keeps me moving.”

  “I gathered that.” Fisher’s calves burned as he ran beside her into the foothills below the Boise Front, the chain of mountains just north of Boise. “You do realize we’re gaining elevation, don’t you?” Unfortunately, the steepness of the trail hadn’t slowed her down any.

  “Yeah. That’s apparent. They don’t call it Camel’s Back Park for nothing. You just gotta get over the humps.”

  They passed Hull’s Pond, which shone green in the morning light. It looked as if God had taken a huge spoonful of earth out of the foothill, leaving the clear pond in its place. Jessica didn’t bother slowing down to admire the view. She just turned off the trail and kept climbing onto Owl’s Roost.

  Fisher ran beside her as the North End took shape below them. Boise spread out, the greenbelt became clear—a lush green stripe of grass and deciduous trees running on both sides of the Boise River against a brown background. The Capital Dome and the few skyscrapers that made up the downtown shone in sharp relief in the September sunlight, against the endless blue sky cut only by a few jet trails.

  “I run hard for four songs, I take it down a step for another four, then I’m back to running hard before I slow it down, and then I stretch. It’s a great workout.”

  He didn’t bother asking which songs, since his entire repertoire of music predated 1995.

  They crossed Mile High Road and continued to climb past a few incredible McMansions with amazing views of the city. “What were you listening to the first time I followed you?”

  “Probably my girl power playlist. You know, Gwen Stefani, Meredith Brooks, Pink, Sheryl Crow, Nelly Furtado, and your girlfriend’s favorite, Lady Gaga.”

  Yes, it was time to update the music collection. Fisher had a hard time keeping up with her and talking, yet he couldn’t help but laugh. “Laura’s not my girlfriend. I only go out with adults. I’m flattered, thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “Is that why you won’t go out with me?”

  Jessica checked her watch. “No. I told you. I’m not interested. It’s nothing personal.”

  “Sure. Like I believe that.” Fisher didn’t know why it mattered so much, but he was happy to see he might be wearing her down. Her mention of Laura meant she was at least curious, didn’t it? Maybe he was suffering delusions due to lack of oxygen to the brain. He took a deep breath and did his best not to huff. “How can disinterest be impersonal?”

  She actually turned her head and looked him in the eye. “I’m here to work.”

  Fisher wished she’d slow down so they could talk. “I’m not keeping you from working. What do you do, anyway?”

  “I’m a writer.” She turned up the volume on her iPod, tapped her watch, and then poured on the speed.

  Shit. That was a great conversation killer. He figured four more kick-ass songs added up to at least twelve minutes of sprinting. Thank God they were running on a slightly downhill slope. Still, the woman was a machine. Either that or she really didn’t want to talk. She didn’t have to worry about it now, or in the near future. He couldn’t have talked if his life depended on it. Dry air burned his lungs. His arms felt like lead, and his leg muscles were screaming. If she ran this way every day, it was no wonder she had a world-class ass. He just prayed he’d survive the playlist. If it didn’t kill him, the endorphins alone should get him out of his funk. He swallowed back a groan and did his best to keep up with her.

  After running for what seemed like miles, he followed Jessica past more houses that were way above his pay grade, but not for long though. He banked a lot of his salary, even after paying his partnership buy-in. The mortgage for his North End cottage was ridiculously low, and he always bought his toys used, so they were paid off. Everything he’d worked his whole life for was coming together. He was financially stable, he loved his work, he had a great family, but something nagged at him like an annoying gnat. No matter how many times he swatted, it wouldn’t go away.

  They turned onto another trail. He hadn’t been out this far since he wrecked his dirt bike—the memory was still painful. There was nothing like digging rocks out of your ass for a week, but even worse was the ribbing he’d taken from his brothers. It had been a favorite topic for at least six months. Hell, they’d even given him a set of training wheels for Christmas, complete with a deck of cards for the spokes. At least they hadn’t given him a meep, meep horn or a bell—an oversight on their part. Karma had made up for it though when she put a set of pink and purple handlebar streamers in his stocking. He’d never live it down.

  East Ridgeline Drive sprang up out of nowhere—like the beginning of a Hot Wheels track missing the next piece. He was thankful for the d
rop in elevation as they headed toward the valley. Jessica hadn’t slowed her pace, but at least they weren’t climbing. Maybe he would finish the run without collapsing at her feet and blowing chunks after all.

