Trapped with the Maverick Millionaire

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Trapped with the Maverick Millionaire Page 11

by Joss Wood


  “You put a bunch of crabs in a bucket, one will try to climb out. The other crabs won’t let that happen. They pull at the crab who’s trying to escape until he falls back down. My mother was the perfect example of crab mentality. She refused to allow me to achieve anything more than what she achieved, which was pretty much nothing.”

  “How did you escape?”

  “Stubbornness and orneriness...and my skill with a stick. I waited her out and as soon as I finished school I left. I simply refused to live her life. There was only one person in life I could rely on and that was myself. I was the only one who could make my dreams come true...”

  “And you did.”

  Mac looked at her. Yeah, he had. The wind emitted a high, sustained shriek and Rory grabbed his hand and squeezed. He couldn’t blame her; it sounded like a woman screaming for her life, and the house responded with creaks and groans.

  Through the screaming wind he heard the thump of something large and he looked into the impenetrable darkness to see what had landed on the veranda. A tree branch? A plastic chair his guys had left behind? Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to stay in the living room next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, even though they were covered with boards. He stood up and hauled Rory to her feet.

  It was also the perfect time to end this conversation... Looking back changed nothing and there was nothing there he wanted to remember.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as he picked up the lamp.

  “Bathroom.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s enclosed and probably the safest place to wait out the storm,” Mac said, pulling her down the passage.

  “Are we in danger?” Rory squeaked, gripping his uninjured biceps with both hands as they walked into the solidly dark house.

  “No.” At least, he didn’t think so, but while he was prepared to take his chances with the storm, he wasn’t prepared to risk Rory. Mac pulled a heavy comforter from the top shelf in the walk-in closet and handed Rory the pillows from the bed. In the bathroom, Rory helped him put a makeshift bed between the bathtub and the sink. He sat with his back to the tiled wall and Rory lay down, her head on his thigh. Touching her hair, he listened to the sounds of the storm.

  Rory yawned and tipped her head back to look at him. “I’m so tired.”

  Mac touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “Go to sleep...if you can.”

  “Can I put my head on your shoulder?” Rory asked. “At least then, if the roof blows off, I’ll have you to hold on to.”

  “The roof isn’t going to lift, oh, dramatic one.” But he shifted down, placed a pillow beneath his head and wrapped his good arm around her slim back when she placed her head on his shoulder. Her leg draped over his and her knee was achingly close to his happy place. It would be so easy, a touch here, a stroke there...

  Mac kissed her forehead and pulled her closer to him. “Go to sleep, Rorks. You’re safe with me.”

  “Tonight’s conversation didn’t seem that light and fluffy, Mac,” Rory murmured in a sleepy voice.

  It hadn’t been, Mac admitted. They’d have to watch out for that. It was his last thought before exhaustion claimed him.

  Eight

  There was nothing like the aftermath of a hurricane to decimate a romantic atmosphere, Rory thought, standing on the debris-filled veranda and looking out toward the devastated cove. The sea had settled and broken tree branches covered the beach. A kayak had landed in the pool and there were broken chairs on the beach path. The fence surrounding the property was bent and buckled and the power lines sagged.

  Mac had gone to town at first light to call someone about cleaning up the property and to check on how the small fishing village north of the cove had fared. Rory’s cell phone wasn’t working and she felt cut off from the world. Taking a sip from her bottle of water, she felt sweat roll down her back. It was barely 7:00 a.m. but it was very hot and horribly humid.

  The scope of the damage was awful but Rory was glad to have some time to herself, away from Mac. Yesterday had been a watershed day—the sex was explosively wonderful and the storm had scared her into opening up to Mac, and that frightened her more than the wind.

  Why had she shared her past with him? She never did that! Had she been that seduced by their wonderful lovemaking? Was it the romantic atmosphere and him being all protective that prompted her to emotionally erupt? They’d agreed to keep it light but last night’s conversation had been anything but! Deep and soulful conversations led to thoughts of permanence and commitment, and they’d agreed they weren’t going there. She was an emotional scaredy-cat and he was incapable of commitment.

