Call Me Wild Page 5

  “Orange, please.” The blue was her favorite, but for some reason she didn’t want to have a blue tongue and lips around him. She peeled the banana, which didn’t help her stop thinking about sex, and took a bite. She was determined to look at anything that wasn’t part of Fisher. The kitchen was immaculate. Hers was clean, probably because she never did anything but reheat in it, but this kitchen literally sparkled. The sink shined like a car on the showroom floor for crying out loud. It wasn’t as if the kitchen didn’t look used—it did. It just looked used by a neat freak. There were no piles of junk mail, no odds and ends lying around the countertops. Heck, there weren’t even any grocery bags stuffed between the wicked cool fridge and the cabinets beside it. It was like a freakin’ Martha Stewart Living kitchen.

  Spices lined one wall on a stainless steel rack Jessie could swear she’d seen the last time she grabbed a quick bite at Dean and DeLuca in the city. Fisher’s mom must be one hell of a cook if she used even a quarter of the spices on the rack. Jessie hadn’t heard of half of them.

  Fisher cracked the top of the Gatorade, traded it for the banana peel, and threw it in a porcelain crock by the sink.

  “What’s that? The world’s smallest garbage can?”

  “It’s for the compost pile. My mom’s garden loves it. Come on.” He helped her off the counter.

  Surprisingly, her leg felt a lot better. She didn’t know if it was the banana, the Gatorade, or the massage that did the trick. She really didn’t care, but the next time she hit the Albertsons, she was definitely going to stock up on the two she could buy there.

  “A nice soak and a couple of Motrin, and you should be back to normal in a few days.” Fisher kicked off his running shoes and carried them back toward the front of the house.

  “You mean a few hours.” Jessie spoke to his retreating back. “I have a tennis date at ten.”

  Fisher dropped his shoes by the door. “At ten this morning? No way. It’s almost eight-thirty now.”

  “I don’t want to miss it.” She took a step and then toed off her shoes. “I’ll be fine after a soak in your hot tub. I’m feeling better already.”

  Fisher grumbled something—she didn’t know what. The scary expression on his face and the tension she saw in his shoulders as she followed him down the hall, toward the back of the house, was enough to tell her he was not happy with her declaration.

  Too bad. She’d never missed a game before. Besides, she wasn’t stupid—well okay, so she occasionally did not-so-smart things like pushing herself and him to see who would fail first. Still, she’d learned her lesson. She was not the bionic woman, and she was really not into pain. She’d take it easy and be careful.

  He grabbed a few towels out of a wonderfully organized linen closet—yeah, definitely an OCD woman lived here—before stomping into a man cave. It had a huge flat-screen TV that took up an entire wall. Damn, she’d give her eyeteeth to watch a game on that behemoth. A computer, Xbox, and a Wii, rounded out the toys. Movies, games, and music all in alphabetical order, took up most of another wall. A deep brown leather couch, love seat, and chair provided seating with mission-style tables that you could set a drink or your feet on. The ceiling was dotted with recessed lighting, and Frank Lloyd Wright–inspired table lamps finished the room off, adding a golden glow.

  A beautiful Navajo rug hung over the stone fireplace, and a larger version of the same rug covered the uneven, walnut hardwood floor. The walls were painted a rich maroon, and the windows were covered with blackout shades. Since the room faced due west, she figured they were a necessity if you wanted to watch TV in the late afternoon.

  Fisher opened the French doors and stepped onto a deck sprinkled with clay pots overflowing with flowers and surrounded by gardens. He pulled off the cover of a large Jacuzzi hot tub that had to seat five or six adults. While he was busy, Jessie pulled off her T-shirt and running shorts. Heck, she had a sports bra and running underwear that covered her better than her racing bikini. She thought about soaking in her T-shirt and shorts, but she wasn’t about to sit on her leather car seats in chlorine-soaked clothes.

