Physical Touch (3 page)

Shit
, she thought,
so much for piece of cake
.

Mitch wasn’t happy about spending the next seven to eight weeks going through the boring and painful experience of physical therapy. He was a man of little patience and the thought of having a therapist tell him what to do and how to do it was unnerving. 

Throughout the last ten years, Mitch called the shots and told others what to do.  He was tough, both physically and mentally, building his business from the ground up.  Camden Ventures was his dream, born in his college dorm room his senior year at Yale.  With a love of the outdoors, coupled with a desire to build eco-friendly construction, he made his business proposal to his father, leaning on his financial backing and business savvy. His father, Mitchell Sr., who loved the idea and knew his son would find a way to get him the return on investment, gave him a proud pat on the back and the one million dollar capital investment needed to get the business up and running. Mitch tripled the money within a year. He’d done it with hard work, dedication and a risk-taking mental fortitude. No one told him what to do, pushed him around, or got in his way.

He hadn’t expected his annual ski trip to
Solden, Austria to do just that. Smack in the middle of the Kendall project, he had already been laid up for a week after the arthroscopic surgery on his knee and was still having to walk around on crutches like an invalid. He had no time to be hobbling from one place to another, much less spend two hours a day in a therapy clinic being bossed around like a child by some doctor-wannabe.

As he finished up the patient paperwork he’d been working on, he lifted his head just as she rounded the corner. If it wasn’t Little Miss Trash Talker, in the flesh.
Well, well, well
.

He wasn’t all that surprised to see her, it just wasn’t the time or place he had intended. Last night after meeting the little spitfire, he had grilled Mark about the auburn-haired beauty, who so callously kicked his ass in football trivia. 

He was immediately intrigued by her spunk and taken back by her quick wit. No one to be trifled with, that’s for certain. She was a challenge to his ego and seemed to be resistant to his blatant charms. That rarely happened. In fact, had it ever happened?

Hell no
.

So he was in a bit of a shock when she just upped and left him hanging there, without her number or a way to contact her again, immediately immersing herself with a group a friends the remainder of the night, giving him no chance to seek her out again. But that didn’t stop Mitch from getting the low-down on Rylie
Hemmons. 

And now here she was, walking toward him looking equal parts confused and appalled, appearing stuck between bolting out of the room and charging at him at full steam. Instead, she surprised him even more when she straightened her shoulders and stepped forward, her expression turning uber-professional, extending her right hand in greeting.

“Mr. Camden. How very nice to meet again. I now can call you by an actual name,” she said, shaking his hand firmly. Quickly dropping his hand, he noticed her hand tightly fist into a ball. He smiled at her unintentional, but very visible, outward response to his possibly unwanted appearance in her clinic.

“I’m Rylie
Hemmons, your physical therapist. I’ll be responsible for your recovery and therapy over the next few weeks. Why don’t I give you some time to finish your paperwork and then you can go change. There’s a locker room right over there.” She pointed toward the wall near the front and then paused for the briefest second to give him a once over, taking in his sharply tailored, gray Giorgio Armani suit. He let her have her moment, knowing most women liked a man in a fitted suit. But judging from her blank facial expression, she seemed to be somewhat annoyed by his attire. Maybe she secretly wanted him undressed and on top of her. Now that would take his therapy session to a whole new level. And she could put her sassy mouth to better use than she did last night. 

As his mind raced back to their brief encounter the night before, he thought about how hot she had made him standing there reading him the riot act. Very similar to the way she was looking at him now.

“I’ll be with you in about thirty minutes, after I finish up with my other patient. I hope you are ready to give this your best effort, Mr. Camden. You only get out of it what you put into it.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Ms.
Hemmons. I plan on putting a lot into it.”

Mitch could tell he’d flustered her by the openly suggestive innuendo in his response, when her mouth opened in a surprised gasp. He thought she’d even blushed, but couldn’t be sure as she stomped back into the other section of the clinic to work with her other patient. He would’ve expected a snide come back, just as she’d given him last night. He liked that about her. She spoke her mind. She was tough, but extremely easy on the eyes.

