Call Me Wild by Robin Kaye Read Free Book Online Page A

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