Trapped with the Maverick Millionaire

by Joss Wood

  “Or that my hot detective husband came home for lunch and, well, let’s just say food wasn’t a priority,” Shay smugly stated.

  Troy groaned and Rory let out a strangled ewww. Shay disconnected the call on a happy laugh. Rory stared out the window for a long time before turning to Troy. “Do you agree?” she quietly asked him. “Do you think I should take a chance, see where this goes?”

  “Do you really love him?”

  Rory thought about his question, not wanting to give a glib answer. “I’m worried that it’s temporary craziness, that when the fire dies down, I’ll run...or he’ll run...and someone will get hurt. I’m scared to get hurt.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Troy reached across the seats to grip her fingers in his. “Yeah, it might fail. It might burn out. You might get hurt.”

  “So encouraging,” Rory murmured.

  Troy sent her a sweet, sweet smile. “But, honey, what if it doesn’t? What if this is the amazing love story you’ve been waiting for? What if he is the big it? What if it works?”

  Rory looked at him and slumped in her seat. “Humpf.”

  Troy laughed, pulled his hand back and then his face turned serious. “Don’t run, honey, not this time. Stand still and see what happens. Will you?”

  Rory smiled at him and, liking the connection, reached across the seat to link her fingers back into his. “Yeah. I think I will. If—”

  Troy groaned. “Oh, God.”

  Rory ignored his protest “—you will consider borrowing some money from me to move your mom into that home.”

  Troy sighed. “Diabolical.”

  Rory’s smile was smug. “I try.”

  Eleven

  Mac ran a hand through his hair and unbuttoned the jacket to his gray suit. He took a sip of his whiskey and looked at his watch; Rory was late but that was okay. He needed a moment to himself, to think, even if he had to take that moment while standing in a crowded cocktail bar, surrounded by his friends and colleagues. He sipped again and ignored the pain in his arm—thanks to his session on the ice—and the noise around him, ignored the insults, jokes and crude comments flying over his head. The pain wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be but he definitely didn’t have the power and strength in the limb that he was used to. His teammates had tried to cover for him and he was grateful for their efforts. Hopefully they’d done a good enough job to fool Bayliss.

  On the plus side, Mac thought, Rory had arrived at the practice. He’d been surprised at the relief he felt, astonished that as soon as he saw her, his heart rate accelerated but his soul settled down.

  She was there. Everything was all right in his world. When had that happened? When had she become so important to his emotional well-being that she could calm him with one look, with one sarcastic comment?

  If you do any more damage I will personally kick your ass.

  It wasn’t an “I love you” or “I will support you no matter what,” but it was Rory’s version of “Okay, this one time, I’ll trust you.” He could work with that.

  God, he wanted to work through whatever this was with her. Was it love? He didn’t know, but he knew it was something. Many women had caught his eye over the years, and he’d slept with quite a few of them—probably more than he should have—but Rory was still the only person who’d come close to capturing his heart.

  But...and, hell, there was always a but, Mac thought, staring down at the floor between his feet. But he didn’t know if he could spend the rest of his life reassuring her that he wouldn’t cheat, that he wouldn’t let her down. He wouldn’t cheat, but there would come a time when he disappointed her, when he wouldn’t be there for her, when things went wrong. Would she bail at the first hint of trouble or would she cut him some slack?

  He was a man, one with little experience of this thing called a relationship or how to be in it, and he knew, for sure, that he’d mess up. When he did, and it was a when and not an if, would she talk it out or would she walk? If she walked, would he be able to stand it? The rational side of him suggested it might be better not to take the chance, to call it quits now before anyone—him—got hurt. That would be the clever, the practical, the smart thing to do.

  Except that would mean not having Rory in his life, and he didn’t think he could go back to his empty life, hopping from one feminine bed to another. Nor did he think he could become a monk. Both options sucked. Mac scrubbed his hand over his face...

  Relationships were so damn complicated and exhausting.