  ***

  Fisher turned around to say something—what he couldn’t remember—when he saw Jessica wearing what looked like the world’s hottest bikini. Not that the suit was anything extraordinary, but the body it barely covered, well, that was an entirely different story. Jessica had a flat, firm, muscular torso and what looked like a very nice set of C-cup breasts. Her long, lean muscles were defined without being bulky. She looked one hundred percent female. She lifted her arms and showed off a set of guns Jillian Michaels would be jealous of. Raking her hands through her hair, she tied her ponytail into a knot at the top of her head, so that the ends fanned out and stuck straight up. She should look ridiculous, but it only made her look hotter. All his blood flowed south, and his mouth watered.

  Jessica shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t want to get my shorts and T-shirt wet. It’s not as if I’m naked.”

  Fisher saw naked women, or at least partially naked women, on a daily basis. Sure they were patients, but no one he’d ever seen, girlfriends, supermodels, or Playboy centerfolds when he was twelve, had the ability to throw him off his game before. Maybe it was because he hadn’t expected her to strip down like that. Or maybe it had been way too long since a woman undressed in front of him. Whatever the reason, it rendered him incapable of speech.

  He pulled his shirt over his head, stalling for time and hoping to get the problem in his shorts under control. At least he was behind the hot tub. Of course he’d have to get into the damn tub too. He leaned over to adjust the jets and climbed in trying to ignore her, or at the very least, think of her like a patient. He’d never had this problem with a patient. Unfortunately, his dick knew Jessica wasn’t a patient, and if it had its way, she never would be.

  He watched as she carefully climbed into the Jacuzzi. He could study the ripple of muscle over bone for an eternity, the way her ribs were defined when she bent over. The delineation of her spine as she stretched her back before sliding into the hot water made him want to run his hands over every bump and curve on her body. She moaned as she slid beneath the surface—the sound only added to his discomfort.

  Jessica stayed on the opposite side of the tub, which was just fine with him. His mind was getting him into enough trouble without her being close enough to touch.

  “God this feels like heaven.”

  Inappropriate thoughts flew through his mind with the speed and clarity of fireworks, one more spectacular than the next, and he did his best to shut them down, or at the very least, ignore them.

  Jessica laid back, closed her eyes, and soaked in the sun and the warm water. She hadn’t said anything, but then she was a woman of few words. He’d figured that out on their run. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, and it was nice just soaking without having to listen to someone run off at the mouth. Yeah, Jessica was not your typical female.

  He checked his watch and was surprised to find they’d been soaking for about twenty minutes. “How’s the leg?”

  “Good. Do you want to feel it?”

  Did she just say what he thought she said? “Feel it?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time. It isn’t as if you didn’t have your hands over every inch of my leg from ass to ankle less than an hour ago. What’s the big deal?”

  She stood, the water cascading off her body, dribbling between her breasts and over her rectus abdominis, sliding down her transverse abdominis and external obliques. Unfortunately, thinking in Latin just made his problem worse. Did she really expect him to answer when all he wanted to do was catch the droplets of water running down her torso with his tongue?

  She rested her foot between his legs. Thank God he’d turned up the jets. There was no way she could see how hard all the talk of feeling her up had made him. As if they had a mind of their own, Fisher’s hands wrapped around her slim ankle and slid to her calf, supple skin over tight, smooth muscle. No spasms there. His hands
crept higher. There was no sign of swelling or bruising to indicate rupture, no apparent myofascial pain, or even tenderness. He ran his hand up the back of her right hamstring to compare the two and check for swelling. He found none. The only change he could detect was in her respiration. “Am I hurting you?”

  “Um… no. You’re fine. I mean… I’m fine. I mean… no, it doesn’t hurt.”

  He did his best not to smile, but damn if he didn’t feel a tic in his cheek.

  Jessica backed away so quickly she slipped on the edge of a built-in lounge and landed in the seat with a splash. Her face flamed.

  Something about her just tugged at him, making him leave his gentlemanly tendencies at the door. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s human physiology. It’s sexual chemistry—you’re just experiencing a normal reaction to physical stimuli. Don’t worry, it works both ways.”

  “B… both ways?”

