Maverick Millionaires: Trapped with the Maverick Millionaire / Pregnant by the Maverick Millionaire / Married to the Maverick Millionaire

Dammit. She’d temporarily forgotten Mac was in the room. He’d witnessed that silly conversation. She turned slowly. How could she explain this without going into the embarrassing details? She managed to find a smile, unaware that it didn’t come anywhere near her eyes. “Sorry about that.” She made herself laugh. “My folks, slightly touched.”

Mac’s skeptical look told her he didn’t buy her breezy attitude. Yet there was something in his eyes that suggested sympathy, that made her want to confide in him, to tell him why her parents drove her batty. She had the strange idea that he might understand.

Rory bit the inside of her cheek, confused and feeling off-kilter. Since meeting Mac again, her life had done a one-eighty. She felt like she was standing in a fun house. The reflections didn’t make sense...

“Excuse me a sec,” Rory said before walking through her bedroom to the bathroom. Grabbing the counter in an iron-fisted grip, she stared at herself in the mirror.

What was she doing? Thinking? She simply wasn’t sure and she wished she had more than five minutes to figure it out. This thing between her and Mac was getting out of hand, and she needed, more than anything, to control it, to understand it.

She was about to fly away with him and how was she going to resist him?

It was just sex, she told herself. Sex was physical. It wasn’t a promise to hand over her heart. If she slept with Mac she would be sharing her body, not her soul, and she wouldn’t be risking anything emotional. Could she be laid-back about such an intimate act? She would have to be, because love wasn’t an option. She wasn’t interested, and Mac wasn’t the type of guy a girl should risk her heart on anyway.

But...

But it would be cleaner, smarter, less complicated if she didn’t sleep with him. Passion and chemistry like theirs was crazy. Her libido was acting like a wild and uncontrollable genie. A genie who would be impossible to get back in the bottle if she popped the cork. It was far better to keep the situation, and her lust, contained.

Rory pointed her index finger at her reflection and scowled. “Do not let him pop your cork, Kydd.”

* * *

In his seat, Mac scowled at his computer screen through his wire-rimmed glasses and wished he could concentrate. He needed to make sense of these balance sheets and read the profit and loss statements for a couple of sports bars they owned in Toronto. How was he supposed to do that when his mind was filled with Rory? He turned his head sideways to look at her and smiled when he saw she’d curled up in her seat and fallen asleep. He picked up a lock of hair that had fallen over her eyes and gently tucked it behind her ear.

So much more beautiful than she’d been at nineteen.

Mac pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, conscious of the fiery throb in his arm. His head ached in sympathy. Truth be told, he was relieved to be leaving the city and to stop pretending he was fine. He could take the pain tablets, zone out and try not to worry about Myra and the investor and the fans and, God, whether the press would find out how serious his injury actually was and how much pain he was living with.

Rory let out a breathy sigh and he looked at her again, his stomach churning with the need to have her. That need worried him.

With her, he didn’t feel in control and he hated that sensation. In his real life, he dated to get laid. He and the woman both had fun and then they moved on. He understood how much it hurt to have unmet expectations so he made no promises, offered no hope to the women who slept with him. In his world, sex didn’t involve talking, sharing, caring. In that world, conversation took place horizontally; bodies spoke, not mouths.

He didn’t confide in any of his lovers. He never shared his feelings, and the one guarantee his lovers had was that he’d always leave.

He never allowed anyone to get too close; he’d learned a long time ago to be his own champion, his own motivator. His mother hadn’t believed in or supported him so he didn’t expect anyone else to either.

Rory was different. She made him feel more, made him say more, want more. He was out of his depth with her and flailing...

Mac rubbed his temples with his fingertips. He was definitely losing it. Flailing? Over a woman? God, he sounded like a fool.

Irritated with himself and his introspection, he picked up his tablet computer and swiped his finger across the screen, immediately hitting the link for his favorite news site. Instead of focusing on the US elections or the migrant crisis in Europe, the headlines detailed the breakup of a famous Hollywood golden couple after ten years and fostering six kids.

Mac had been caught in the same type of media hype, on less of a global scale admittedly, and it had sucked.