  “Mac.”

  Quinn nudged his elbow into Mac’s ribs and Mac turned to look down into the weathered face of Kade’s investor. He’d changed into an ugly brown suit and combed his thin hair but he still didn’t look like someone who could provide what they needed. Don’t judge a book by its cover, Mac reminded himself. The granddaughter looked spectacular, Mac noticed, because he was a man and that was what men did. Her bright red hair was pulled back into a low ponytail and her wide eyes darted between him, Kade and Quinn.

  Kade cleared his throat. “Mr. Bayliss, meet Mac McCaskill. Mac, Mr. Bayliss and his granddaughter, Wren.”

  Mac shook the man’s hand with its surprisingly strong grip and made the appropriate comments. After they exchanged the usual pleasantries, Kade and Quinn drew Wren into another conversation and Mac tried not to squirm when Bayliss regarded him with a steady, penetrating look. “You’ve definitely lost power in your arm. Your slap shot was weak and ineffectual.”

  Hell, Mac had hoped he wouldn’t notice. The old man was sharper than he looked. Mac pasted a nothing-to-worry-about expression on his face and shrugged. “I pulled a muscle a while back and this was my first practice. It’ll be fine soon. I’m regaining power every day.”

  “We’ll see. I’m not sure if you will ever regain your form.”

  Mac felt like the old man had sucker-punched him. “That’s not something you need to worry about.” He forced himself to keep his voice even. “I will be back to full strength soon and I will lead this team next season.”

  “We’ll see,” Bayliss repeated, and Mac wanted to scream. “Luckily, I see enough talent in this team to want to invest whether you are part of it or not, whether you play or not. It was nice meeting you, Mr. McCaskill. We’ll talk again.”

  Mac stared at Bayliss’s back as he and Kade walked away, then he forced himself to sip his drink, to look as though he hadn’t been slapped.

  Whether he played or not? Hell, if he didn’t play, what could he do for the team? Kade was the management guy. Despite his youth, Quinn was a damn excellent coach...what did Mac bring to the party apart from his skill on the ice? If playing wasn’t an option, there was no way he was going to float around the Mavericks on the outside looking in, making a nuisance of himself. He was either a full partner or not. A full contributor or not.

  God, not. Was that a possibility?

  “Want to dance, Mac?”

  He blinked at the perfectly made-up face to his right and couldn’t put a name to the gorgeous blonde. He looked toward the entrance, still didn’t see Rory and decided what the hell. Dancing was better than standing there like an idiot freaking out over his future. He nodded, handed his glass to a passing waiter and allowed the blonde to lead him to the dance floor. When they reached the small circle, he placed his hands on her hips and wished she was Rory. He could talk to Rory about the bombshell he’d just experienced, about the fear holding him in its icy grip.

  She’d help him make sense of it, Mac thought as his dance partner moved closer, her breasts brushing his chest. He felt nothing, no corresponding flash of desire and no interest down south. Huh, so if things didn’t work out with Rory it looked like he’d be going the monk route.

  He tried to put some distance between them but the dance floor was crowded and there was little room to move. Mac sighed when she laid her head on h
is shoulder. She didn’t feel right, smell right; she was too tall, too buxom, too curvy...where the hell was Rory?

  Over the heads of most of his fellow dancers he looked toward the door and there she was, dressed in a scarlet cocktail dress he wanted to rip off with his teeth. She had a small bag clutched under her arm and she was holding her cell phone... She was here, finally, and all was well with his world.

  Then he lifted his eyes back up to hers and his heart plummeted at the expression on her face. Her eyes were huge and wide, her skin pale and she looked like she’d been slapped. Even from a distance he could tell her eyes were full of tears and her bottom lip trembled. Oh, crap...

  He wanted to yell that her addition sucked. Two plus two did not equal seventeen! He was just dancing with the woman, not doing her on the dance floor. He hadn’t given his dance partner one thought; in fact, he’d been desperately waiting for Rory to arrive to rescue him...

