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There were many reasons to downplay his injury, but the thought of putting Rory through the same hell Shay experienced at the hands of those rabid wolves made him feel sick. Not happening, he decided.
Not again.
Thank God she’d refused his asinine suggestion to move in with him. Wasn’t that a perfect example of how his brain shut down whenever she was around? If she moved in he’d give them, mmm, maybe five minutes before they were naked and panting.
He had no choice but to keep his attraction to her under control, keep his distance—emotionally and physically. He had to protect himself and protect her, and the only way to do both was to put her in the neutral zone—that mental zone he’d created for people, events, stuff that didn’t, or shouldn’t, impact him.
So he’d put her there, but he wasn’t convinced, in any way, shape or form, that she’d actually remain there.
* * *
Rory stood on the pavement outside Mac’s Kitsilano home, the key Mac had given her earlier in her hand. The house wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d thought he’d have a blocky, masculine home with lots of concrete and steel. She hadn’t expected the three-story with its A-pitched roof, painted the color of cool mist with dark gray accents. It looked more like a home and less like the den of sin she’d expected.
Rory walked up the steps to the front door, slid the key into the lock and entered the house, stopping to shove the key back into the front pocket of her jeans. There was good art on the wall, she noticed as she moved farther into the living area, and the leather furniture was oversize and of high quality. A massive flat-screen TV dominated one wall, and apart from a couple of photographs of the three Maverick-teers, there wasn’t anything personal in the room. Mac had no hockey memorabilia on display, nothing to suggest he was the hottest property on ice. She’d expected his walls to be covered with framed jerseys and big self-portraits. Instead his taste ran to original art and black-and-white photographs.
“Rory?” Mac’s voice drifted down the stairs. “Come on up. Top floor.”
She walked back into the hallway and up the stairs. She reached the second floor, looked down the passage and wished she could explore. Instead she jogged up the short, second flight that ended at the entrance to an expansive bedroom. The high pitch of the roof formed the paneled ceiling. The room was dominated by a massive king-size messy but empty bed. Rory looked around and saw Mac sprawled on a long sofa on the far side of the room. His head rested against the arm and his eyes were closed. Pain had etched deep grooves next to his mouth. His normally tanned skin was pale and he was taking long, slow, measured breaths.
His eyes didn’t open but his mouth did. “Hey, were there any press people outside when you let yourself in?”
“No, why?”
“Just asking.”
Rory dropped her gaze and her eyebrows lifted at his unbuttoned white shirt, his unzipped gray suit pants and his bare feet. An aqua tie lay on the seat next to him, on top of what was obviously a matching suit jacket. Black shoes and socks sat on the wood coffee table in front of him.
Oh, hell, no! “Going somewhere?”
“Planning on it.”
“The only place you are going is back to bed.” Rory folded her arms against her chest. “You need a full-time nurse, McCaskill.”
If she moved in then she could stop him from making stupid decisions. But would she be able to stop herself from making stupid decisions, like sleeping with him?
“I don’t need a nurse, I need a morphine drip,” Mac responded, finally opening his eyes and squinting at her.
“Would you care to explain why you are all dressed up when you should be in bed, resting that injury?” Rory demanded, annoyed. This was what she’d been worried about. Mac thought that he was a superhero, that the usual consequences of surgery and injury didn’t apply to him.
Despite the fact that he was a very intelligent man, the wheel was turning but the hamster seemed to be dead.
“Don’t give me grief, Rory,” Mac said, sounding exhausted. “Trust me, there is no place I’d rather be than in bed but something came up.”
“A wine auction? A ball? A poker game?” Rory asked, her eyebrows lifting. Mac was very active on the Vancouver social scene and he was, with the women who spun in and out of his life, invited to all the social events.
Mac, despite his pain, managed to send her an annoyed glance. “Myra Hasselback, current owner of the Mavericks, is holding an end-of-season cocktail party for the sponsors, management and staff. I can’t miss it. As Captain, I am expected to be there.”
“But...” Rory looked from him to his arm and back again. “Does she know that you are hurt?”
Mac’s smile was grim. “Oh, she knows, but she doesn’t know how bad it is. Kade told her it’s a slight sprain, nothing for her to worry about. She told Kade to tell me she was looking forward to seeing me tonight. Besides, she knows I would move heaven and earth to be at the cocktail party. It’s a tradition that was important to Vernon.” Mac sat up slowly. “She’d suspect something if I wasn’t there.”
“Judging by your pale face and pain-filled eyes she’s going to suspect something anyway.” Rory sighed her frustration. “What do the other two Maverick-teers have to say on the subject?”
