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Trapped With The Maverick Millionaire
Joss Wood


Anything can happen on an island with the one who got away…Fame, fortune and a sexy-as-hell swagger makes famous hockey player Mac McCaskill nearly irresistible to Rory Kydd. They shared a searing hot almost kiss years before. But now that she’s been contracted as his physical therapist, she’s determined to keep things professional. She keeps her hands to herself—until they are isolated on his private tropical retreat during a raging storm…Mac never forgot how Rory made his blood burn. He wants the kiss they never had…and much more. But once the storm ends, so does the fantasy. Will the connection they found in paradise survive the real world?









“We’ll be the only occupants at Cap du Mer,” Mac added.


Rory swallowed at the low, sexy note in his voice. She’d be alone with Mac, on a Caribbean island with warm, clear water and white beaches and palm trees. Utterly and absolutely alone. She wasn’t sure whether the appropriate response was to be thrilled or terrified. Or both.

Sex and business don’t mix, she told herself. He’s your patient!

Sun, sea, sexy island … sexy man.

Not liking the cocky look in his eyes, the glint that suggested that he knew exactly what she was thinking about, she lifted her nose. “Well, at least we won’t disturb the neighbors with your screams of pain when we start physio.”

“Or your screams of pleasure when I make you fall apart in my arms,” Mac replied without a second’s hesitation.

Rory’s heart thumped in her chest but she kept her eyes locked on his, refusing to admit that he rattled her. That instead of making her furious, as it should, her entire body was humming in anticipation and was very on board with that idea.

Rory folded her arms and rocked on her heels. “I hate it when you say things like that.”

“No, you don’t. You hate it because it turns you on.”

* * *

Trapped with the Maverick Millionaire is part of the From Mavericks to Married series—Three superfine hockey players finally meet their matches!




Trapped with the Maverick Millionaire

Joss Wood







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


JOSS WOOD’s passion for putting black letters on a white screen is only matched by her love of books and travelling (especially to the wild places of southern Africa) and, possibly, by her hatred of ironing and making school lunches.

Joss has written over sixteen books for the Mills & Boon KISS, Mills & Boon Presents and, most recently, Mills & Boon Desire lines.

After a career in business lobbying and local economic development, Joss now writes full-time. She lives in KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa, with her husband and two teenage children, surrounded by family, friends, animals and a ridiculous amount of books.

Joss is a member of the RWA (Romance Writers of America) and ROSA (Romance Writers of South Africa).


To the “Book Sisters,” Romy Sommers, Rae Rivers and Rebecca Crowley. All are fantastic authors but are also funny, supportive and kind.

Basically, you rock!


Contents

Cover (#u08321b36-f066-5e80-8e9c-c5d252a0b8cf)

Introduction (#u4ac19531-af06-55fa-ab0d-ce2267fbb492)

Title Page (#ue0d1db69-90a3-51f2-843c-70bbedd6aae5)

About the Author (#ub2d50132-d899-5733-8dbf-f050e647e7c1)

Dedication (#u011842fd-6f21-5c6e-a8a0-2dcd11ff9743)

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue (#u5cede290-e6d5-54f3-a916-02b7926c0f6e)

Rory Kydd, dressed in a too-small T-shirt and battered pajama bottoms, walked into the kitchen of her sister’s luxurious kitchen and looked at the dark screen of the TV sitting on the counter.

Her best friend, Troy, had texted to tell her the Vancouver Mavericks had won and there had been high drama during the post-game interview. She was tempted to turn on the TV to see what he was talking about but, because she had a paper due and exams looming—and because she was trying not to think about one Maverick player in particular—she decided to have a cup of coffee and go back to the books. But even if she didn’t give in to temptation, it couldn’t be denied, team newbies Kade Webb, Quinn Rayne and Mark “Mac” McCaskill were a handful both on and off the ice, and Vancouver had three new heroes.

Three young, unfairly talented and, it had to be said, stupidly good-looking heroes.

And the best-looking of the bunch, in her opinion, was dating her older sister Shay.

Rory poured herself a cup of coffee and leaned her butt against the counter. Shay and Mac made perfect sense, she told herself. Again. Shay was a model and a TV presenter. Mac was the supertalented, superfine center for the city’s beloved hockey team. They were the perfect age, she was twenty-three and Mac a year older, and, according to the press, because they were both beautiful and successful, a perfect match.

It was all perfectly perfect.

Except that Rory wasn’t convinced.

And that wasn’t because Mac made her toes tingle and her stomach jump. It had nothing to do with her insane attraction to the man. No, she’d spent enough time around Shay and Mac to see the cracks in their relationship, to know the bloom was off the rose and Shay was acting like a loon. Judging by Mac’s wary, closed-off expression whenever Rory saw them together, Shay had him on the Crazy Express.

Rory would bet her last dollar Shay was feeling desperate, calling and texting relentlessly whenever they were apart. Since they both had such demanding careers, they were apart a lot.

Rory knew why Shay was insecure, why she couldn’t trust a man. Rory had grown up in the same house as Shay. The difference between them was that Shay kept hoping there was one man out there who could be faithful and monogamous.

Rory was pretty damn sure that, like unicorns and the yeti, such a creature didn’t exist.

Rory scowled and wrapped her hands around her mug. Shay hadn’t told Mac why she was acting crazy, Rory was pretty sure of that. To complicate matters further, Rory and Mac had somehow become friends. Sadly, that was all they could ever be. He was too good-looking, too much of a celebrity, too far out of her league. She was a college student. He was a successful player, both on and off the ice... Oh, and that other little thing—he was her sister’s boyfriend!

Besides all that, Mac treated Rory as he would a younger sister. He teased her, argued with her and made her laugh. So she’d caught him watching her with a brooding look on that sexy face once or twice but she wasn’t an idiot, she knew it didn’t mean anything. He’d probably wanted to talk to her about Shay, wanted advice on how to deal with her volatility. Rory never wanted to have that conversation.

A couple of nights ago, he’d given her a lift home from work and she’d been surprised when he didn’t mention Shay. Why he’d waited for Rory to finish her waitressing shift was still a mystery but sitting in his sports car, shoulder to shoulder, saying next to nothing, had been the best twenty minutes of her life.

He’d walked her to the door of her lousy apartment building—the same building that currently had no heat—and he’d stood there looking down at her. Something in his expression had heat swirling in her stomach; he’d looked like a man about to kiss a woman. But she knew that had to be her imagination working overtime. He was dating Shay, tall, slim, stunning.

But, just for a moment, she’d thought he’d wanted to kiss her, to taste her, to yank her into his arms... Rory sighed. It wasn’t possible. He was dating her sister. He was permanently off-limits; messing in Shay’s relationship was a line she would not cross. Thinking about Mac, like that, was a flight of fancy she had no right to take. Enough of that now.

Rory heard the front door open and she waited for Shay’s yell that she was home. It didn’t come, and Rory heard heavy footsteps on the wooden floor, a tread that couldn’t possibly belong to her sister. The saliva in her mouth dried up and her heart rolled; there was only one other person who had a key to Shay’s apartment and he was the one person Rory didn’t want to be alone with.

In her pajamas, with crazy hair, sans makeup and braless.

Mac appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, scowled at her and ran a hand over his tired face. He had a light bruise on his jaw—he’d obviously traded blows on the ice—and the beginnings of a black eye but his injuries looked superficial. It was the emotion she saw in his dark eyes that held her rooted to the spot; he looked frustrated and wound up.

“Where’s your sister?” he demanded, his deep, rough voice rumbling over her skin.

“Hello to you too.” Rory shrugged and his frown deepened at her response. “I have no idea where she is. Are you okay?”

Mac let out a low, humorless laugh. “Hell, no, I’m screwed.” He scowled at her and placed his hands on his hips. “Why are you here?”

“Heat’s out in my apartment. Shay said I could sleep here so I don’t freeze.”

