Physical Touch
Authors: Sierra Hill
Physical
Touch
Sierra Hill
Copyright © 201
4 by Sierra Hill
Published by Ten28 Publishing
Cover Design by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs
Edited by Stephanie Elliot
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used factiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Find Sierra on the web:
http://www.sierrahillbooks.com
www.twitter.com/sierrahillbooks
www.facebook.com/sier
rahillbooks
ISBN:
1500157376
ISBN-13:
978-1500157371
DEDICATION
For my mom, with love
My deepest gratitude to my college roommate and long-time friend, Sarah S., for providing me with the understanding of the complexities and mechanics of physical therapy. I know I took some extreme liberties in the characterization of the therapy scenes in this book and I’ve probably made the whole profession look bad. For that I apologize. But I’m ever-so-thankful that Sarah, who dutifully made it to her morning classes (while her lazy roommate stayed in bed), became the awesome physical therapist she is today. I love you, friend!
To my Zumba girlfriends (you know who you are). You’re all such a blessing to me and an encouraging presence in my life. Thanks for believing that I could do this! And yes, I did include something about Zumba
somewhere in the book.
Thank you
to my writing heroines, the indie writers whom I admire and shamelessly relied upon for information on self-publishing: Lexi Ryan, Sawyer Bennett, J. Nathan, Angela Darling and Lauren Blakely. You are all amazing! I hope to someday repay the favor.
To my family. Mom, Dad, Jen, Mary & Burt,
Nica, Steph and Caitlin. Thanks for your love and undying support throughout my writing journey.
To Stephanie Elliot, my editor. How lucky am I to have found you? Your knowledge, expertise and publishing insights have been invaluable. I’m so appreciative of your writing savvy and constant wit!
And lastly, to my husband, Steve. Without his encouragement, support, humor and understanding, I would not have been able to fulfill this lifelong-dream. Thanks for being patient with me, even on the days when I left my clothes in the washer and forgot to buy groceries.
Rylie
Hemmons was typically in bed by ten on a weeknight, not in a crowded pub trying to socialize with people she didn’t know. She had to keep reminding herself that she was there for a very good reason, otherwise she would have hightailed it back home to snuggle in her flannels and watch
Gilligan’s Island
reruns on Nick at Nite. It was her friend Mark’s farewell party that required her to forego her typical anti-social tendencies and attempt to behave like a normal woman her age.
The party was in full swing when Rylie joined the crowd at O’Leary’s Pub, just after completing her daily five-mile run. The run had put her in a better mood, the increased endorphin levels mellowing her out so that she was ready to enjoy the celebration. True to form, socializing and idle chit-chat were never high on Rylie’s list of favorite activities. The idea of having to talk with people who she didn’t know and would never see again
held little interest for her. And most times, she honestly didn’t enjoy others’ points of view. She had trouble keeping her mouth shut when she didn’t agree with someone or felt they were just plain stupid.
She stepped through the crowd, narrowing in on Mark, and her other friends Sasha and Beth, who were huddled in a close circle, drinks in hand and already having a good time. She gestured toward the bar when she caught Sasha’s eye, indicating her intent to get a drink. Her raven-haired best friend held up a nearly empty drink glass, signaling for another. Rylie frowned, knowing that by the end of the night she would either be driving Sash home or she’d pass out drunk at Rylie’s apartment. Unless, of course, Sasha tethered herself to any one of these tall, handsome men, offering themse
lves up as good one-night stand. That was one thing Sasha never lacked in her life, and where Rylie could probably take a few cues from her daringly brazen BFF.
Rylie politely shoved and shimmied her way through a few groups of party-goers, making her way to the old wooden bar, scarred and pock-marked from years of use. She and her friends often hung out at O’Leary’s at least one night a week; it was close to the clinic where they worked and always had good service, but she’d never seen it as busy as it was tonight. All of the bar stools were taken tonight, making it standing-room only.
Sidling up to the bar, she squeezed herself between two patrons; one was a man in a suit, his back facing her, talking to another suited man. On a bar stool to her right was a petite, fast-talking, high-pitched woman with curly, short blond hair.
Rylie took a calming breath and nodded to Skeet, the bartender. He smiled and walked toward her, a broad smile on his face.
“Hey there, gorgeous. Haven’t seen you in a while. You want the usual?” Rylie’s eyes widened in surprise. She hadn’t realized that a) she was so predictable and b) he’d remember her drink order. Although she had gone out with him a few times before, they never made it too far in the romance department. She found him a little too interested in other women, and had the feeling he wasn’t that into her. Not a biggie, since she wasn’t looking for anything serious.