Phoenix is currently being treated for depression and begs the media to give her some privacy, he read. He’d heard that Shay had suffered with depression during their breakup and the constant press attention had made the situation ten times worse. He couldn’t do that to Rory, couldn’t risk her like that. Yeah, it was Puerto Rico. Yes, they would be flying under the radar. But it just took one determined paparazzo, one photograph, and their world would implode.

Not happening. He had to keep his hands off her.

“You look like your brain is going to explode,” Rory softly said.

Mac rolled his head on his shoulders and watched as she stretched. “It feels that way,” he admitted, knowing he had to address this longing for her. Now or never, he thought.

You won’t die if you don’t have sex. You might think you are going to, but you won’t.

Mac rubbed his temples again. “Look, Rory, I’ve been thinking.”

Rory sent him an uncertain look. “Uh-huh?”

“Despite my smart comments about us sleeping together and that hot kiss, maybe it would be better if we didn’t. Sleep together, that is.”

He couldn’t help noticing the immediate flash of relief in her eyes. So something had shifted in her after that bizarre conversation with her father. When she’d returned from the bathroom, sexy Rory had disappeared and had been replaced with enigmatic Rory. He still didn’t know what to make of that.

“Want to clue me in on why you’ve had a change of heart?”

You scare the crap out of me? When I’m with you I feel like I am on shifting sand? I don’t want to see you hurt or scared or feeling hunted?

Yeah, he couldn’t admit to any of the above.

So he fudged the truth. “My arm is killing me. I’d like to get to the house and chill, take my meds and just zone out for a while. I want to relax and not have to worry about you or keeping you happy, in bed or out.” Mac stared past her to look out the window. “I’d like us to play it cool, just be friends.” Because he was a man and believed in keeping his options open, he tacked on a proviso. “For now?”

Rory didn’t answer, her gray eyes contemplative. “Sure. Fine.”

Mac watched her out of the corner of his eye and sighed. Fine. God, he hated that word, especially when a woman stated it in that hard-to-read way. What did it actually mean? Was she okay with waiting? Was she pissed? Did she actually want to say “Screw you”?

Sometimes, most times, women made no sense. At all.

Six (#uca1e6103-1046-569c-9dc3-be7732d0a588)

Rory loved the Cap de Mar beach house. Shortly after her arrival, she claimed one of the smaller guest rooms, partly because it had an excellent view of the U-shaped bay and mostly because it was a floor below and a long way from the massive master suite.

She pulled on a bikini, a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and, walking barefoot, she set out to explore the house. As Mac had said, the living areas, sitting and dining room and the kitchen were all open-plan, leading onto a massive balcony filled with comfortable chairs and daybeds either under the balcony roof or under umbrellas. Tucked into the corner of the balcony was a huge Jacuzzi and she could easily imagine sitting in that tub watching the sun go down.

It was mid-afternoon now, Rory thought, resting her elbows on the railing and looking down into the sparkling pool below her. In a perfect world she’d like to take a swim, lie in the sun and then sit on the beach with a glass of white wine in her hand and wait for the sun to paint the horizon in Day-Glo colors. That, she thought, would be a wonderful end to a rather difficult day...

Rory saw a movement out of the corner of her eye and saw Mac step out of his bedroom through the doors that led straight onto this balcony. He’d shucked his jeans and shirt and pulled on a pair of board shorts. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt. Why should he? He had a torso to die for.

The rest of him was pretty spectacular too.

Rory huffed out a sigh. She had to corral her overexcited hormones. Speaking of hormones, she’d been caught flat-footed at Mac’s suggestion they postpone sleeping together. She hadn’t expected Mac would let his arm get in the way of pleasure, or that he was humble enough to admit he was in pain and needed some time.

Mac, barefoot, walked over and gestured to the cove. “Nice, isn’t it?”

“Gorgeous,” Rory agreed. “It almost feels like we are part of the beach.”

Mac half smiled. “That was the intention when I designed it. I wanted to bring the outdoors in.”

“You designed this?”

Mac sat down on a daybed and leaned back, placing his good hand under his head. His biceps bulged, his shoulder flexed and the rest of him rippled as he swung his legs up onto the cushions. “Yeah.”