Lifting his head from his nearly completed paperwork, Mitch noticed how exquisite her long legs looked in those tapered pair of jeans. He watched as she bent over to assist an elderly woman out of a mechanical contraption. Holy hell, her ass was firm. He imagined how it would feel under his palms.

Hell, he was getting hard again. He could feel himself lengthen and strain against the zipper of his pants. He had to get a grip. He wasn’t some horny teenage boy, for God’s sake. His non-existent sex life over the last two weeks was obviously affecting his focus. 

Had it not been for his accident, he would have had an amazing fucking weekend in Austria, literally and figuratively. The sultry redhead, Angela, whom he’d dated a few times before the trip, had pouted and massaged his leg in the lodge as they waited for the helicopter to take him to the hospital. He had been in agonizing pain as they sat on the lobby couch of the luxury ski resort. Pressing her breasts against him, she had the gall to ask if he’d mind if she remained there and went to the spa while he went to the hospital. It hit him then that she was using him just as much as he had planned on using her that weekend. Go figure. Tit-for-tat. 

A week later, his thoughts a thousand miles away from Angela what’s-her-name, he now had a case of blue balls over a tight-assed therapist who had a penchant for picking fights. And it turned him on, even in his current condition.

Finishing his paperwork, Mitch glanced toward the receptionist whose fingernails were loudly and rapidly clicking the keys of her computer. She looked up at him. 

“Are you all finished? I can come get it from you,” she smiled politely, brushing down her skirt as she got up to step around the desk. She looked at his leg and eyed him curiously. “How’d you hurt your knee?”

She took the clipboard and pen from him and began twirling it between her brightly painted fingers. She looked young, maybe twenty, wearing a floral print baby doll dress that showed off her tanned legs and oversized tits. For some reason, he was reminded of the classroom scene in
Indiana Jones
where the young female student flirted with Professor Jones. He might not be a teacher, but he knew a come-on when he saw it.

So unlike what he saw last night from Rylie. She was anything but vamped-up flirtatious or coy. She didn’t try to come on to him, or use her sexual charms to get him to buy her a drink. In fact, she seemed oblivious to her sexual potency or how much she affected him. She was a ball-buster, giving back even more than he dished out to her.  She had a quick wit, wasn’t afraid to show him up and was smoking hot. And all he thought about last night was his missed opportunity to get her into his bed. 

But it looked like his luck had turned around. Maybe having knee surgery wouldn’t turn out as bad as it seemed.

Mitch smiled back to the receptionist and began to tell her the story of his trip gone horribly wrong. He’d soon finished reciting the weekend adventures that led to his accident and excused himself to go change into his rehab wear. 

Stepping out of the locker room, his attention was drawn to Rylie’s response at getting a very motherly hug from the elderly woman she had been working with earlier. He stood back to lean against the wall, casually admiring his new therapist as she assisted the woman in a walker to the front desk. 

Her figure was tall and lean, her jeans hugged every tight curve. With long legs that expressed a level of athleticism, it wouldn’t have surprised him to find out that she had been a track star or volleyball player in college. Fit and trim, but not with the hard edge that some female athletes could possess. And judging from her behavior last night, she had a competitive spark that could surely ignite things in and outside of the bedroom. He was beginning to reconsider his aversion to this therapy thing. It could definitely have its advantages.

“Mr. Camden…are you ready to get started with me?”

Mitch nearly choked.
Yes, you could say that
. 

He pushed himself upright and bent down to pick up his crutches. He hefted his arms over and on to the crutches and nodded his head in her direction.

“Lead the way,” he said, following her into the room that resembled a mini gymnasium. “And please, call me Mitch. We’ll be working closely together over the next few months; we might as well be on a first-name basis.”