Rylie never felt she stood out in a crowd, especially when she was in the company of Sasha or Beth, who were both gorgeous and could flirt shamelessly with good-looking men. Rylie preferred to stand in the back, watching whatever game happened to be playing on the flat screen.
But she smiled at him, none-the-less. Skeet was pretty cute and had nice eyes and great forearms, which were on display in the tight black T-shirt he wore. Along with a full sleeve of tattoos crawling up his arm.
“Yeah, one Manhattan and also a Cosmo for Sasha, please.”
As she waited for her Manhattan to be crafted, her attention was drawn to the conversation the two men sitting to her left were having. They were laughing and discussing a topic she was keenly interested in – football. And not just
any
football, but her
favorite
football team, the Patriots.
Rylie leaned covertly against the bar, trying to look disinterested as she cocked her head toward them to eavesdrop on their conversation. Sk
eet returned with her drinks as she nodded her thanks, placing a twenty on the bar. Taking her first sip, she became more enthralled in their discussion. She knew it was rude to listen, to pass judgments upon men she didn’t know, but it was inconceivable to her how these two seemingly intelligent men seemed clueless about the sport. How in the world could two grown men be so inept at understanding the basic elements of the NFL and season dynamics? As usual, her inner thoughts became louder and more aggressive, and within a few minutes of listening to them bash one of her beloved teams and players, she slammed her drink down on the bar and turned to give them a piece of her mind.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, turning toward the man with the tailored Hugo Boss suit sitting with his back to her. “What kind of shit are you two talking about? The Patriots are going to kick ass this season. How could you be so lame not to consider the strength and absolute sheer force of their offensive line this year…any nimrod with a pair would know
that.”
The two men stopped their banter and turned to face her, the man sitting next to her swiveling around in the bar stool, looking incredulous.
Crap, did she just say that out loud?
Aww, hell. No sense going back now. She was about to continue to reprimand the two idiots when her gaze fixed upon the incredible pair of hazel eyes trained directly on her, which held an expression of both irritation and interest. Or maybe it was confusion over her lunatic rant. Either way, she felt a jolt of electricity run from the bottom of her toes to the top of her head, stopping only momentarily to leave a flutter of butterflies in her stomach.
Rylie immediately felt the red hot blush creep up over her face as she noticed the intense stare the man sitting closest to her was giving her. Eyeing her inquisitively, he allowed his gaze to leisurely run the length of her body, stopping at each juncture. And he made sure she noticed it. Was this a turn on or an insult? She wasn’t sure, but it brought back the butterflies immediately. And more righteousness.
His thick, sandy-golden hair was textured and groomed perfectly, a bit longer on the top so that it flopped to the side across his forehead. Her first instinct was to run her hands through it to see if it fell back into its perfectly sculpted place. Just been fucked hair. That’s what it looked like. His strong jaw had a hint of stubble, a five o’clock shadow that was a bit darker than the color of his sun-kissed head of hair. She tried not to consider how the rough texture of
his beard would feel against her skin.
Holy hell, snap out of it, already
.
His laughter came out in a booming guffaw and immediately brought her back to the two in front of her.
“Apparently, Jax, the lady doesn’t appreciate our opinions on the subject matter tonight. Perhaps she’d be willing to educate us further on the merits of the Patriots over another drink.” His mocking smile and raised eyebrows gave off an air of superiority that sent a quick stab of ire up Rylie’s back. Feeling the heat rise on her face again, Rylie harrumphed and slammed back the rest of her drink.
Before she could respond with a witty comeback, his long fingers reached up to touch her mouth, wiping a drop of drink remaining on her upper lip. He touched his own mouth, his tongue reaching out to taste the remnants.
“Mmm…I like Manhattans.”
Rylie stood in utter shock. Had he really just done that? What was this guy’s deal, she wondered. His aggressiveness, partnered with her own socially awkward inclinations, drove her anger to a whole new level. It’s one thing to talk about things you know nothing about, as this man obviously did, but then to have the balls to touch a stranger, like that, was not okay with her. Who did he think he was?
Stammering to find the words to say, Rylie backed up, feeling trapped and more than a little irate. “What the hell, buddy? You need a lesson in personal space, too? I think they teach you to keep your hands to yourself in second grade,” she said with indignation.
“Hmmm…I clearly missed that lesson. Such a shame. But I’d be happy to get schooled if you’re looking to act as my teacher.”