“Just my friggin’ luck,” Mac muttered.

“Jeez, what’s your problem?” Rory asked him as he shrugged out of his expensive leather jacket and tossed it onto the granite counter. A long-sleeved black T-shirt clung to his broad chest and fell, untucked, over well-fitting jeans. He looked hot and tired and so damn sexy she could jump him right now, right where he stood.

Sister’s boyfriend, she reminded herself as he walked over to the fridge, pulled out a microbrewed beer and cracked the top. He took a long swallow, sighed and, closing his eyes, placed the bottle against his forehead.

“Bitching, horrible, freakin’ revolting day.”

She wouldn’t have thought the big badass of the Mavericks could sound so melodramatic. “It couldn’t have been that dire—you won the game.”

Mac’s ink-blue eyes lasered into hers. “Did you watch?” he asked, his question as pointed as a spear tip.

Rory shook her head. “Nah, had to study. Why?”

“Because I was wondering why my head was still attached to my neck.”

Rory narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?”

Instead of answering, he gave her a long look. Then he placed his bottle on the center island and walked toward her. He gripped the counter, one hand on either side of her body. He was like a big human cage, she thought.

Up close and personal, she could see the slight tinge of auburn in his stubble, notice how long his eyelashes were, could see a faded scar on his top lip. And man, he smelled so good. She wanted to stand on her toes and kiss that scar, run her lips over that bruise on his jaw, kiss his eye better.

Sister’s boyfriend, sister’s boyfriend...she had no right to be standing this close to Mac, tasting his breath, feeling his heat. Playing with fire, coloring outside the lines was something her father did, his worst trait, yet despite that sobering thought she couldn’t make herself move away, was unable to duck under Mac’s arm. Even though Mac belonged to Shay, Rory wanted just one kiss from him. She wanted to know what he tasted like, how strong his arms felt around her, how it felt to be plastered against that solid wall of muscle. Just one kiss...

Gray eyes clashed with blue as his mouth hovered above hers. As she stood there, so close and so personal, she knew exactly what he’d do, how she’d feel...

His lips would slide across hers, cool, strong...smart. She’d open her mouth to protest, to say they couldn’t do this—or to let him in, who knew—and he wouldn’t hesitate. As his tongue slid into her mouth, his hand on her lower back would pull her into him and his other hand would delve beneath the elastic of her flannel bottoms to cup a butt cheek. His kiss would turn deeper and wetter and her hands would burrow under his loose T-shirt and explore the muscles of his back, his shoulders, his fabulously ripped stomach.

She’d think that it was wrong but she wouldn’t be able to stop herself. Mac would, ever so slowly, pull her T-shirt up to expose her too-small breasts and she’d whimper into his mouth and push her hips against him, needing to rub herself against his hard, hard erection. He’d be what a man felt like, strong, hot, in control...

“I just saw our entire kiss in your eyes. God, that was so hot,” Mac growled, and she tasted his sweet breath on her lips again.

“We can’t, it’s wrong.” Rory pushed the words up her throat, past her teeth, through her lips. Four words and she felt like she’d run a marathon.

Mac’s eyes stayed locked on hers and, in case she missed the desire blazing there, his erection nudging her knee let her know how much he wanted her. Mac wanted her...he really did. Tall, built, smelling great, gorgeous...how was she supposed to resist him?

Sister’s boyfriend, sister’s boyfriend...

Rory placed her hands on his pecs and pushed. Mac stepped back but as he did, he lifted his hand to run his knuckle over her cheek. That small, tender action nearly shattered her resolve and she had to grab the edge of the counter with both hands to keep from launching herself into his arms, wrapping her legs around his hips and feasting on that fallen-angel mouth.

So this was primal lust, crazy passion. She wasn’t sure she liked how out of control it made her feel. Squirmy, hot, breathless...it was intensely tempting to throw caution to the wind and get lost in the moment. Did having such a flammable reaction to Mac mean that she was more like her dad than she thought? Ugh. This wasn’t going to happen, she decided. From this point on she would not kiss, touch or think about her sister’s boyfriend. This stopped. Now.

Rory held up a hand. “Back up.”

Mac took two steps back and she could breathe. She felt the craziness recede. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and sent her a brooding look. “That was...”

“Wrong? Crazy? A betrayal of my sister?”

Mac frowned. “Let’s not get carried away here. We didn’t even kiss.”

“We wanted to!”

“But we didn’t so let’s not get too caught up in the melodrama.” Mac picked up his beer, sipped and sighed. His head snapped up and Rory heard the front door closing, heard her sister kicking off her heels. Rory tried to keep her face blank but she felt like her brain and heart were on fire as guilt and shame pricked her skin.

We didn’t actually kiss but I really, really wanted to...

“You’re here.” Shay tossed the words at Mac as she stepped into the kitchen. Rory frowned. Shay didn’t walk up to Mac and kiss him. It was what she did, every single time she saw him, whether they’d been apart five minutes or five weeks.

Mac made no effort to touch Shay either. He just stood there wearing that inscrutable face Rory knew he used when he wanted to avoid a scene.

But a scene, she knew it like she knew her own signature, was what they were about to have. Why?

Rory turned her eyes to her sister’s face. She recognized that expression, a mixture of betrayal, broken trust, hurt and humiliation. God, she looked devastated.

“What the hell, Mac?” Shay’s shout bounced off the walls.

Rory’s gaze jumped around the room. How could Shay know? Did she have cameras in the apartment? X-ray vision? A girlfriend’s gut instinct?

Mac held his hands up. “I’m sorry, Shay, for all of it. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Yet you’re doing such a fine job of it.” Shay wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist. “There were easier ways to get rid of me, Mac. You didn’t have to humiliate me on national TV.”

Rory looked at Mac and then at Shay. Okay, maybe this conversation had nothing to do with Rory and the almost-kiss. “What are you talking about? What did he do?”

Shay let out a laugh that held absolutely no amusement. “You haven’t seen it?”

“Seen what?”

Shay’s laugh was brittle. “Well, you’re probably the only person in the city—the country—who hasn’t!” She lunged for the remote on the counter and jabbed her finger on the buttons to get the TV to power up. While she flipped through channels, Rory snuck a look at Mac. He gripped the bridge of his nose with his finger and thumb and he looked utterly miserable.

Sad, sorry and, to be frank, at the end of his rope.

“And in today’s sports news, Maverick’s center Mac McCaskill was caught on an open mic commenting on sex, monogamy and hot women.”

Rory snapped her head up and looked at the screen. Footage of the post-match news appeared on the screen. Quinn, Kade and Mac lounged behind a table draped with the Maverick’s logo. Kade said something that was too low to hear and the three of them laughed.

“The blonde reporter in the third row is seriously hot.” Quinn’s voice was muffled and she could just hear his words.

“Did you see the redhead?” Kade demanded, his voice equally muted. “I have a thing for redheads.”

“You have a thing for all women.” Mac’s voice was clear and loud; obviously his was the only microphone that was live. Oh...shoot.

“Like you do. When are you going to give up this relationship BS and start playing the field again?” Quinn demanded. “It’s not like you’re particularly happy with your ball and chain.”

“I’m not and you’re right, monogamy sucks,” Mac said, looking past Quinn. Rory recognized that smile, the appreciation in his eyes. “Your blonde from the third row is very hot.”

“Shay is also hot,” Kade pointed out.

“Yeah but she’s crazy. Besides, I’m bored with tall and built. I’m thinking that petite might be a nice change of pace— Why is Vernon gesturing to me to shut up?”

Then a rash of swear words was followed by: “My mic is on!”

Rory looked at Shay, who’d dropped into a chair at the kitchen table with a vacant look in her eyes. She’d stopped crying and she looked like she’d checked out, mentally and emotionally. Mac picked up his jacket from the counter and walked over to stand in front of Shay. He bent his knees so he could look directly into her face.