“They wanted me to fake a stomach bug or an allergic reaction to medication.”
“Not a bad idea. Why not go with that?”
Mac looked uncomfortable. “I suppose I could but I don’t want to give her an excuse to arrive on my doorstep after the party is over to check on me.”
“She’s done that before?” Rory asked.
Mac looked uncomfortable, and not from the pain. “Yeah, once or twice.”
Rory turned his words over, recalling the thirty-year difference between Myra and her dead husband. Ah, the widow wanted naked comforting.
Rory wanted to ask if he’d slept with Myra but she mentally slapped her hand across her mouth. She had no right to ask that but... But nothing. She had no right to know.
“Anyway, about the party, I need to be there. The speculation will be endless if I don’t attend. It would raise a lot of questions, questions I do not want to answer.” Mac looked stubborn. “No, it’s better for me to act like everything is normal as far as I possibly can. So, will you please help me finish getting dressed?”
“I’m not happy about this, Mac.”
“I know. I’m not either.”
But he’d go, Rory realized. He needed rest and time for that injury to heal but he would do what he always did. If this was his intended pace, they were in for some serious problems.
Rory walked across his bedroom to stand in front of the huge windows and watched a container ship navigate the sound. But her thoughts weren’t on the gorgeous view, they were on that stubborn man who didn’t know the meaning of the words slow down, take it easy. To heal, Mac needed rest and lots of it. It was that simple, that imperative.
That difficult.
Dammit, she was going to have to move in here. His arm, his career, the Mavericks were at risk and she was balking because he had the ability to melt the elastic on her panties. She was better, stronger, a great deal more professional than that.
She was a smart, independent, focused woman who could say no to what wasn’t good for her. Who could, who would, keep their relationship strictly professional.
“Don’t even think about it. You are not now, or ever, going to move in.”
Dammit! Had he started reading her mind now? When? How? “But you suggested it earlier.”
“I changed my mind. It would be a terrible idea. Moving on, are you going to help me or not?” Mac demanded, sounding irritable.
She wanted to be petty and tell him to go to hell but she knew he was stubborn enough to dress himself. One fight at a time, Rory thought.
“Yes. If you take some painkillers,” Rory stated, her tone discouraging any arguments. “You look like a breath of wind could blow you over, Mac, and there is no way anyone will believe you have a slight sprain if you walk into that room looking like that. Painkillers...that’s my demand.”
“They make me feel like hell. Spacey and out of control,” Mac muttered.
“I have some in my bag. They aren’t as strong as yours but they’ll take the edge off.” Rory looked at her watch. “What time do you need to leave for this party?”
“Kade and Quinn should be here any moment.” A door slammed below them and the corner of Mac’s mouth kicked up. “Speaking of the devil and his sidekick...”
“Who is the devil and who is the sidekick?” Rory asked.
“Depends on the occasion. We all have our moments.”
Now that she could believe. Rory jammed her hands into the pockets of her jeans and rocked on her heels. “I’ll run downstairs to get those painkillers and one of your sidekicks can come back up and help you dress.”
“Aw, they aren’t as pretty as you. Nor do they smell as good.”
“I’m not so sure...they are both very pretty and they do smell good,” she teased.
Mac sent her a narrow-eyed look. “Do not flirt with my friends.”
He sounded jealous. But that was probably just her imagination running off again.
“Why on earth not?” Rory asked, deliberately ignoring the heat building between her legs and the thump-thump of her heartbeat.
“I wouldn’t like it,” Mac growled.
Rory forced herself to do a massive eye roll as she edged her way to the door. “I think you are confusing me with someone who might actually give a damn.”
“Rory?”
When she turned, Mac did a slow perusal of her body. She felt like he’d plugged her into the electricity grid. “Seriously, no flirting.”
“Seriously, you’re an idiot.” Rory made a big production of her sigh. “They really should invent a vaccine to prevent that.”
* * *
The next morning Mac, dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, walked into his kitchen and, ignoring his two friends sitting at his table, headed straight for the coffeepot. Filling a cup to the brim, he gulped a sip, shuddered, swallowed another mouthful and prayed the caffeine would hit his system in the next thirty seconds. He felt like death warmed over. His arm was on fire, his head was pounding and he wanted to climb back into bed and sleep for a week. He supposed being out last night and pretending he was fine contributed to his less than stellar mood.
As did the drugs and the anesthetic, he realized. It always took time for drugs to work their way out of his system. He felt like a wet blanket was draped over his head. He’d work through it, as he always did.
He jerked his head at his friends and looked around the kitchen. “Where’s Rory?”
“She went home,” Quinn replied, taking a donut from the box on the table and biting into it.