The look in his eyes made Rylie shudder. There were deep, dark, tantalizing secrets hidden in those brilliant hazel eyes. And more lust than she’d ever witnessed in a single creature. The playfulness of his words with the intimate level of innuendo made her realize just how absolutely unskilled she was in the art of flirting. She now wished she’d taken more of an interest the many times over the years when she was witness to Sasha’s skilled maneuvers.
She knew her hand was being forced and she had to make a choice. She could stand her ground and fire back with some
snide remarks, which was typically her M.O., maybe even try to turn the tables on him. Or she could take her drinks and walk away, giving him less than the time of day.
Yes, she could do that, but it would be far less fun and wouldn’t leave her with the satisfaction of knowing she put him in his place. She really wanted to fire one out, like one of those snarky
eCards she loved. What she wanted to say was “I wish I had my duct tape. It won’t cure your stupidity, but at least it would muffle it.” She laughed at the thought, enjoying her own sense of humor. She had something to prove to this guy, even though she had no idea why.
He wasn’t her type, even if she had one. He was far too arrogant and exuded too much cockiness for her temperament. Well, actually, that wasn’t true. She liked a guy who could hold his own against her. That’s what she found so appealing in this guy. He was so cock-sure of himself and the idea of knocking that sexy smirk off his face held an appeal all its own. She might just enjoy herself and play along. Why the hell not? She had nothing to lose.
Giving him a similar once over like he’d just given her a few moments before, she gave him a slow, knowing grin. “I think what you need is some remedial help. I’d recommend some Sports Center to start,” she snapped. “At least it will give you a modicum of football knowledge.”
The man nodded to Skeet who had stopped in front of them. “Please give the lovely lady another Manhattan.
Knowing it all
can make a woman very thirsty.” He laughed, bringing the beer bottle up to his lips to take a drink. “I have a feeling I could learn a lot from you,
Miss
…” His eyebrows quirked up in question.
Oh, he wanted her name
.
“
Miss
Hemmons,” she said, a little snottier than was probably warranted. But it didn’t help that he was clearly trying to get under her skin and aggravate the hell out of her. No way was she giving him her first name. She didn’t have any intention of getting to know him further.
He
held out his hand for introductions, which she shook. His hand was cool, strong and molded over hers in a possessive gesture. It was an immediate jolt to her system. She could feel the energy shoot through her veins, up her arms, straight to her chest where it landed in a chaotic thud. Rylie inhaled sharply and quickly drew her hand back, reaching for the edge of the bar to hold on to. She suddenly felt antsy and awkward, similar to when she was seven-years-old and had to perform in her first and only dance recital. The idea that she was so far out of her element, like a kitten in a lion’s den. And that lion was ready to pounce.
“Well, Miss
Hemmons. You seem to have proven your passion for the game, but I’m curious to see if you’re willing to put your money where your mouth is?” he asked, leaning his elbow on the bar and sliding his hand up and down the beer bottle.
Rylie’s head snapped to look at him, nearly spilling the new drink in her hand. His words were dripping with sarcasm and innuendo and his eyes were full of challenge. Did he know she could never back down from a challenge? That her own pride and stubborn nature had always pushed her into accepting any bet that was laid in front of her, whether she could win them or not? Growing up with an older brother had all but sealed her fate when it came to holding her own against someone bigger and stronger than her. She would never let any man make her feel less than him just because she was female, especially when it came to football.
She took a long pull of her drink, giving her time to think over her response. She was confident in her ability to beat him at whatever he was going to dish out, until she looked up at his face again and saw the heat in his eyes.
“
Wh – what did you have in mind?” God, she sounded weak and pathetic. All her confidence went sprinting out the window. The gazelle being chased by the lion.
He laughed, a deep, throaty roar. His eyes roamed leisurely over her face. She gulped down her fear. “I bet that mouth of yours can do plenty,” he said, his eyes landing on her lips, as his mouth turned up into a devilish smile. “But I’d like to see what that brain of yours can do. Are you up for some trivia?”
“Trivia?” she asked, her mouth hanging open incredulously.
“Yeah. If you think you can take me on, Miss Trash Talker?”
“Oh, I have no doubt about that. If the subject is football, you’ve got a deal. What’s in it for me, Pretty Boy?”
She had no earthly idea why she was talking to this guy and participating in this ridiculous conversation. She was never interested in these cat-and-mouse games that people played in bars. The easy come-on’s and stupid pick-up lines. This was
so
not her. Yet here she was, placing her bets on the table, feeling a surge of excitement from the exchange. And calling this man Pretty Boy. Where did that come from? There was no doubt he was gorgeous, even in his uppity duds. She didn’t even think she liked men in suits.