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

“That’s for tornadoes, not hurricanes.” Mac told her, walking back into the room. He lifted a bottle of wine and aimed the opening at her glass. “Have some wine, try to relax.”

“Huh.” Rory gulped from her glass and her anxious eyes darted to the rapidly darkening sky.

He needed to distract her or else she’d soon be a basket case. The wind howled and the lights flickered. Rory pushed herself farther into the corner of the couch. He sat down next to her, put his feet up onto the coffee table and placed his hand on her thigh beneath the edge of her shorts. More sex would be a great distraction, he thought, but Rory’s white face and tense body suggested she might kick him if he proposed that. Besides, they’d done it three times since noon. She needed some time to recover.

And that meant talking. Dammit. Not his best talent. Maybe he’d get lucky and she’d start.

He was given a temporary reprieve when his cell phone buzzed. Picking it up, he saw a message from Quinn, checking whether they were okay, and he quickly replied. He picked up Rory’s cell phone and tossed it into her lap. “I suggest you let your friends and family know there is a hurricane and you are safe. They tend to freak if you don’t. And the cell towers sometimes go down during storms so we might lose our signal.”

Rory nodded quickly and her fingers flew across the keypad. Within thirty seconds her phone buzzed and she was smiling at the message on the screen. “It’s Shay, suggesting I climb under a bed with a bottle of vodka.”

Shay...now there was a subject they’d been avoiding. He sipped his wine and rested his head on the back of the couch. “Did you take flak because we almost kissed?”

Rory tapped her finger against her glass. “You have no idea. She refused to talk to me for six months and it took us a while to find our groove again.”

Mac frowned. “Look, I admit I wasn’t exactly Prince Charming that night, I messed up in numerous ways but, God, we were young, and nothing happened!” Mac waited a beat. “Even if that open-mic incident hadn’t happened, she knew we were on our way out—”

“She’d mentioned she thought she was approaching her expiry date,” Rory interjected, her voice dry.

Mac winced. “Look, I can understand her thinking I’m a douche, but why couldn’t she forgive you?”

Rory’s eyes flicked to his face and went back to studying her wine. “The reason why Shay has such massive insecurities and the reason why I am not good at relationships is the same.”

Wait. Why would she think that she wasn’t good at relationships? She was open and friendly and funny and smart, who wouldn’t want to be in a relationship with her? Well, he wouldn’t...but he didn’t want to be in a relationship with anyone so he didn’t count. She had to be better at relationships than he was; then again, pretty much ninety percent of the world’s population was. “How do you know that you are bad at relationships?”

Rory’s laugh was brittle. She looked him in the eye and tried, unsuccessfully, to smile. “I can date, I can flirt, I can do light and fluffy, but I suck at commitment. I drive men crazy.”

He couldn’t imagine it. Here he was, the King of Easily Bored, and he was as entranced with Rory as he’d been from the beginning. “How?”

Rory waved his question away. “When I think things are getting hot or heavy or too much to deal with—when I get scared—I take the easy way out and I run. I just disappear.”

There was a message in her statement and he was smart enough to hear it. When she thought their time was over she’d make like Casper and fade away. Good to know, he thought cynically. Thinking back, he remembered what she’d said earlier. “You said there was a reason why you and Shay act like you do. Will you tell me what it is?”

He was as surprised as she looked at his question. He hadn’t intended to ask that. Did he really want to know the answer? It seemed he did, he reluctantly admitted. Rory was, when she let go, naturally warm and giving, and he wondered why she felt the need to protect herself.

“Well, that’s a hell of a subject to discuss during a hurricane,” Rory replied, tucking her feet under her. “Actually, it’s a hell of a subject at any time.”

“We can talk about something else, if you prefer.” Mac backtracked to give her, and him, an out of the conversation. He stood and walked over to the open balcony doors, holding his flashlight in his hand. Unable to resist the power of the approaching storm, he stepped outside and let the rapidly increasing wind slam into him. He leaned forward, surprised that the wind could hold him upright as the rain smacked his face like icy bullets.