“I’m sorry I spoke behind your back and I’m so sorry that I hurt you, Shay. It wasn’t my intention. I take full responsibility for running my mouth off. Not my finest moment and I am very sorry.”

When Shay looked through him and didn’t respond, he slowly stood up and placed his apartment key on the counter. Rory looked at her broken, desperately sad sister, grabbed Mac by the arm and pulled him into the hall, feeling as if her gray eyes must be full of angry lightning.

When their eyes met, he lifted one broad shoulder. “Told you I was screwed,” he said.

“So you came over here to screw me?” she demanded, thinking about that almost-kiss, fury clogging her throat.

Mac’s flashing eyes met hers. “Believe it or not, I’m not that much of a bastard. I didn’t even know you would be here.”

“What were you thinking, Mac?” she demanded, insanely angry. On behalf of her sister, but also because Rory had trusted him just as Shay had. “You’ve done so many interviews, you know how mics work.”

“I wasn’t thinking, dammit!”

Red dots appeared in front of Rory’s eyes. “Did you plan this? Was the smack talk an easy way to get out of your relationship with Shay?”

“Contrary to the evidence, I am better than that.”

Rory snorted. “You could’ve fooled me. First you insult my sister, then you almost kiss me? What was that about?”

Mac let out a harsh, angry breath. “I knew when I left that news conference that I was toast. I regret what I said. I came here to apologize to Shay but found you instead—”

“So you were angry and frustrated and I was there, a handy way to let off some steam!” Rory interrupted.

Mac’s curses filled the small hallway.

Rory drilled a finger into his chest. “How many times have you cheated on Shay? Because that move with me was far too practiced to be your first time!” The red dots turned scarlet and her chest tightened.

Mac stepped back and anger sparked in his eyes. “I’m only going to say this once. I never cheated on your sister. And, babe, you wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss you! I’ll take full responsibility for being a prick on national television but I will not take all the blame for what almost happened in there.”

Guilt swamped her. She knew he was right and she hated it. She didn’t want to shoulder any of the blame; it would be a lot easier if she could just blame him for everything: for being too sexy, for making her want something she had no right to want.

Mac raked his fingers through his hair. “Look, why don’t we let this situation settle down and I’ll call you? We can have coffee, chat. Sort this out?”

Pick up where we left off?

That wasn’t going to happen. There was no way she could date someone who’d dated—slept with—her sister, who’d almost cheated on her. Someone who’d made Rory so crazy with lust that she’d almost betrayed her sister! He would’ve kissed her had she not stopped him. He would’ve cheated...of that she was categorically convinced.

She could never trust him.

Ever.

“Don’t bother. I’m not interested.” Rory walked around him, yanked open the front door and gestured for him to leave. “Go. You’ve created enough havoc for one evening, for one lifetime.”

Mac, with a final inscrutable look, walked out of the Kydd sisters’ lives. Good riddance, Rory thought. The last thing either of them needed was a cheating, backstabbing man in their lives.

Rory turned and saw her sister standing in the kitchen doorway. She’d heard every word of their conversation. So she’d stopped the kiss. That meant little. The truth remained: she wanted Shay’s man, wanted him badly. They both knew she was more like their dirtbag father than either of them had thought possible. Shay was going to strip layers of skin off her and Rory deserved it.

“You two almost kissed? You had a moment?”

Facing her sister, she couldn’t deny the truth. “Yes. I’m really sorry.”

“Okay then. Thanks for getting rid of him,” Shay told Rory in a cold and hard voice. “Now get the hell out of my apartment and my life.”


One (#u5cede290-e6d5-54f3-a916-02b7926c0f6e)

Ten or so years later...

Rory made her way to a small table by the window in the crowded cafeteria of St. Catherine’s Hospital, juggling a stack of files, her bag and a large blueberry smoothie. Dumping the files on the table, she took a berry-flavored hit before pulling out a chair and dropping into it. She’d been on the go since before seven, had missed lunch and was now running on fumes. She had two more patients to see. She might be able to get home before eight.

An early night. Bliss.

Her cell phone chimed and Rory squinted at the display, smiling when she saw her sister’s name.

“Sorry, something just came up. I’ll call you right back,” Shay stated before disconnecting.

Rory smiled, grateful that she and Shay were really close, a minor miracle after the McCaskill incident. Mac running his mouth off and his subsequent breakup with Shay had been the first major media storm involving one of the three most famous Mavericks. It had been the catalyst for the city’s fascination with anything to do with Mac, Quinn and Kade.

Shay had been swept up into the madness; she’d been stalked and hassled by reporters and photographers for months. Her life had been a living hell. Unfortunately, because she refused to talk to Rory, Shay had weathered the media attention by herself. She’d lost weight and, as Rory had found out years later, she’d come close to a breakdown. Rory was so grateful the incident was solidly behind them; the man-slut captain of the Mavericks professional ice hockey team was not worth losing sleep, never mind a sister, over.

Except that she did, frequently, still lose sleep thinking about him. Rory sighed. He was her fantasy man, the man she always thought of when she was alone and well, she hated to admit it...horny. She wondered and she imagined and the fact that she did either—both—annoyed the pants off her.

The jerk.

Her cell rang again, Rory answered and Shay said a quick hello. “Sorry, as you picked up the delivery guy arrived.”

“No worries, what’s up?”

“Dane sent me two dozen red roses.”

And, judging by Shay’s frantic voice, this was a problem? “Okay, lucky you. Why are you freaking out?”

“Two dozen red roses? Who sends his wife of eight months two dozen red roses? He must be cheating on me.”

Here we go again, Rory thought, exasperated. I haven’t had enough coffee to cope with Shay’s insecurities. Thanks again, Dad, for the incredible job you did messing up your daughters’ love lives.

Rory sucked on her straw musing about the fact that she and Shay had different approaches to life and love. She was closed off to the idea of handing her heart over to a man, yet Shay had never given up on love. She had eventually, she was convinced, caught the last good guy in the city. The fact that Dane was calm and strong enough to deal with Shay’s insecurities made Rory love him more.

“He must be having an affair. Nobody can work as much as he does,” Shay fretted.

“Shay! Princess!” Rory interrupted her mumblings. “Stop obsessing, you’re getting yourself into a state. You’re a gorgeous blonde ex-model and you still look like a million dollars. Dane married you and you promised to trust him.”

Shay sighed. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Look at your wedding photos. Look at how he’s looking at you...like you’re the moon and stars and everything that’s perfect.” In spite of her cynicism when it came to romance, Rory couldn’t help feeling a little jealous every time Dane looked at her sister, love blazing from his eyes. What must it feel like to have someone love you that much, someone so determined to make you happy? Logically, she knew the risk wasn’t worth it, but...damn, seeing that look punched her in the heart every time.

“Dane is in the middle of a big case—some gang shooting, remember? And he’s the homicide detective in charge—and sending you roses is his way of reminding you that he loves you.”

“So, no affair?”

“No affair, Shay.” And if there was—there wasn’t!—but if there was then Rory would take Dane’s own weapon and shoot him with it.

Rory said goodbye to her sister, shot off a text to Dane suggesting Shay might need a little extra attention—she and her brother-in-law worked as a team to keep Shay’s insecurities from driving them both nuts—and looked down at the folders. She needed to make notes and read over the files of the two patients she was about to see.

She so wanted her own practice. Craydon’s Physiotherapy patients were channeled through the system like cans on a conveyor line. There was little time for proper one-on-one care and she was providing patients with only enough treatment to see them through to the next session. Sometimes she wondered if she was doing any good at all.

If she had her own place, she’d slow it down, take more time, do some intensive therapy. But setting up a new practice required cash she didn’t have, premises she couldn’t afford. She’d just have to keep saving... Maybe one day.

She had barely looked over the first file when her cell rang again. This time it was a number she did not recognize. She answered the call with a cautious hello.