  Mac, she reminded herself, didn’t want a relationship anymore than she did. He’d taught himself to be his own champion and she admired the hell out of him. But he didn’t need her. Anyone who could fight his way out of the enveloping negativity of Mac’s childhood didn’t need anyone. He’d learned to survive and then to flourish. He was emotionally self-sufficient, and a woman would never be more than an accessory and a convenience to him.

  What did it matter, anyway? Rory gripped the plastic bottle so hard that it buckled in her hand, the water overflowing to trickle onto her wrist. Men always disappointed and love never lasted and the fairy tales the world fed women about happily-ever-afters were a load of hooey. No, she’d stay emotionally detached, and by doing that, she’d never feel hurt or as out of control as she had when she was a child.

  Rory straightened her spine. Mac was a nice guy, a sexy guy, but he wasn’t her guy. It would be sensible for her to remember that because if she didn’t and she did something imbecilic, like fall in love with him, she was just asking for big, messy trouble.

  Maybe she should stop sleeping with him...

  But look at him, Rory thought, watching as Mac walked up the path from the beach. How was she supposed to resist? He was shirtless and wearing a ball cap and board shorts, his chest glistening with perspiration.

  Rory leaned on the railing, and as if he sensed her watching him, he turned and looked up at her, pulling his sunglasses from his face. “Hey. You okay?”

  “Fine,” Rory replied. “Was the village damaged?”

  “Not too bad. Trees, some missing tiles...it could’ve been worse. Is the power back on?”

  Rory shook her head. “No. And it’s so damn hot. I’m desperate for a shower.”

  Mac gestured to the sea behind him. “Big bathtub on our doorstep. Come on down, we’ll have a swim.”

  Rory pulled her sticky shirt off her body. “Good idea. Do you want some water?”

  Mac nodded. “And a couple of energy bars. I’m starving.”

  “Five minutes,” Rory replied. Instead of heading inside she just stared down at him, unable to get her feet to move.

  It would be so easy to love him, she thought. She was already halfway there.

  Yeah, but she couldn’t trust him. And what was love without trust? An empty shell that would shatter at the first knock.

  Don’t be stupid, Rory, she thought as she turned away. Just don’t.

  * * *

  By sundown there was still no power. They gathered up a beach blanket, a lamp and a makeshift supper and headed for the beach. In the golden rays of the sunset, they cleared sticks and leaves from a patch of sand, spread out the blanket and looked at the docile sea and the sky free of all but a few small clouds.

  “If it wasn’t for the mess you’d think nothing had happened,” Mac said, echoing her thoughts. It was scary how often he did that. Scary and a little nice.

  “Fickle nature,” Rory agreed, pulling her tank top over her head and dropping the shirt to the sand. She shimmied out of her shorts and stood in her plain black bikini, desperate to feel the water against her skin. She turned to Mac and found him looking at her with a strange expression on his face. “A
re you okay?”

  “Yeah...just thinking how gorgeous you look.”

  Rory flushed and lifted her hand in dismissal. “I’m already sleeping with you, McCaskill, there’s no need to go overboard.”

  Rory turned away and walked toward the sea, foolishly hurt by his compliment. She wasn’t stupid. She’d seen the pictures of him in the papers, normally accompanied by a skinny, long-legged giraffe who could grace any catwalk anywhere in the world. Shay had been his first supermodel-gorgeous girlfriend, and every girlfriend since had been slinky and sexy. Tall, dammit.

  Mac’s hand on her shoulder spun her around. She swallowed when she saw the irritation in his eyes. “Don’t do that!”

  She widened her eyes to look innocent. “Do what?”

  “Dismiss me. I never say things I don’t mean and if I say you look gorgeous then I mean to say that you look freakin’ amazing and I can’t wait to get my hands on you.”

  Warmth blossomed in her stomach at his backhanded compliment. Freaking amazing? Did he really think so?

  “I see doubt on your face again.” Mac cradled her cheek in his hand. “Why?”