  “I’m just as affected as you are.” He stood and almost laughed as her eyes just about bulged out of her head. There was no use trying to hide it, not that he could if he’d wanted to. “If you don’t want to miss your ten o’clock date,” he said as he handed her a towel, “you’d better dry off while we talk about what we’re going to do about it.”

  She stood and wrapped the towel around her like a shield. If he didn’t pay close attention to the straps running up behind her neck, he could almost pretend she was naked. He never thought he’d admit it even to himself, but maybe his brothers were right. It had been way too long since he’d dated a woman. And the thought of this woman going on a date—even just for a game of tennis—didn’t set well with him.

  Fisher was getting used to Jessica’s lack of conversation skills. Still, it didn’t keep him from wanting to give her a push. “So, what do you think we should do?”

  “Nothing.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m going home, and you’re going to do whatever it is that you do.”

  Fisher stepped closer, and her eyes widened. Still, she didn’t step back. He liked that about her. She was cautious, but not afraid. “Ignoring it isn’t going to make it disappear.”

  “No, it won’t make it disappear, but ignoring you might do the trick.” Jessica smiled, but not the kind of smile he’d hoped to see—he wished he could trade the determined grin for a compliant one. Somehow he figured the word “compliant” was never used to describe Jessica. Willful, headstrong, and truculent, certainly—compliant, never.

  She shook out her T-shirt and pulled it over her head before sliding the towel down and looking him in the eye. “It’s nothing personal, Fisher. You seem like a really nice guy, but I’m just not interested in dating, no matter how much chemistry there is between us. Just because you can raise my blood pressure, and I can raise your—” She motioned to his quickly deflating hard-on. “It’s nothing more than lust. Unlike you, I’ve got a lot of work to get done in a short time. The last thing I need is another distraction. So even though you’re the best-looking distraction I’ve ever imagined, I’m going to say thanks, but no.”

  He inched closer. “So you’ve imagined me and you—” Oh yeah, she didn’t even need to answer, the way her eyes darkened and her breath caught gave her away. He was glad to know he wasn’t alone.

  “Thanks for all your help today—the banana, the Gatorade, and you know”—she motioned to her leg—“whatever.” She tugged her shorts up under the towel and then pulled it off, folding it over the rail around the deck. “I’m sorry if I did anything to lead you on. That wasn’t my intention at all. As a matter of fact, I was trying to avoid you.”

  He stepped to the left to block her escape, but she pivoted right. “You were? When?”

  “When I saw you at Albertsons last night. I slipped down another aisle. Look, let’s just pretend this never happened. I’ll get my shoes, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

  “Jessica, wait.”

  She shook her head and walked through the French doors. He couldn’t say a damn thing to stop her. She’d made up her mind, and all he could do was hope she figured out that ignoring him wasn’t going to make the chemistry they shared go away.

  Chapter 4

  “Sorry I’m late.” Jessie hurried through the gate of the tennis court Karma occupied, tossed her bag in the corner by the fence, and grabbed a can of balls and her racket. “I had another run-in with my stalker, and things got a little out of hand.”

  “How out of hand did it get?”

  Jessie shrugged and opened the fresh can. The scent of brand new tennis balls assaulted her. It was like a drug. God, she loved it. New-tennis-ball scent was as powerful and fleeting as new-car smell. By tomorrow, the balls would lose their new-ball smell and just a smidgen of their bounce. It was sad. But today, she put a ball to her nose and inhaled, they were perfect.

  “I had a nasty hamstring cramp this morning, so I need to take it easy today. I’m sorry.” She tapped one over the net to Karma, who caught it and stuck it in her pocket. Jessie followed suit and then bounced the other around on the top of her racket, checking her strings. “Would you mind if we just volley instead of playing a game?”

  “We don’t have to play at all if you’re hurt.” Karma adjusted her visor. “We can just go to Starbucks and talk. There’s one a few blocks away.”