  One dance and the accusations, as sure as sugar, were flying, silent and deadly. He could read her thoughts as clearly as if she’d bellowed them across the room. I can’t trust you. You’ve let me down. You’ve disappointed me.

  The voices in his head mocked him. Hell, even his mother’s voice came to join the suck-fest.

  You’ll never be quite good enough. This is why you should keep your distance. This hurt is gonna be your constant companion for the rest of your life. You don’t deserve normal and you sure as hell don’t deserve love... She doesn’t trust you. She never will. You always manage to mess it up...

  The expression on Rory’s face put it all into perspective. They’d been back together for a day, sort of, and with one dance with a complete stranger, he’d been unfairly fouled. And if that wasn’t life telling him this would never work then he didn’t know what was.

  Rory looked down at her phone, lifted it to her ear and bit her lip. She sent him another look, one he couldn’t quite interpret, spun on her heel and left the room. She was running as hard and as fast as she could. Mentally, emotionally and, dammit, literally.

  That was that, Mac thought, walking off the dance floor toward the bar. He felt like he was carrying a fifty-pound anvil around in his chest instead of a heart. Since he wasn’t about to have sex in the near future and he might be saying goodbye to his career with the Mavericks, he might as well have a drink.

  Or many.

  * * *

  Rory sat next to Troy’s bed, holding his hand and willing him to wake up. She’d been at his bedside for twelve hours straight and he was still unconscious. Rory looked at his medical chart at the end of his bed and told herself there was no point in reading it again, it wouldn’t change the facts.

  Troy, on his way to start his evening shift at The Annex next door, had failed to stop at a traffic light and plowed his rust bucket into the side of a truck. He’d smacked his head on the steering wheel and had swelling on the brain. When the swelling subsided they would reevaluate his condition.

  That damn car, Rory thought, placing her forehead on his cold wrist. Guess the car service hadn’t included checking the brakes. The car was a write-off, Rory had been told by the paramedics; it was their opinion that he’d been lucky to escape alive.

  Rory shuddered. Troy was her best friend and she couldn’t imagine her life without him. And speaking of people who were important to her, where the hell was Mac? She’d risked using her cell in the ICU and left two brief, urgent, desperate messages on his cell for him to call her but he’d yet to respond. Why not? Why was he ignoring her? What had changed?

  Sure she’d seen him dancing with that blonde but that didn’t worry her. Anyone with a brain in her head would’ve noticed that it had been the blonde making all the moves. Mac had been supremely disinterested. In fact, despite the devastating news she’d just received about Troy—one of the nurses in the ER had texted her as soon as he was rushed in—she’d immediately noticed Mac looked distracted, worried. His eyes were bleak and that telltale muscle in his jaw was jumping.

  Was this what their life would be like going forward, Rory wondered? Her being pushed down his priority list because there was something more important he needed to do, somewhere more interesting he needed to be? Could she cope with playing second fiddle to his career, his friends, his teammates? She’d done that with her father and she’d hated every moment.

  She couldn’t do that, not again. She loved Mac with everything she had but she wouldn’t sacrifice herself for him, for any man. She didn’t expect him to jump hurdles when she asked for any little thing, but Troy’s critical condition was pretty mammoth. She had a right to ask Mac for his emotional support, to be there for her. At the very least, he could reply to her damn messages!

  Damn, life had been so uncomplicated when she’d been unattached. Boring, but simple.

  * * *

  Mac, sitting on the couch in Kade’s office, propped his feet onto the coffee table and stared at the massive photograph on Kade’s wall. It was of the team, naturally, minutes after the final whistle of the Stanley Cup Final. He and Quinn and Kade had their arms around each other, all of them wearing face-splitting grins. Would he ever be that happy again, Mac wondered?

  “How long are you going to sit over there and stare moodily at my wall?” Kade asked, replacing the handset of his desk phone into its cradle. “’Cause I’ve got to tell you, it’s getting old.”