  Oh, jeez, he would think she was stupidly insecure and horribly lacking in confidence. Which she was, but she didn’t want him to know that. “Uh—”

  “Why, Rory?”

  Rory kicked her bare foot into the sand. “Um, maybe because all the girls you normally...uh, date...are about a hundred feet tall and stacked and I’m a munchkin with a flat chest and a complex.”

  Mac stared at her before releasing a long, rolling laugh. Rory narrowed her eyes at him while he tried to control himself, wiping at the tears in his eyes.

  “Glad I amuse you,” she said, her tone frosty.

  “Oh, you really do.” Mac took her hand and pulled her to the sea. Thoroughly irritated with him she yanked her hand from his and dived into an oncoming wave. She started to swim, only to be jerked back by a hand on her ankle. She rolled onto her back and scowled as she tried to pull her ankle from Mac’s grip.

  “Let me go.” She tried, unsuccessfully, to kick him.

  “Pipe down...shrimp.”

  Oh, that was fighting talk. She swiped her arm down and sprayed a stream of water into his face. Mac dropped her ankle and she launched herself at him, throwing a punch at his uninjured arm. “You jerk!”

  Mac easily captured both her wrists in one hand and held them behind her back. Then he inched up two fingers to pull the strings that held her bikini top closed. He let her wrists go so he could pull the triangles over her head and toss the top onto the sand behind them before stepping back to look down at her breasts.

  Moving them back into the shallows until they were standing in ankle deep water Mac placed his hands on her hips, keeping an arm’s length between them. His gaze traveled from the tips of her head to where her feet disappeared into the water. Rory bit her lip and looked at the beach behind him, but Mac’s fingers on her chin brought her eyes back to his face.

  “I refuse to let you spend one more second thinking you are second-rate.” Mac’s voice was low and imbued with honesty. His fingers drifted down her neck, across her collarbone and down the swell of her breast. His thumb rubbed across her nipple and it puckered under his touch. “Yeah, you’re small but perfect. So responsive, so sweet.”

  He bent his head and sucked her nipple into his mouth, causing her to whimper and arch her back. He licked and nibbled and then moved on to the other breast before sinking to his knees, his hands on her hips. He looked up at her, the gold and oranges of the sunset in his hair and on his face. “You are small but perfect.”

  He repeated the words, his thumbs tunneling under the sides of her bikini bottoms. “I lose myself in your eyes, drown in your laugh and feel at peace in your arms.” His thumb skimmed over her sex and she whimpered when he touched her sweet spot. “I find myself when I’m deep inside you.”

  “Mac.” She whimpered, needing him to...to...do something. More. Touch her, taste her. Complete her.

  Rory thought she heard Mac say something like, “You are the fulfillment of every fantasy I’ve ever had,” but all her attention was focused on his fingers, now deep inside her. He could’ve been proposing and she wouldn’t have cared as her bikini bottoms dropped to the sand and his hot, hot mouth enveloped her.

  He licked and she screamed. He repeated the motion and her knees buckled. He sucked and she fell apart, her orgasm hot and spectacular. When she sank to her knees in front of him, he tipped her flushed face upward and dropped a hot, openmouthed kiss on her lips. “As I said, you are utterly perfect. Let’s swim naked,” he suggested, picking up her bikini bottoms and throwing them in the same direction as her top.

  Impossible man, Rory thought when her brain cells started firing again. Sexy, crazy, impossible man.

  * * *

  In the same restaurant they’d visited two weeks ago—a pink-and-yellow sunset tonight and no hurricane on the way—Mac tucked his credit card back into his wallet and gave Rory a crooked grin. “Eaten enough?”

  Rory leaned back and patted her stomach. “Sorry, I’m a real girl who eats real food.” Not like those models you normally date, she silently added.

  “You ate fish stew, two empanadas and you still had pumpkin pudding.” Mac shook his head. “I know every slim inch of you and I have no idea where all that food goes.”

  Rory picked up her drink, put the vividly green straw between her lips and sucked up some piña colada. Instead of responding, she fluttered her eyebrows at Mac, who smiled. God, she loved it when he smiled. It made her heart smile every single time.