“Rory? Kade Webb, from the Vancouver Mavericks. We met a long time ago.”

Kade Webb? Why on earth would he be calling her? “I remember...hi. What can I do for you?”

Kade didn’t waste time beating around the bush. “I have a player in St. Catherine’s, in The Annex Clinic, and I’d like you to take a look at his chart, assess his injury and tell me what you think.”

Rory frowned, thinking fast. “Kade, the Mavericks have a resident physiotherapist. I know because my bosses would kill for the Mavericks’ contract. Why me?”

“Because you have an excellent track record in treating serious sports injuries,” Kade replied. “Will you do it? Take a look and let me know what you think?”

“I—”

“Thanks. I’ll call you back in a couple of hours.”

Rory wanted to tell him that she had patients, that it was against company policy, but he was gone. Argh! She had questions, dammit! Who was the player? What room he was in? Did he know that she was coming? Had Kade spoken to her bosses about this?

Infuriating man, she thought as she stood up and gathered her possessions. It was said that Kade, like his two partners in crime, could charm the dew off roses and the panties off celibates. He hadn’t bothered to use any of that charm on her, Rory thought with an annoyed toss of her head.

Not that she would’ve responded to it, but it would’ve been nice for him to try.

* * *

Mac McCaskill, you stupid idiot, Rory thought.

She’d had many variations of the thought over the past decade, some expressed in language a lot more colorful, but the sentiment was the same. However, this was the first time in nearly a decade that she wasn’t mocking his tendency to jump from one gorgeous woman to another or shaking her head over the fact that he was, essentially, a man-slut.

As much as his social life irritated her, she felt sorry for him. He was an exceptionally talented player and as she looked at the notes on his chart, she realized his arm was, to use nontechnical terms, wrecked. For a player of his caliber that was a very scary situation.

“Rory, what are you doing in here?”

Rory, standing next to Mac’s bed, flipped a glance over her shoulder and smiled, relieved, when she saw her best friend stepping into Mac’s private room. If it had been someone other than Troy she would’ve had to explain herself.

This was all kinds of wrong, she thought. There were protocols around patient visits and she shouldn’t be in Mac’s room, looking at his chart, assessing his injury. She should’ve refused Kade’s request, but here she was again, flouting the rules. What was it about McCaskill that made her do that?

“I need to get the mat on him, need to get his circulation restored as soon as possible,” she said with urgency.

As a therapist, she wanted the best for him. Even if he was the man who’d hurt her sister. Even if her heart rate still kicked up from just looking at him.

“You’re not authorized to treat him and if you’re caught we’ll both be fired.” Troy closed the door behind him, his handsome face creased with worry.

“I’ll take full responsibility,” Rory retorted. “It’s his arm, Troy. The arm he needs to slap those pucks into the net at ninety miles an hour.”

“Mac usually reaches speeds of a hundred plus miles an hour,” Troy, the sports fanatic, corrected her, as she’d counted on him doing.

“Exactly and the mat will start helping immediately,” Rory retorted.

“Jobs, fired, on the streets,” Troy muttered. Yet he didn’t protest when she pulled a mat from her bag and placed the control box it was connected to on Mac’s bedside table. When the lights brightened, she very gently wrapped the mat around Mac’s injured arm. He didn’t stir and Rory relaxed; he was solidly asleep and would be for a while.

Troy was right to worry. Earlier, she’d hesitated and had stood outside of his room, debating whether to go in. Partly because of that almost-kiss years ago, partly because she knew she shouldn’t be there, despite Kade’s request.

The bottom line was that Mac was a sportsman who needed her expertise and her mat. It was crucial to get his blood flowing through the damaged capillaries to start the healing process. The longer she delayed, the longer he would take to recover. Healing, helping, was what she did, who she was, and she’d fight the devil himself to give a patient what he needed, when he needed it.

Besides, there was little chance of her being discovered in Mac’s room. The Annex Clinic was an expensive, private ward attached to St. Catherine’s, the hospital situated in the exclusive Vancouver suburb of West Point Gray. Every patient admitted into The Annex had two things in common: they were ridiculously wealthy and they wanted total privacy. Each patient had their own private nurse, and Rory had lucked out because Troy was assigned to room 22.

Not only would he keep her interference a secret, but because he was in the room with her, Rory resisted the urge to run her hand through Mac’s thick hair, over his strong jaw shaded with stubble.

He looked as good as he had years ago. Maybe better.

His beard was dark but when he grew it out, it glinted red in the sun. As did his dark brown hair. The corners of his eyes had creases that weren’t there a decade ago. He looked, if she ignored his bandaged arm, stronger, fitter and more ripped than he had at twenty-four.

She was a professional, she reminded herself, and she shouldn’t be mentally drooling over the man.

“How did you even know he was admitted?” Troy demanded.

“Are you sure he’s asleep?” she asked Troy, ignoring his question.

“Morphine. He was in severe pain and it was prescribed.” Troy looked at his watch. “Getting back to my point, he only came out of surgery two hours ago and was injured no more than six hours ago. How did you know he was here?”

Rory stood back from the bed and pushed her hands into her lower back as she stretched and explained that Kade, who’d taken on the CEO responsibilities and duties when the owner/manager of the Vancouver Mavericks died, had called and asked her to check on Mac and give her professional opinion.

Troy frowned, worried. “Which is?”

“It’s bad, Troy.”

Troy swore and Rory knew his disappointment and concern would be shared by most of the residents of Vancouver, Mavericks and Canucks fans alike. Mac was a hell of a player and respected for his leadership and skill. Maverick fans would be devastated to lose their captain for a couple of matches. To lose him for the season would be a disaster. Losing him forever would be a tragedy. But she’d treated enough sport stars to know the impact of his injury, both physical and emotional, would be tremendous.

“How did the surgery go?” Rory asked Troy.

“Good.” Troy cleared his throat. “We really could get fired, Rorks. Even though I know the voodoo blanket helps, it’s still a form of treatment and you’re not authorized. I like my job.”

Rory knew he was right, but she still rolled her eyes at her best friend. “As I’ve explained to you a million times before, the blanket is not voodoo! It sends electromagnetic signals that stimulate the pumping of the smallest blood vessels. It will help normalize the circulation in this injured area. Kade asked me to be here. He’ll work it out. It’ll be okay, Troy.”

When Troy narrowed his bright green eyes, Rory looked away. “This will run for the next thirty minutes,” she said. “Why don’t you go get some coffee?”

She needed to be alone with Mac, to get her thoughts—and her reaction to him—under control.

“Ok, I’ll be back in thirty.”

Troy sent her a worried smile and left the room. When the door closed behind him, she turned back to Mac and couldn’t resist the impulse to place her hand on his chest, directly over his heart. Under the thin cotton of the hospital gown she felt the warmth of his skin.

She kept her hand there, trying not to wish she could run it over his hard stomach, down the thick biceps of his uninjured arm. He was so big, his body a testament to a lifetime dedicated to professional sports, to being the hardest, toughest, fastest player on the ice.

She glanced toward the end of the bed at his chart. Reading the chicken scrawl again wouldn’t change a damn thing. Essentially, Mac had pulled a tendon partly off the bone and injured a ligament. The surgeons doubted he’d regain his former strength anytime soon, if ever.

That would kill him. Even in the short time they’d known each other, she’d understood that hockey was what Mac did, who he was. He’d dedicated the last fourteen years to the Mavericks. He was their star player, their leader, the reason fans filled the arena week after week. He was their hope, their idol, the public face of the well-oiled machine Kade managed.

With his crooked smile, his aloof but charming manner and incredible prowess on the ice, he was the city’s favorite, regularly appearing in the press, usually with a leggy blonde on his arm. Speculating about when one of the Mavericks Triumvirate—Mac, their captain, Kade as CEO and Quinn as Acting Coach (the youngest in the NHL but widely respected) were all hot and single—would fall in love and settle down was a citywide pastime.