Hello, Hurricane Des, Mac thought as he stepped back into the house and closed and bolted the doors behind him. The lights flickered and he checked that the hurricane lamp and matches were on the coffee table. They would probably lose power sooner rather than later. Mac resumed his seat, linked his hands across his stomach and looked at Rory. “Want to talk about something else?”

Rory shrugged and pulled the tassels of the pillow through nervous fingers. He knew it wasn’t only the crazy wind slamming into the house that made her nervous. The power dropped, surged and died.

“Perfect,” Rory muttered.

Within a minute Mac had the hurricane lamps casting a gentle glow across the room and smiled at Rory’s relieved sigh. “My parents are hugely dysfunctional...”

“Aren’t they all?”

Rory cocked an eyebrow at his interruption but he gestured for her to continue. “When I was thirteen, I was in the attic looking for an old report card—I wanted to show Shay that I was better at math than she was.” Rory tipped her head. “Strange that I remember that... Anyway, I was digging in an old trunk when I found photographs of my father with a series of attractive women.” Rory pushed her hair back with one hand. Her eyes looked bleak. “It didn’t take me long to realize those photos were the reason why my dad moved out of the house for months at a time.”

Mac winced.

“He betrayed my mother with so many women,” Rory continued. “I’ve always felt—and I know Shay does too—that he betrayed us, his family. He cheated on my mom and he cheated us of his time and his love, of being home when we needed him. He always put these other women before us, before me. Yet my mother took him back, still takes him back.”

Okay, now a lot of Shay’s crazy behavior made sense. “Hell, baby.”

“He said one thing but his actions taught me the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

Rory shrugged. “He’d tell me that he was going on a work trip but a friend would tell me that she saw him at the mall with another woman. Or he’d say that he was going hunting or fishing but he never shot a damn thing. Or ever caught a fish.

“And my mother’s misery was a pretty big clue that he was a-huntin’ and a-fishin’ for something outside the animal kingdom.”

Underneath the bitterness he heard sadness and the echo of a little girl who’d lost her innocence at far too young an age.

“I thought the world of him, loved him dearly and a part of me still does. But the grown-up me doesn’t like him much and, after a lifetime of lies, I can’t believe a word he says. I question everything he does. As a result, trust is a difficult concept for me and has always been in short supply.” Rory dredged up a smile.

Mac swallowed his rage and stopped himself from voicing his opinion about her father. Telling Rory that he thought her father was a waste of skin wouldn’t make her feel better. Rory was bright and loving and giving and her father’s selfishness had caused her to shrink in on herself, to limit herself to standing on the outside of love and life, looking in. She deserved to be loved and cherished and protected—by someone, not by Mac but by someone who would make her happy.

God, he wanted to thump the man for ripping that away from her.

“Tell me about your childhood, Mac,” Rory softly asked, dropping her head to rest it against the back of the couch. “Dear God, that wind sounds like a banshee on crack.”

“Ignore it. We’re safe,” Mac told her, slipping his hand between her knees. He never spoke about his blue-collar upbringing in that industrial, cold town at the back end of the world. It was firmly in his past.

But there was something about sitting in the semidark with Rory, safe from the wind and rain, that made him want to open up. “Low income, young, uneducated single mother. She had few of her own resources, either financial or emotional. She relied on a steady stream of men to provide both.”

He waited to see disgust on Rory’s face or, worse, pity. There was neither, she just looked at him and waited. Her lack of reaction gave him the courage to continue. “I was encouraged not to go to school, not to go to practice, not to aim for anything higher than a dead-end job at the canning factory or on one of the fishing boats. When I achieved anything, I was punished. And badly.”

Rory sat up, and in the faint glow of the lamp, he could see her horrified expression. “What?”

Mac shrugged. “Crabs in a bucket.”

“What are you talking about?” Rory demanded.

“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. “Are 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.”