“But...” Mac frowned, looking toward the front door. “I thought she was here earlier. She wrapped that mat thing around my arm.”
“She was. Now she’s gone,” Quinn replied, stretching out his long legs. “Need anything? I can make eggs.”
Mac shook his head, smiling internally. Quinn, their resident badass, was a nurturer at heart, intent on making the world around him better and brighter for the people he loved. There weren’t many people he showed his softer side to. To the world he was an adrenaline-addicted bad boy, speed-freak player, but his family and close friends knew he would move heaven and earth for the people he loved.
“I’m good, thanks.”
Kade pushed back his chair and pulled back the cuff of his shirt to look at his watch. It was new, Mac realized, and damn expensive. “I’ve got to get moving, my morning is crazy.”
“Can you give me fifteen minutes?” Mac asked, picking up his coffee. “We need to talk.”
He didn’t want to do this. Frankly he was considering abdicating all his rights to adulthood at this point and going back to bed, but he leaned against the counter and held his cup in his good hand.
“What’s up?” Quinn asked.
“This situation is a classic cluster...” Mac allowed his words to trail away and rubbed the back of his neck. He needed air. This kitchen was far too small for three six-foot-plus men.
“Let’s go outside.” Mac placed his cup on the table and grabbed a donut. Maybe a sugar rush would make him feel better. He took one bite, grimaced and tossed the donut back into the box.
Kade and Quinn exchanged a long, worried look, which made Mac grind his back teeth. He was about to knock some heads together—okay, he couldn’t beat up a worm at the moment but the thought was there—when Kade stood up and walked over to the open doors that led to the small patio. Mac followed him out into the sunshine and Quinn lumbered to his feet to do the same.
They looked over the houses below them, across False Creek and toward the Lions Gate Bridge and the mountains beyond. God, he loved this city and its endless, changing views. He couldn’t think of living anywhere else; this was home. He’d had offers from teams all over the continent but he’d never been willing to be traded, and Vernon had kept him, and Kade and Quinn. Unless they managed to buy the Mavericks, that would all change. Mac didn’t mind change, as long it was the change he wanted.
“I’m really worried about the press finding out about my injury,” Mac quietly stated.
Kade rested his forearms on the railing and cocked his head to look at Mac. “We put out a press release stating you have a minor injury and that you should be fine soon.”
Not good enough, Mac decided. “There’s too much at stake.”
Quinn frowned. “But only the three of us and Rory know the truth. The doctors and nurses are bound by patient confidentiality. I think we’ll be okay.”
Mac rubbed his chin. “Until the press realizes I am spending an enormous amount of time with my ex-girlfriend’s sister.”
It took a minute for the implications of that scenario to register with his friends. When it did, they both looked uneasy. Kade rubbed his chin. “That was the incident that started their obsession with what we do, who we date.”
Mac felt a spurt of guilt. “Yeah. And if they find out about Rory, how will we explain why we are spending time together?” He frowned. “I will not tell them we are seeing each other, in any capacity. God, that would open up a nasty can of worms, not only for Rory but for Shay, as well.”
“And even if you told them she was your physio, that statement would raise questions as to why we aren’t using our resident physios, why we need her to treat you,” Kade said. “Especially since your injury is supposed to be a minor one.”
“Bingo.”
Quinn swore. “What’s that saying about lies and tangles we weave?”
“Shut up, Shakespeare.” Kade stood up, looking worried. So was Mac. He’d spent most of the night thinking about how they could avoid this very wide, imminent pitfall.
Quinn leaned his hip against the railing and narrowed his eyes. “We’ve painted ourselves into a corner. We’ve downplayed your injury and said you’ll be fine in a couple of weeks. When you are not fine in a week or two, how are we going to explain that?”
“I have a solution,” Mac said. “I don’t like it—in fact, I hate it. I need to be here, working with you on the deal to purchase the team. But it’s all I can think of...”
“Well?” Quinn demanded, impatient.
“I need to get out of the city.”
Kade tapped his finger against his chin. “Yeah, but any fool can see you are more badly injured than we say you are. We got away with lying once, only because the injury was brand-new, but we can’t keep shoveling that story. Your eyes are dull, you can tell you are on hectic painkillers.”
“I’ll stop the drugs,” Mac insisted.
“Now who is being stupid?” Quinn demanded.
“Last night you hadn’t taken the proper pain meds and you looked like a walking corpse,” Kade said. “The point is that people will notice and that will lead to complications. I think your instinct is right. It’s best for you to leave. We can tell Myra, the press, anyone who cares that you are taking an extended vacation.”
Mac swore. “I have no idea where to go. There’s nowhere I want to go.”