A part of him belonged to the city but Rory doubted that anyone, besides his best friends, knew him. From that time so long ago she knew that Mac, for all his charm, was a closed book. Very little was known about his life before he was recruited to play for the Mavericks. Even Shay hadn’t known more than what was public knowledge: he was raised by a single mother who died when he was nineteen, he was a scholarship kid and he didn’t talk about his past.

They had that in common. Rory didn’t talk about her past either.

Rory adjusted the settings on the control box and Mac shifted in his sleep, releasing a small pain-filled moan. He would hate to know that she’d heard him, she thought. Mac, she remembered, had loathed being sick. He’d played with a broken finger, flu, a sprained ankle, a hurt knee. He’d play through plagues of locusts and an asteroid strike.

Rory looked at his injured arm and sighed. He wouldn’t be able to play through this. How was she supposed to tell Kade that?

A big, hot hand touched her throat and a thumb stroked her jaw. Her brain shut down when he touched her and, just like she had in Shay’s kitchen, she couldn’t help responding. She allowed her head to snuggle into his hand as he slowly opened his eyes and focused on her face. His fabulous eyes, the deep, dark blue of old-fashioned bottled ink, met hers.

“Hey,” he croaked.

“Hey back,” Rory whispered, her fingers digging into the skin on his chest. She should remove herself but, once again, she stayed exactly where she was.

So nothing much had changed then. She hadn’t grown up at all.

“They must have given me some powerful drugs because you seem so damn real.”

Rory shuddered as his thumb brushed over her bottom lip. He thought he was imagining her, she realized.

“Helluva dream... God, you’re so beautiful.” Mac’s hand drifted down her throat over her collarbone. His fingers trailed above the cotton of her tunic to rest on the slight swell of her breast. His eyes, confused and pain-filled, stayed on her face, tracing her features and drinking her in.

Then he heaved in a sigh and the blue deepened to midnight. “My arm is on fire.”

“I know, Mac.” Rory touched his hair, then his cheek, and her heart double-tapped when he turned his face into her palm, as if seeking comfort. She tried to pull her hand away but Mac slapped his hand on hers to keep her palm against his cheek. Everyone, even the big, bold Mac, needed support, a human connection. At the moment she was his.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

What should she say? She didn’t want to lie to him, but she had no right to talk to him about his injuries. She shouldn’t even be here. “You’ll be okay, Mac. No matter what, you’ll be okay.”

Pain—the deep, dark, emotional kind—jumped into his eyes. His hand moved to her wrist and he pulled her down until her chest rested on his. Her mouth was a quarter inch from his. God, this was so wrong. She shouldn’t be doing this. Despite those thoughts ricocheting through her head she couldn’t help the impulse to feel those lips under hers, to taste him.

Just once to see if the reality measured up to her imagination.

This would be the perfect time, the only time, to find out. She could stop wondering and move the hell past him, past the kiss they’d never shared.

There was no one in the room with them. Nobody would ever know.

His injured state hadn’t affected his skills, Rory thought as he took control of the kiss, tipping her head to achieve the precise angle he wanted. His tongue licked its way into her mouth, nipping here, sliding there. Then their tongues met and electricity rocketed through her as she sank into him.

It was all she’d dreamed about. And a lot more.

Rory had no idea how long the kiss lasted. She was yanked back to the present when Mac hissed in pain. Stupid girl! He’d had surgery only hours before! He was in a world of hurt. Mac, she noticed, just lay there, his hand on her thigh and his eyes closed. He was so still. Had he fallen back to sleep? Rory looked down at his big tanned hand and licked her top lip, tasting him there.

It had been just two mouths meeting, tongues dancing, but his kisses could move mountains, part seas, redesign constellations. It had been that powerful. Kissing Mac was an out-of-body experience.

The universe knew what it was doing by keeping them apart. She wasn’t looking for a man and she certainly wasn’t looking for a man like Mac. Too big, too bold, too confident. A celebrity who had never heard of the word monogamy.

He was exactly what she didn’t need. Unfaithful. She was perfectly content to fly solo, she reminded herself.

The machine beeped to tell her the program had ended, and Rory started to stand up. The hand squeezing her thigh kept her in place. When she looked at Mac, his eyes were still closed but the corners of his mouth kicked up into a cocky smile.

“Best dream ever,” he said before slipping back into sleep.


Two (#u5cede290-e6d5-54f3-a916-02b7926c0f6e)

He’d been dreaming of Rory, something he hadn’t done in years, Mac realized as he surfaced out of a pain-saturated sleep. She’d been sitting cross-legged on his bed, her silver-gray eyes dancing. Wide smile, firm breasts, golden-brown hair that was so long, he remembered, that it flirted with her butt...five foot three of petite perfection.

In his dream he’d been French-kissing her and it had felt...man...amazing! Slow, hot, sexy—what a kiss should really be. Okay, he’d had far too many drugs if he was obsessing about a girl he’d wanted to kiss a lifetime ago. Mac shoved his left hand through his hair before pushing himself up using the same hand, trying but failing to ignore the slamming pain in his other arm as he moved.

This was bad. This was very, very bad.

Half lying, half sitting, he closed his eyes and fought the nausea gathering in his throat. Dimly aware of people entering his private hospital room, he fought the pain, pushed down the nausea and concentrated on those silver eyes he’d seen in his dream. The way her soft lips felt under his...

He had been dreaming, right?

“Do you need something for the pain, Mr. McCaskill?”

Mac jerked fully awake and looked into the concerned face of a guy a few years younger than him.

“I’m Troy Hunter, your nurse,” he said. “So, some meds? You’re due.”

“Hell yes,” Mac muttered. He usually hated drugs but he slowly rolled onto his good side, presenting his butt to be jabbed as Kade and Quinn walked into the room. “Hey, guys.”

Troy glanced at Mac’s visitors with his mouth dropped open, looking like any other fan did when the three of them were together...awestruck.

Tall and rock solid, in both stature and personality, Mac wasn’t surprised to see Kade and Quinn and so soon after his surgery. They were his friends, his onetime roommates, his colleagues...his family. They were, in every way that counted, his brothers.

After giving him the injection, Troy pulled up Mac’s shorts and stood back to look at him, his face and tone utterly professional. “Let’s get you sorted out. I need to do my boring nurse stuff and then I’ll leave you to talk.” He looked more closely at Mac. “You look uncomfortable.”

Mac nodded. He was half lying and half sitting but the thought of moving made him break out in a cold sweat. “Yeah, I am.”

“I can remedy that.” Troy, with surprising ease and gentleness for a man who was six-three and solid, maneuvered Mac into a position he could live with. While Troy wound a blood pressure cuff around Mac’s arm, Kade sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the bed, his expression serious.

“We would appreciate your discretion as to Mac’s condition,” he told Troy. That voice, not often employed, usually had sponsors, players and random citizens scattering.

Troy, to his credit, didn’t look intimidated. “I don’t talk about my patients. Ever.”

Kade stared at Troy for a long time before nodding once. “Thank you.”

They waited in silence until Troy left the room and then Kade turned to him and let out a stream of profanity.

Here it comes, Mac thought, resigned.

“What were you thinking, trying to move that fridge yourself? One call and one of us would’ve been there to help you!”

Mac shrugged. “It wasn’t that heavy. It started to fall and I tried to catch it.”

“Why the hell can’t you just ask for help?” Quinn demanded. “It’s serious, Mac, career-ending serious.”

Mac felt the blood in his face drain away. When he could speak, he pushed the words out between dry lips. “That bad, huh?”

Kade looked as white as Mac imagined himself to be. “That bad.”

“Physiotherapy?” Mac demanded.

“An outside chance at best,” Quinn answered him. He didn’t sugarcoat his words, and Mac appreciated it. He needed the truth.