  Mac lifted a lazy middle finger and kept staring at the photograph. “That was a really good day at the office.”

  Kade’s eyes flicked to the photograph. “It was. Now are you going to sit here and reminisce about the past or are you going to tell me what’s got your lacy panties in a twist?”

  Mac pulled a face. Over the past four days he’d been avoiding his friends to spend his days on his balcony staring out at the view, and he was, frankly, tired of himself and his woe-is-me attitude.

  Rory and he were kaput. Admittedly, she had left two messages on his voice mail the night she bolted from the bar, which he’d ignored. Really, what was there to say? She either trusted him or she didn’t, and it was clear that she didn’t.

  There was no point in discussing the issue.

  Game over. Move on.

  “Anymore news from the Bayliss camp?” Mac asked, dropping his feet to the floor and reaching for the bottle of water he’d placed on the coffee table.

  Kade leaned back in his chair. “I’m expecting to see the first draft of an agreement today.”

  Even if Mac wasn’t part of the day-to-day equation he’d be a part owner, and he was glad to see progress. At least with Kade and Quinn at the helm the Mavericks would have a good chance of keeping their identity. “That’s good news.”

  Kade shrugged. “We’ll see what the document contains. I know that Wren, the granddaughter and a PR specialist, has some strong ideas about what she wants to happen with the franchise.”

  Mac rubbed his jaw, thick with stubble. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m part of those franchise plans.”

  Kade frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Didn’t you hear what Bayliss said the other night?” When Kade shook his head, Mac explained, “He noticed that my arm was weak and expressed doubts as to whether I would still have a place on the Mavericks next season.”

  Kade narrowed his eyes. “That will never be his decision to make.” His eyes radiated hot frustration even though his voice was calm. “He’s providing marketing and merchandising opportunities, access to bigger sponsorship deals, connections. He will not be allowed to interfere with the team and its selection.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think he got that memo,” Mac replied in his driest voice. He took a deep breath and bit his lip. “If I, and my injury, become a point of contention, I’ll back off. If it means keeping the team out of the clutches of that soul-sucking corporation then I’ll be a silent partner.”

  Kade r
olled his eyes. “Shut the hell up, McCaskill, you suck as a martyr. You will be back, at full strength, by the time the season starts or I will kick your ass. And I can still do it,” Kade warned him.

  “You can try.” Mac stood up and crossed to the floor-to-ceiling windows. When he turned back to Kade his expression was serious. “We should think of a plan B, just in case I’m not.”

  “Rory told me you’ve made excellent progress.”

  Mac shrugged. He had, but it would take a lot more work, and he’d keep at it. He’d keep pushing himself but Rory wouldn’t be there to monitor his progress, to keep him in check. The chances were high that he’d push himself too hard and do some serious damage. Or, because he was scared to make the situation worse, he wouldn’t do enough.

  Funny how he’d work his ass off for his arm but not for his heart.

  Mac jerked at the thought and felt like a million lightbulbs had switched on in his head. Where had that thought come from? Did it really matter? The truth was the truth...and what he was thinking about his arm should apply to his life, as well. He and Rory had started something ten years ago, and because they were young, and dumb, they’d walked away from it not recognizing what it actually was.

  A connection, a future, safety. She’d always been what he’d needed, what his soul needed.

  Either way, without her, he was screwed. He was screwed anyway; his arm ached, his heart ached. He was thoroughly miserable. He wanted to see her. He needed to see her. He needed to see if she also thought they had something worthwhile, a connection worth working on. There was a good possibility she’d say no but he was willing to take the risk, to do the work. Nothing worth achieving came easy and if he failed, yeah it would suck but he refused to live with regret. He knew what he wanted and was prepared to work his ass off to get it.

  He wanted Rory.

  And if he failed to win her, he’d survive. He always did.

  But he had no intention of failing. Because anything was better than this Rory-shaped emptiness inside him.