  It seemed an eternity before she backed off on the speed. He’d be lucky if he could walk in an hour. It was going to be a long and painful day. Good thing he didn’t see patients until one o’clock. It would take a few hours in his hot tub to get his muscles to function.

  Jessica passed the pond and headed toward the park, stopping at the top of Camel’s Back Hill. It was steep as hell—at least a forty-five-degree drop. He should know. He’d been sledding on it every time they got more than a few inches of snow since he was old enough to climb the damn thing with a saucer in hand. For a second, he thought she was going to run down it. Not a bright move. He took her arm. “You don’t want to run down there.” He could barely get the words out, because he was huffing like a four-pack-a-day smoker. “Come down this way.”

  Fisher led her down the switch back, which took them to the North End on Bella Street. Back on level ground, she ran the rest of the way at a slow jog, cooling off, and then stopped at a house with a picket fence. She opened the gate and waited. It wasn’t quite the invitation he’d hoped for, but she didn’t close the gate on him, so he followed her into the well-kept yard.

  She pulled out her earbuds, and he heard Usher’s voice singing “Nice and Slow.” The song made him think of sweaty sex and satin sheets. Damn the woman was intriguing. Unfortunately, the only muscle in his body showing interest in a workout wasn’t going to see any action.

  “Do you want a water?”

  Fisher wiped the sweat from his face onto the hem of his T-shirt. “Right now, I’d drink sand.”

  She dug into a hidden pocket in her shorts, pulled out a key, and motioned for him to follow. “I’ll get a few waters, but then I need to stretch. You can come in if you like, but I stretch on the porch.”

  “I’ll wait here since you’re coming back out.” He wanted to collapse on the porch swing hanging from the rafters—just not in front of her.

  “Okay, I’ll only be a minute.”

  “Take your time.” He’d need more than a minute just to keep from embarrassing himself.

  ***

  Jessie let the screen door slam behind her. It was such a nice day; she had all the windows open. Indian Summer had hit Boise with a vengeance, and she was going to enjoy the heck out of it. As she passed the open window, she heard Fisher groan as if in pain. She looked out to find him bending over with his hands braced above his knees, looking as if he was about to puke.

  She was surprised he’d been able to keep up with her, and frankly, she was surprised she’d been able to run like she had today. She was way too competitive for her own good, pushing herself harder than she had even at the Marine-inspired boot camp she’d gone to for an article she’d written.

  Jessie grabbed a few ice-cold waters and headed back to the porch. By the time she’d gotten out there, she was happy to see that Fisher had straightened up and was stretching his calf muscles on the bottom step.

  She jumped off the porch to hand him his water. Fire shot from her knee to her hip. “Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she belted out the all-time worst of her curses. Her left hamstring seized—not cramped. She’d had cramps before. The damn thing seized.

  “Jessica, you okay?”

  “Fuckity, fuckity, fuck.” She saw spots for the second time in her life. She was seeing spots, and surfer dude had to be the only living witness. She hopped on her right foot as pain shot from her ass all the way down to her foot.

  Fisher dropped his water and grabbed her instead.

  This was just great—not to mention incredibly embarrassing.

  “Lie down.”

  “What?”

  “It’s your hamstring, right?”

  “Well, duh.”

  “Lie down. You need to stretch it out.” The man tackled her, and the next thing she knew, she was flat on her back in the grass with her leg up, and her ankle resting in his right hand as he bent over her, his bright green eyes staring into hers.

  Talk about déjà vu. It was a freakin’ replay of her dream. She was still writhing beneath him, only the take-me-now tingles had been replaced with searing pain.

  “Breathe.” Strong hands massaged her calf, moving higher—all the way to her ass and back again. She would have kicked him if she was able to move her leg and wasn’t about to scream in agony. He stretched it a little farther with each pass of his hands from calf to ass, and it was all she could do to keep from crying. “Better?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  Of course, he was right, but she’d die before she admitted it. If anyone should be on the ground writhing in pain, it should be him. Okay, so she was pouting, it wasn’t her finest hour. “What are you, an expert or something?”

  “On women’s legs?” He shot her a breathtaking smile that was a mixture of smug and sexy, making her wonder if he was enjoying her embarrassment or picturing her naked, maybe both. “You bet.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Yeah, Fisher’s smile was definitely smexy. She’d just coined a new word—one of her favorite things, but even that didn’t make her feel any better—a true testament to her pain level.