  “No, it’s fine.” The last place she wanted to go was the Starbucks that she and Fisher shared. She didn’t want to run into him again so soon, if ever. But then the thought of never seeing Fisher didn’t sound too good either—even after his threat of a come-to-Jesus meeting about the whole wild, rampant, scary, sexual chemistry thing. “I was just trying to run my hot stalker into the ground this morning, and well, by the end of the run, I was the one on the ground.” Jessie hit a ball to Karma. “Of course, in order to get me there, he had to tackle me.”

  Karma let the ball fly past her and walked toward the net. “Your stalker tackled you?”

  “Yeah, but he was only trying to help, I think. Though with him, there’s always that lingering doubt.” Jessie shrugged. “He’s a guy, and he gave me a hell of a leg massage. Between the massage and the soak in a hot tub, I’m almost as good as new.”

  “A massage, then a soak in a hot tub? Sounds like foreplay to me.”

  Jessie would be the last person on earth to admit it, but it felt a lot like foreplay too. She just hadn’t realized it until way too late. She plucked at the strings of her racket as Karma approached her.

  “You have a hot tub?” Karma didn’t give Jessie even a second to answer. “Isn’t that convenient?”

  “No, I don’t have a hot tub, and no, it’s not convenient at all.” Jessie backed up and took the spare ball from her pocket, bouncing it against the court with her racket to avoid making eye contact. “Fisher took me to his house, fed me a banana and Gatorade, and let me go for a swim in his Jacuzzi. It was medicinal, not foreplay.” She didn’t mention the end part where she practically ran away from a fully aroused, not to mention well endowed, incredibly hot man. Or the part about being as aroused as he was. Her only saving grace was that he lived with his mother. She’d made that mistake once before, and she was never doing that again. No momma’s boys for her.

  “You went home with your stalker?”

  Jessie let the ball bounce once more before hitting it over the net. “Uh-huh.”

  Karma returned the volley right to her, and Jessie backhanded it, making Karma run.

  Karma smashed the ball. “So it sounds like he’s becoming less of a stalker and more of a boyfriend.”

  The ball flew back toward Jessie, but not right to her. She hopped sideways. “Not a boyfriend. I made that clear.” Jessie sliced it back over the net, so Karma had to run for it. “I refuse to date a grown man who lives with his mother.”

  Karma returned a half volley that would make Roger Federer proud. Karma obviously knew her tennis. “Did you say he lives with his mother?”

  “Yes.” Jessie hit a crosscourt shot, making Karma run for a ground stroke,
and bounced back to the middle, favoring her hamstring. “I mean, I think he does. His house has to be run by a woman with a major case of OCD. The kitchen sink shined, the house was immaculate, the gardens were spectacular, and his videos and music were in alphabetical order. Fisher’s mother must be like Martha Stewart on steroids. Even the linen closet was so tidy it looked staged.”

  Karma lobbed the ball to her. “You didn’t ask him if he lives with his mom?”

  Jessie skipped back into no man’s land and returned the ball with an overhand smash down the line. “Hell no. I don’t want him to think I’m interested because I’m definitely not. No matter how hot he is. Fisher and his mom even have a compost pile. It’s… unnatural.”

  Karma returned with a drop shot and let out a laugh. “Composting is unnatural? God, you make it sound almost incestuous. A lot of people compost here. There’s nothing kinky about it, believe me.”

  “Maybe not.” Jessie ran to the net to scoop up the ball and missed. Maybe tennis wasn’t such a good idea. She turned and hopped back toward her tennis bag. She motioned for Karma to follow.

  “Now spill. Did hot stalker guy ask you out again?”

  Jessie looped her bag over her shoulder and rummaged through it, finding nothing. “I didn’t give him the opportunity. I left.” She gave up and collapsed, resting the bag on her lap. Her hamstring cramped again, making her almost as uncomfortable as Karma’s questioning.

  “You ran?”

  Jessie shaded her eyes and looked at Karma with the sun at her back, her blonde hair tied in a ponytail and a visor shading her face. “I didn’t run, I left.” Jessie needed to drink the Gatorade she’d picked up on her way, and take some Motrin before her hamstring seized up on her again. Dammit, she hated that Fisher was right. She could just picture the smug look he’d have on his face if he found out about this.