Kade spoke again. “We’ve found someone to work with you. She’s reputed to be the best at sports rehabilitation injuries.”

Neither of his friends met his eyes, and his heart sank to his toes. He knew that look, knew that he wouldn’t like what was coming next.

“Who? Nurse Ratched?” he joked.

“Rory Kydd,” Kade told him, his face impassive.

“Rory? What?” he croaked, not liking the frantic note in his voice. It was bad enough seeing Rory in his dreams but being her patient would mean hitting the seventh level of hell.

There was a reason why he never thought of her, why he’d obliterated that day from his memory. He’d publicly humiliated himself and the world had seen him at his worst. Rory’d had a front-row seat to the behind-the-scenes action.

Saying what he had on that open mic had been bad enough but almost kissing his about-to-be ex’s sister was unforgiveable. At the time he’d been thinking of Rory a lot, had been, strangely, attracted to Shay’s petite but feisty younger sister. But he should never have caged her in, tempting them both. He knew better than to act on those kinds of feelings, even if his relationship with Shay had been sliding downhill.

His mother’s many messy affairs had taught him to keep his own liaisons clean, to remove himself from one situation before jumping into another. He’d forgotten those lessons the moment Rory looked at him with her wide, lust-filled eyes. His big brain shut down as his little brain perked up...

In the months afterward he hadn’t missed Shay—too needy, too insecure—but he had missed talking to, teasing, laughing with Rory. She’d been, before he mucked it up, his first real female friend.

That day he’d also unwittingly created a media superstorm and a public persona for himself. He’d been branded a player, a party-hard, commitment-phobic prick whose two objectives in life were to play with a puck and to chase skirts.

They had it half right...

Yes, he liked the occasional party and was commitment-phobic. Yes, he loved to play with a puck and yeah, he had sex, but not as much or with as many woman as was suggested in the tabloids. These days he was a great deal more discriminating about who he took into his bed, and it had been a couple of months since he’d been laid.

He looked down at his arm and scowled. It seemed like it would be a few more.

Quinn gripped the railing at the end of the bed with his massive hands. “Rory is the best and God knows you need the best. We need her because everything we’ve worked toward for the past five years is about to slip from our fingers because you were too pigheaded to ask for help!”

Kade frowned at their hotheaded friend. “Take it easy, Quinn. It wasn’t like he did it on purpose.”

No, but it was his fault. Mac tipped his head up to look at the ceiling. He’d failed again today, failed his team, his friends, his future.

And it looked like, once again, Rory would be there to witness it.

There had to be another option. “Find someone else! Anyone else!”

“Don’t be a moron!” Quinn told him.

Kade, always the voice of reason, stepped between them before they started to yell. “You’ll work with her while we do damage control on our end.”

Mac rested his head on his pillow, feeling the sedative effects of whatever the nurse had stuck in him. Ignoring the approaching grogginess, he sucked in some deep breaths and forced his brain to work.

Dammit, why did Vernon Hasselback have to die before they’d concluded the deal they’d all been discussing for the past decade? It was a simple plan: when the time was right he and Kade and Quinn would buy the franchise from Vernon. They’d been working toward this since they were all rookie players and they’d hammered out a detailed plan to raise the cash, which included using their player fees and endorsement money to invest in business opportunities to fund their future purchase of the franchise. The strategy had worked well. Within a decade they had a rock-solid asset base and were, by anyone’s standards, ridiculously wealthy. Money wasn’t an issue. They could buy the franchise without breaking much of a sweat. But to take the team and its brand to the next level they needed a partner who brought certain skills to the table. Someone who had bigger and better connections in all facets of the media, who could open the doors to mega-sponsorship deals, who had merchandising experience.

Unfortunately, because Vernon died in the bed of his latest mistress, his widow and the beneficiary of his entire estate wasn’t inclined to honor his wishes about passing the mantle on to the three of them. Myra wanted to sell the franchise to a Russian billionaire who’d acquired six sports teams in the past two years and was rebranding them to be generic, cardboard cutouts of the teams they once were and mouthpieces for his bland corporation. Kade had convinced Myra to give them some time but they knew she was impulsive and impatient. She would use any setback as an excuse to sell the franchise out from under them, and Mac’s injury was a very big setback.

“No one can know how badly I’m injured.”

Kade and Quinn nodded. “I’m very aware of that,” Kade said. “I also have a potential investor on the hook. He’s a loaded Mavericks fan, meets all our requirements and runs a massive media empire so nothing can jeopardize our negotiations. You are one of the reasons he wants to buy the team. He knows you only have a few more years left at this level and he wants you to spend that time mentoring the rookie talent.”

So, no additional pressure then. Mac pushed the drowsiness away. “So I have to start playing with his team when the season opens.”

“Essentially,” Quinn replied, blowing air into his cheeks. “If not sooner.”

Mac clenched his jaw in determination. It was the same attitude that had won the team the Stanley Cup two years ago, that had taken him from being just another rookie to one of the most exciting players of his generation. When he decided he was going to do something, achieve something, win something, nothing and nobody got in his way.

“Then I will be on the ice when the season opens.”

If that meant working with Rory, so be it. Yes, he’d embarrassed himself a very long time ago. It happened and it was time to move the hell on. He refused to give in or give up—not while there was a chance of getting what he wanted.

“Set up the physio and let’s get this party started.”

Kade smiled. “You had surgery earlier today. How about getting some sleep first?”

“Are you convinced Rory is the best?” he asked with slightly slurred words.

Kade nodded. “Yeah, she is.”

“Get her. Offer her what she needs so she can concentrate on me...” Stupid drugs, Mac thought, making him say the wrong thing. “On my arm. Not me.”

Quinn placed a hand on Mac’s good shoulder and squeezed. “Go to sleep, bud.”

Mac managed a couple more words before slipping off into sleep. “Offer her whatever it takes...”

* * *

Rory paused outside the door to Mac’s room the next day and hoisted her bag over her shoulder. She pushed her hand through her layered, choppy bob before smoothing out a crease that had appeared in her white and navy tunic, thinking that it had already been a weird day and it wasn’t even mid-morning yet. Her day had started with Kade contacting her at the crack of dawn, demanding a meeting to discuss Mac and his injury. She’d told him she could only give Mac her assessment of his injuries and if Mac wanted Kade there, then that was his prerogative. Kade had seemed more amused than annoyed by her crisp tone and had followed up his demands by telling her he had a proposition for her...one that she’d want to hear.

That was intriguing enough to get her to meet with them during her morning break.

Just knock on the door and get this meeting over with, Rory told herself. You are not nineteen anymore and desperately infatuated with your sister’s boyfriend. You’re a highly qualified professional who is in high demand. He’s a patient like any other.

Except none of her patients kissed her like he did, or flooded her system with take-me-quick hormones with one look from his navy eyes.

God, you are ridiculous, Rory thought, not amused.

Not allowing herself another minute to hesitate, she briskly knocked on the door, and when she heard his command to enter, she stepped inside. She ignored Mac’s two friends standing on either side of his bed and her gaze immediately landed on his face. She told her libido to calm down and gave Mac a professional once-over. He was wearing a V-neck T-shirt and someone, probably Troy, had removed the right sleeve. His injured arm was bandaged from wrist to shoulder and was supported by a sling. Clear, annoyed and very wary eyes met hers.

Mac, she also noticed, was in pain but he was fighting his way through it.

Rory looked at his friends, good-looking guys, and smiled. “Hello, Kade. Quinn.” Rory stepped toward the bed. “Mac. It’s been a while.”

Rory held her breath, waiting to see if he remembered the kiss they’d shared, whether he’d say anything about her being in his room the night before. His face remained inscrutable and the look in his eyes didn’t change. Thank God, he didn’t remember. That would make her life, and this experience, easier.

Or as easy as it could possibly be.

“Rory.”