He saw her consider
it for a moment and then, as if it pained her to agree, she acquiesced. “All right…Mitch,” she drawled, placing her hands on her hips to stress the point she was about to make. “You can call me Rylie or Ry. But don’t think the lack of surnames is going to get you off easy. I work my patients hard because that’s the only way progress can be made. You’ll need to put in the effort and not screw around. If you want to be successful in your recovery, then you have to do what I say and as often as I say. Got it?”

Wow. She was a tough one. No nonsense. No bullshit. He wasn’t normally one to give up any sort of control. Not in the boardroom or the bedroom. But for some reason, the idea of Rylie taking control of things seemed to be a pretty good trade-off. He wanted to see where things would go from here. He just might like it.

“Aye, Aye, Cap’n,” he clipped, giving a quick salute. “I have to admit I like the idea of getting off easy, and I’m warming to the thought of you telling me what to do.”

She scowled and her eyes, the color of melted chocolate, glared daggers at him. Truth be told, he was waiting to get slapped. He may have just crossed the line. Instead, she doused his thoughts of carnal knowledge with two words. Ice bath.

“Are you kidding me? You want me to get in that tub of ice water?” Mitch spat out the words and then immediately realized his mistake. He clamped his mouth shut as he noticed her stare, an unspoken,
You’re going to start that shit already
? look.

“Uh, sorry,” he graveled. “Okay.  How do I get in this thing?”

She shook her head. “I’ll help you.”

Her hands moved out to grab his crutches, setting them down on the floor to the side of the tub. Reaching toward him, her arms extended around his back, shifting his body weight onto hers. She locked her arms around him in a bear-hug grip, her head turned to the side and resting against his chest. Mitch’s entire body tensed, uncertain of his reaction to her closeness and her touch.  His chin rested on the top of her head as he breathed in the scent of her hair. Vanilla and a hint of honey. Sensual and soft invaded his senses. As her hands made their way down his back and under his bottom, they agilely guided his leg over the side of the tub, helping him to sit comfortably on the ledge.

With nowhere else to place his hands, he draped his arm around her neck and clung to her. Feeling vulnerable and weak, Mitch cursed himself for having to rely on this beautiful and sexy woman to assist him into this contraption. It certainly didn’t help his ego.

“I think I need to prepare you…this is going to be extremely cold. We’ll need to work up to this, so for today, let’s try for a minute.” As she said this, Mitch was lowered into the forty-degree pool of ice-cold water.

“Mother of God, this is freezing! Are you trying to get me back for last night?” he growled, his voice shaking from both the emotion and the frigid temperature. His body convulsed and goose bumps littered his arms, legs and torso. He turned to her in time to see the wicked smile quickly vanish from her mouth. She sighed.

“I think I mentioned it was cold. Believe it or not, I’m not trying to get you back for anything. This is a normal part of therapy and there is a science behind the healing power of ice. The cold temperature decreases the inflammation and swelling in your muscles and joints. With all of the trauma your knee has had, we need to kick-start the rejuvenation process. After your surgery, lactic acid begins to crystalize around the joints and the ice helps to shock it.” She moved around to the back of the tub and pulled out an oversized towel. Moving behind him, she handed him the towel and placed her hands under his arm to hoist him up onto the step again. Although his torso and below felt like a frozen human Popsicle, the feel of her against him sent heat waves coursing through his body.

“Okay, let’s get you dried off and warmed up so we can start your exercises.”

****

By the time the hour-long appointment was up, Mitch had begun to perspire and beads of sweat clung to his skin. His breathing was erratic and choppy and his attitude surly.  Rylie had expected this to happen, as it did with most patients on their first visit.

Rylie had seen it all with a myriad of clients who had come and gone and wasn’t surprised by the shape Mitch was in by the time he finished up. It was her job to find the individual limit for each patient and learn when she could push for more and when to give it a break. Observing Mitch over the last hour, it was clear he had the physical endurance and stamina, but she hadn’t had time yet to assess his motivational energy.