  Mac stood up and held out his hand. Rory put her hand in his and allowed him to pull her up from her chair. “Oof. You weigh a ton.”

  Rory slapped his shoulder. “Jerk.”

  “Well, you’re going to work that food off.”

  Oh, she couldn’t wait. Making love with Mac was fun, fantastic, toe-curling and, yes, it was athletic. Win win.

  “What I have in mind is a bit more adventurous... Are you game?”

  “Maybe,” Rory carefully replied, doubt in her voice. “If it’s not too kinky or too weird...”

  His laughter, spontaneous and deep, rumbled across her skin and she shivered. Mac had a great laugh and, like smiling, he definitely didn’t do enough of it.

  “It’s a surprise. A surprise that you have to work for but I promise it will be amazing.” Mac brushed his lips across the top of her head. Then his arm snaked around her waist and he kissed her properly, crazily, tongues going wild. She melted against him, into him, swept up in her desire for him.

  As usual, Mac was the first to pull back. He jerked back, looked down the beach and back to her mouth.

  “What?” Rory pushed her hair off her face.

  “Deciding whether to scrap my plans and hurry you home.” Rory huffed her frustration when he stepped back and distanced himself from her. “Nope, I really want you to see this.”

  Mac glanced at the sunset, then at his watch and Rory noticed it was nearly dark. “Okay, it’s dark enough, let’s go.”

  “Go where?” Rory asked as he took her hand and led her down the restaurant steps toward the beach. She kicked off her sandals and sighed when her feet dipped into the still-warm sand. She picked up her shoes, slid her hand back into Mac’s and followed his leisurely pace down the beach. What was he up to? And really, did it matter? It was a stunning summer’s evening on the island, the air was perfumed and Mac was holding her hand, occasionally looking at her with the promise of passion in his eyes...

  They walked in silence for another five minutes and then Mac angled right, walking toward the ocean until they saw a kayak and a young, hot surfer guy holding life jackets over his arm. Mac called a greeting and Surfer Boy grinned. Rory felt like a spare wheel when he bounded over the sand to pump Mac’
s hand, ask him how his arm was, to thank him for some tickets Mac had procured for him. Surfer Boy was about to launch into a play-by-play description when Mac interrupted him. “Marty, this is Rory. Are we all set to go?”

  Marty realized he’d all but ignored her and blushed. “Sorry, hi, I didn’t mean to be rude.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m hockey obsessed, as you can tell. My folks have a place here so I spend my time between Vancouver and the island and I’m a huge Mavericks fan.”

  Rory’s lips twitched in amusement. “Hi.” She looked past him to the kayak at the water’s edge before lifting an eyebrow in Mac’s direction. “Are we’re going paddling? At night?”

  Mac grinned. “Yep.”

  “Sorry to point out the obvious, but we’re not going to see much because it’s dark,” Rory responded. “And you definitely can’t paddle with that arm.”

  Mac scowled. “I know and I hate it. But that’s why you’re paddling and I’m riding shotgun.”

  Rory looked at him, tall and built and strong. “Uh, Mac? I’m half your size.”

  “It’s as flat as a mirror and it’s not far. You’ll be fine.”

  “Okay...but why?”

  Mac took her hand, lifted it to his mouth and placed a hot, openedmouthed kiss on her knuckles. It was an old-fashioned, sexy gesture and Rory felt her womb quiver. “Trust me,” he murmured, his eyes as deep a blue and as mysterious as the ocean beyond them. “It’ll be worth it.”

  It was an intense moment, and Rory heard that sensible voice in her head. Whatever is between us is about sex, not romance. Don’t fall for it. Don’t expect hearts and flowers along with the heat. Disappointment always follows expectations.

  She wouldn’t be seduced by the island and the sunset and the heat in Mac’s eyes. She would take this minute by minute, experience by experience, and she was not going to ruin it by letting her mind be seduced along with her body.

  “Earth to Rory...?”

  Rory saw Mac looking at her quizzically, waiting for a reply. What had he said?

 

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