Her name on his lips, she’d never thought she’d hear it again. She desperately wished it wasn’t under such circumstances. Rory gathered her wits and asked Quinn to move out of her way. When he did, she stepped up to the bed and pulled the smaller of the two blankets from her bag and placed the control box on the bedside table.

“What are you doing?” Mac demanded. “You’re here to talk, not to fuss.”

Rory looked him in the eye and didn’t react to his growl. “And we will talk, after I set this up.”

“What is it?” Kade demanded from his spot on the other side of the bed.

Rory explained how the blanket worked and gently tucked the mat around Mac’s injured arm. She started the program, stepped back and folded her arms. “You need some pain meds,” she told Mac.

“I’m fine,” Mac muttered, his tone suggesting she back off. That wasn’t going to happen. The sooner Mac learned that she wasn’t easily intimidated, the better. The trick with difficult patients, and obstinate men, was to show no fear.

“You either take some meds or I walk out this door,” Rory told him, her voice even. Her words left no doubt that she wasn’t bluffing. She picked up the two pills that sat next to a glass of water and waited until Mac opened his hand to receive them. He sent her a dirty look, dry swallowed them and reluctantly chased them down with water from the glass she handed to him.

“You’re not a martyr, nor a superhero, so take the meds on schedule,” she told him in her best no-nonsense voice.Rory held his hot look and in his eyes she saw frustration morph into something deeper, darker, sexier.

Whoo boy! Internal temperature rising...

“You cut your hair,” Mac said, tipping his head to the side.

“Quite a few times in the past decade,” Rory replied, her voice tart. One of them had to get this conversation back on track and it looked like she’d been elected.

Fantastic kiss aside, Mac was a potential patient, nothing more, nothing less. She’d be professional if it killed her. She deliberately glanced at her watch and lifted her arched eyebrows. “I have another patient in thirty minutes...so let’s skip the small talk and you can tell me why I’m really here.”

“I need a physiotherapist.”

“Obviously.” Rory shrugged. “You’re going to need a lot of therapy to get your arm working properly.”

“I don’t want it to work properly. I want it to be as good as new,” Mac stated. “In two months’ time.”

“In your dreams.” Okay, everyone knew Mac was determined but he wasn’t stupid. “That’s not going to happen. You know that’s not possible.”

Mac pulled on his stubborn expression. “It is going to happen and I’ll be back on the ice with or without your help.”

Rory sent Kade and Quinn a “help me” look but they just stood there. She was on her own, it seemed. “McCaskill, listen to me. You half ripped a tendon off the bone. It was surgically reattached. We don’t know how much damage you’ve done to the nerves. This injury needs time to heal—”

“I don’t have time,” Mac told her. “I’ve got a couple of months and that’s it.”

Rory shoved her hands into her hair in sheer frustration. “You can sit out another couple of months—you are not indispensable!”

Dammit, her voice was rising. Not good. Do not let him rattle you!

“Two months and I need to be playing. That’s it, Rory, that’s all the time I’ve got,” Mac insisted. “Now, either I get you to help me do that or I take my chances on someone else.”

“Someone you will railroad into allowing you to do what you want, when you want, probably resulting in permanent damage.” This was how he’d be in a relationship, she thought. All bossy and stubborn and determined to have his way.

After a lifetime of watching her father steamroll their mother, those weren’t characteristics she’d ever tolerate.

“Maybe,” was all Mac said.

Rory placed her hands on the bed and leaned forward, brows snapping together. “Why are you doing this, Mac? You have enough money, enough accolades to allow you to sit out a couple of months, a couple of seasons. This is not only unnecessary, it’s downright idiotic!”

Mac pulled in a deep breath. For a split second she thought that he might explain, that he’d give her a genuine, responsible reason for his stance. Then his eyes turned inscrutable and she knew it wouldn’t happen. “I play. That’s what I do.”

Rory shook her head, disappointed. He was still the same attention-seeking, hot-dogging, arrogant moron he’d been in his twenties. Did he really believe the hype that he was indispensable and indestructible?

“You’re ridiculous, that’s what you are,” Rory said as she straightened. She sent his friends a blistering look. “You’re supporting him in this?”

Kade and Quinn nodded, reluctantly, but they still nodded. Right, so it seemed like she was the only clear thinker in the room. She had to try one more time. “It’s one season! You’d probably not even miss the entire season...”

Mac looked resolute. “I have to be there, Rory.”

Mac had a will of iron. He was going to play, come hell or high water. She wouldn’t be able to change his mind.

“It’s my choice and I’ll live with the consequences,” Mac told her. “I’m not the type to create a storm and then bitch when it rains.”

There was no doubting the sincerity in his words. Now, responsibility was something her father had never grasped, she thought. He’d been a serial adulterer and when he got caught—and he always got caught—there were a million reasons why it wasn’t his fault. And, really, why was she thinking about her father? Honestly, woman, concentrate!

She might not agree with what Mac wanted to do, it was a colossal mistake in her professional opinion, but it seemed he was prepared to accept the consequences of his decisions. She had to respect that. But didn’t have to be party to his madness.

She dropped her eyes from his face to look at the control box. “There’s still twenty minutes to go. I’ll ask Troy to disconnect the mat and pack it away. Have a nice life.”

Rory turned around and walked toward the door, thinking that her bosses at Craydon’s Physiotherapy would throw a hissy fit if they found out she’d turned down the opportunity to treat the great Mac McCaskill.

A part of her wanted to stay, to carry on trying to convince him—them—why this was the stupidest plan in history. But you’re not the jackass whisperer, her brain informed her.

She had her hand on the door when Mac spoke again. “Rory, dammit...wait!”

Rory turned and saw the silent conversation taking place between the three friends. Kade nodded, Quinn looked frustrated but resigned and Mac looked annoyed.

Well, tough.

“Why can’t anything ever be easy with you?” he muttered, and Rory lifted an eyebrow. This from the man who’d dissed Shay on national television and created a public scandal with her sister at the center? Who’d—sort of—made a move on Rory, thereby causing a riff between her and Shay that took many months to heal? Seriously?

“It isn’t my job to make things easy for you,” Rory retorted. “If there’s nothing else...?”

“Hell yes, there’s a big something else!” Mac snapped. “And if you repeat it I’ll blow a gasket.”

Rory just stared at him. The Kydd girls didn’t blab. If they did they could’ve made themselves a nice chunk of change selling their Mac stories to the tabloids.

Mac rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand and proceeded to explain how his being hurt could materially affect the Mavericks. Rory listened, shocked, as Mac dissected the implications of his injury. “If Chenko buys the team, Kade will be replaced as CEO, Quinn’s coaching contract won’t be renewed and if I’m injured, I’m too old for them to give me another chance. The Mavericks will be turned into another corporate team—and I will not let that happen.”

Rory took a moment to allow his words to make sense. When they did, her jaw tightened. The Mavericks were a Vancouver institution that had been owned by the Hasselbacks for generations and she knew—thanks to listening to Troy’s rants on the subject over the years—that when corporate businesses took over sports teams, the magic dissipated. Traditions were lost; fans were disappointed; the players lost their individuality. It became soulless and clinical. She kept her eyes on Mac, pale-faced and stressed. “And if you do play?”

“Then we have a chance of saving the team.”

“How?” Rory demanded.

“It’s complicated, and confidential, but we need a particular type of partner, one who has the connections and skills in PR, merchandising, sponsorships. Even though we are retaining control, we are asking for a lot of money for a minor share and we have to accept that I am the face of the team and an essential part of the deal. I have to play.” Mac rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers, his gesture indicating pain or frustration or exhaustion. Probably all three. “This isn’t about me, not this time. Or, at least, it isn’t all about me. If I could take the time off I would, I’m not that arrogant. But I need to get back on the ice and, apparently, you’re my best bet.”