  “What you need is a banana, Gatorade, and a hot tub—not necessarily in that order. Do you have any of the above?”

  “What do you think?” She sucked in a breath when his fingers brushed against her inner thigh way too close to home plate, not that it seemed to register on his face—she was sure hers was changing colors, first to pale and then to bright red. “You’re the one who took an inventory of my shopping cart a few days ago.”

  “Where are your car keys?”

  “In my purse, why?”

  “Because we’re going to my house. I live a few blocks away, and I don’t feel like carrying you.”

  “I’m fine. I don’t need to go to your house for a banana, a hot tub, or anything else.”

  Fisher leaned over her, his face just above hers, and his hands still kneading her left ass cheek. God, he had amazing fingers. Too bad she couldn’t enjoy them. “If we don’t treat this cramp, you’ll damage the muscle, and then where will you be?”

  He sure sounded as if he knew what he was talking about. Maybe it was personal experience. In any case, the way he spoke with such supreme confidence was unnerving, yet effective. “Okay, my keys are in my purse on the hall table.”

  Fisher smiled and handed her water. “Drink half of this. Slowly. It will hold you until we can get some electrolytes into you. It’ll help deal with the lactic acid buildup.”

  “Yes, doctor.” Okay, so she was being a smart-ass, but she couldn’t help it. Pain made her cranky—although what Andrew called it was not so generous. She didn’t know what the hell Fisher did with his time, but if he ever wanted to get a real job, he’d make a great masseur.

  Fisher gave her ass a pat and smirked. He had the kind of smirk that pissed her off and turned her on at the same time. The pissed-off part she attributed to her crankiness. The turned-on part she’d much rather forget—along with the early morning sex dream, and the déjà vu thing, and Fisher’s brush over home plate. God, it was a sexually frustrating hat trick. When he turned away, she found herself ogling his ass again. She’d be better off just pouring the whole water bottle over her head.

  He returned a minute later with her purse thrown over his shoulder, bent down beside her, and before she could figure out what he was up to, picked her up.

  Jessie let out a yelp and ended up spilling the rest of her water all over them. Her T-shirt clung to her sports bra, and the girls stood at attention. “What do you think you’re doing?” She pulled her wet shirt off her skin and tried to think straight. Not an easy thing to do when his hand rested just below her very wet, very cold breast, while she clung to him, her arm wrapped around his neck.

  “I’m putting you in
the car.”

  “I’m not a piece of luggage. I can walk.”

  “No, you can hop. I imagine it would be fun to watch, but this”—he gave her a squeeze—“satisfies my latent caveman tendencies. It’s a win-win.”

  “I’m driving.”

  “It’s a stick, right?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So… your left hamstring is not going to appreciate having to be on and off the clutch. I’ll drive.”

  The man had skills. He could carry her after a hard run, open the door to her Mini Cooper, and set her in the seat without decapitating her. Fisher dropped her purse in her lap and closed the door, while she dug out her keys. He also drove like a race car driver. In less than a minute, they were pulling into the driveway of a clinker-brick craftsman cottage. “It’s beautiful.” There were flowers everywhere. “Are you a gardener?” That would explain his tan and his muscles.

  “Nah, my mom did all this. She enjoys it.”

  When he carried her through the front door, any hope she had that he didn’t live with his mother was dashed. Too bad, she was beginning to question her initial impression of him. The place had all the touches of a woman’s home. A mirror by the front door, a table below it to put a purse on, a soft throw over the back of the couch to curl up in, and a cozy armchair beneath a reading lamp close to the fireplace. This place was definitely not a bachelor pad.

  “Do you want to put on a bathing suit or just soak in your running shorts? I know there are a few suits fresh out of the wash.”

  “I’m not going to wear one of your girlfriends’ bathing suits.”

  He stopped in the middle of the hall. “I thought we cleared that up. I don’t have a girlfriend. The suits are my little sister’s. She comes by and uses the hot tub whenever she wants.”

  Okay, sure. She believed him. After all, it must be awkward having women over when you live with your mother.

  He carried her into the kitchen, set her down on the counter, and grabbed a banana off the bunch hanging on a strange looking rack. He tossed it to her before opening the refrigerator. “Orange or lemon lime? I think I might have a blue one in here too.” He leaned into the refrigerator, and Jessie avoided staring at his ass again.