Rory bit her bottom lip, knowing what he was asking was practically impossible. “The chance of you being able to play in two months’ time is less than ten percent, Mac. Practically nonexistent.”

“I can do it, Rory. You just need to show me how.”

She nearly believed him. If anybody could do it then it would be him.

“Mac, you could do yourself some permanent damage.”

Mac pressed his lips together. “Again, my choice, my consequences.”

God, why did that have to resonate so deeply with her? Okay, so this wasn’t all about him and his career. A part of it was, of course it was, but she knew how much the Mavericks meant to him. There had been many reports about the bond he shared with his mentor, the now dead owner of the team. The cheating dead owner of the Mavericks—dying in his mistress’s bed.

Don’t think about that, she told herself. With her history of a having a serial cheater for a father, it was a sure way to get her blood pressure spiking.

She had to disregard the emotion around this decision, try to forget he was attempting to save his team, his friends’ jobs and the traditions of the Mavericks, which were an essential part of the city’s identity. She had to look at his injury, his need and his right to treatment. If this were any other sportsman and not Mac, would she be trying to help him? Yeah, she would.

And really, if she didn’t help Mac, Troy might never speak to her again.

She nodded reluctantly. “Okay. I’ll help you, as much as I can.”

Mac, to her surprise, didn’t look jubilant or excited. He just looked relieved and wiped out. “Thank you,” he quietly said.

Rory turned to Kade. “You need to contact my office, sign a formal contract with my employers.”

Kade grimaced. “Yeah, that’s the other thing...we’d like to cut out the middleman.”

Rory lifted up her hands in frustration. Was nothing going to be simple today? “What does that mean?”

Kade jerked his head in Mac’s direction and Rory saw that his head was back against his pillow and his eyes were closed. “Let’s carry on this discussion outside and I’ll fill you in.”

“Why do I know that you’re about to complicate my life even further?” Rory demanded when they were standing in the passage outside Mac’s room.

“Because you are, obviously, a very smart woman,” Kade said, placing a large hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go get some coffee and we’ll sort this mess out.”

That sounded like an excellent idea since she desperately needed a cup of liquid sanity.


Three (#u5cede290-e6d5-54f3-a916-02b7926c0f6e)

Rory walked into the diner situated around the corner from St. Catherine’s Hospital and scanned the tables, looking for her best friend. It had only been an hour since Kade had laid out his terms, and she needed Troy to talk her off the ledge...

Dressed in skinny jeans and a strappy white crop top, she ignored the compliments coming from a table of construction workers on her left. She waved at Troy and smiled at grumbles behind her when they saw her breakfast companion—huge, sexy and, not that they’d ever realize it, gay. With his blond hair, chiseled jaw and hot bod, he had guys—and girls—falling over him and had the social life of a boy band member.

Unlike her who, according to Mr. Popular, partied like a nun.

Troy stood up as she approached and she reached up to place a kiss on his cheek. He’d changed out of his uniform into jeans and a T-shirt but he still looked stressed.

“Rough night? Is Mac being a pain in your backside?” she asked him.

“He’s not a problem at all. I was at the home until late. My mom had a bad episode.”

Rory sent him a sympathetic look. Troy’s mom suffered from dementia and most of his cash went to funding the nursing home he’d put her into. Unfortunately the home wasn’t great, but it was the best he could afford.

Rory had decided a long time ago that when she opened her clinic Troy would be her first hire, at a salary that would enable him to move his mom out of that place into a nicer home. Hopefully, if they did well, he could also move out of his horrible apartment and buy a decent car. “Sorry, honey.”

Troy shrugged as they sat down on opposite sides of the table. “You look as frazzled as I do. What’s up?”

“So much,” Rory replied. “Let’s order and I’ll tell you a story.” She pushed the folder she’d been carrying toward Troy. “Look at this.”

After they ordered, Rory tapped the file with her index finger. “Read.”

“Mark McCaskill?” Troy looked at the label. “Why do you have Open Mac’s file?”

Rory pulled a face as the waitress poured them coffee. She’d always loathed that nickname since it was a play on the microphone incident from so long ago, something she didn’t need to be constantly reminded of. Then again, his other nickname, PD—short for Panty Dropper—was even worse. “If you’re not going to read it then fill me in on all the gossip about him.”

Troy frowned. “Why?”

“I’ll explain.” She waved her hand. “Go. Center and captain of the Vancouver Mavericks hockey team. Incredible player, one of the very best. Dates a variety of women. What else?”

Troy rested his forearms on the table, his face pensive. “Well, he’s spokesperson for various campaigns, epilepsy being one of them. He sits on the boards of a few charities, mostly relating to children. He’s also, thanks to investing in bars, restaurants and food trucks, one of the wealthiest bachelors in town. He’s also supremely haawwwt,” Troy added. “And surprisingly nice, even though I know how stressed he must be wondering if this injury will keep him out for the season.”

Mac—nice? Yeah, sure.

Troy flicked the file open and flipped through the pile of papers. “You’re treating him?”

Rory nodded and Troy looked confused. “But this isn’t a Craydon file,” he added, referring to the distinctive yellow-and-blue patient files used at the physiotherapy practice she worked for. “What gives, Rorks?”

Rory folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot, her big, silver-gray eyes tight with worry. How much to tell him? As much as she could, she decided, he was her best friend. She trusted him implicitly and valued his judgment. Still, sharing didn’t come easily to her so she took a moment to work out what to say. “Mac and I have a...history.”

Troy’s snort was disbelieving. “Honey, you’re not his type. He dates tall, stacked, exotic gazelles.”

Rory scowled. She knew what type of woman Mac dated. She saw them every time she opened a newspaper or magazine. “I know that I am short, and flat-chested,” Rory snapped. “You don’t need to rub it in.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Troy quietly stated. “Yeah, you’re short but you have a great figure, you know that you do. And there’s nothing wrong with your chest.”

“Like you’d know,” Rory muttered.

“I know that you desperately need some masculine hands on your boobs and on other more exciting parts of your body. It’s been a year, eighteen months, since you’ve had some action?”

Actually it was closer to two years, but she’d rather die than admit that to Mr. Cool. “Can we concentrate on my McCaskill problem please?”

“He’s a problem?”

“You’ve forgotten that Shay was dating him during the open-mic disaster.”

Troy’s mouth dropped open. “I did forget that. He said he was bored with her, that monogamy was for the birds.”

“Yep. Obviously that’s a position he still holds.”

Troy leaned back so the waitress could put their food down. He frowned at Rory’s sarcastic comment. “Honey, that was a long time ago and he was young. Shay’s moved on...what’s the problem?”

“He’s a man-slut. It annoys me.”

“It shouldn’t. He didn’t cheat on you,” Troy pointed out, and Rory stared down at her plate.

No, he’d almost cheated on her sister with her. The intention had been there. He would’ve cheated if Rory hadn’t stopped him. He was just like her father and exactly the last person in the world she should be attracted to.

It made absolutely no sense at all.

She’d never told Troy—or anyone—what had happened between her and Mac and she still couldn’t. Hurting her sister hadn’t been her finest moment.

“Okay, admittedly, Mac is not the poster boy for love and commitment so I kind of get your antipathy to him since you have such a huge issue with infidelity,” Troy said after taking a sip of his coffee.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Rory demanded. “Have issues with it?”

“No. And if they do, they don’t take it to the nth degree like you do. Hell, Rorks, I recall you not accepting a date from a perfectly nice guy because you said he had a ‘cheating face.’”

Rory ignored his air quotes and lifted her nose in the air. “Okay, maybe that was wrong of me.”

“Wrong of you? It was properly ridiculous.”

Troy tapped the folder before he attacked his eggs. “Tell me how this came about.”

Rory filled him in and Troy listened, fascinated.

“So, they want you, widely regarded as the best sports rehab physio in the area, to work on Mac. Why didn’t they just approach the clinic directly and hire you that way?”




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