“Want to clue me in on why you’ve had a change of heart?”
You scare the crap out of me? When I’m with you I feel like I am on shifting sand? I don’t want to see you hurt or scared or feeling hunted?
Yeah, he couldn’t admit to any of the above.
So he fudged the truth. “My arm is killing me. I’d like to get to the house and chill, take my meds and just zone out for a while. I want to relax and not have to worry about you or keeping you happy, in bed or out.” Mac stared past her to look out the window. “I’d like us to play it cool, just be friends.” Because he was a man and believed in keeping his options open, he tacked on a proviso. “For now?”
Rory didn’t answer, her gray eyes contemplative. “Sure. Fine.”
Mac watched her out of the corner of his eye and sighed. Fine. God, he hated that word, especially when a woman stated it in that hard-to-read way. What did it actually mean? Was she okay with waiting? Was she pissed? Did she actually want to say “Screw you”?
Sometimes, most times, women made no sense. At all.
Rory loved the Cap de Mar beach house. Shortly after her arrival, she claimed one of the smaller guest rooms, partly because it had an excellent view of the U-shaped bay and mostly because it was a floor below and a long way from the massive master suite.
She pulled on a bikini, a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and, walking barefoot, she set out to explore the house. As Mac had said, the living areas, sitting and dining room and the kitchen were all open-plan, leading onto a massive balcony filled with comfortable chairs and daybeds either under the balcony roof or under umbrellas. Tucked into the corner of the balcony was a huge Jacuzzi and she could easily imagine sitting in that tub watching the sun go down.
It was mid-afternoon now, Rory thought, resting her elbows on the railing and looking down into the sparkling pool below her. In a perfect world she’d like to take a swim, lie in the sun and then sit on the beach with a glass of white wine in her hand and wait for the sun to paint the horizon in Day-Glo colors. That, she thought, would be a wonderful end to a rather difficult day...
Rory saw a movement out of the corner of her eye and saw Mac step out of his bedroom through the doors that led straight onto this balcony. He’d shucked his jeans and shirt and pulled on a pair of board shorts. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt. Why should he? He had a torso to die for.
The rest of him was pretty spectacular too.
Rory huffed out a sigh. She had to corral her overexcited hormones. Speaking of hormones, she’d been caught flat-footed at Mac’s suggestion they postpone sleeping together. She hadn’t expected Mac would let his arm get in the way of pleasure, or that he was humble enough to admit he was in pain and needed some time.
Mac, barefoot, walked over and gestured to the cove. “Nice, isn’t it?”
“Gorgeous,” Rory agreed. “It almost feels like we are part of the beach.”
Mac half smiled. “That was the intention when I designed it. I wanted to bring the outdoors in.”
“You designed this?”
Mac sat down on a daybed and leaned back, placing his good hand under his head. His biceps bulged, his shoulder flexed and the rest of him rippled as he swung his legs up onto the cushions. “Yeah.”
She remembered something about him and architecture, about studying it in college. When he was dating Shay, he’d just completed some business courses and Rory had been super impressed that he’d managed to study and still play for the Mavericks. He hadn’t needed to study further; he was earning enough with his salary and endorsements that, if he invested it properly, he could live comfortably for a very long time.
This wasn’t living comfortably, Rory thought, looking around. This was living large. An island home on a secluded beach translated into big-boy money. She recalled what Troy had said about him and his friends investing in property and businesses, and her curiosity had her asking, “How many properties do you own? How many businesses do you have?”
Mac looked at her from below half-closed eyes. “Enough.” He yawned and dropped his arm to pick up a pillow and shove it behind his head. “You want a statement of my assets and liabilities, Rory?”
Rory flushed. Okay, admittedly, she had no right to ask him that; they weren’t lovers. They weren’t even friends. And she’d rather die than ask any of her other clients such a personal question.
“Kade, Quinn and I have our own projects but a lot of our assets are held together in a partnership, and all the assets we share have to generate an income, this house included. It’s our rule. If it doesn’t make money, we ditch it. That is why we get to use this property but, for the most part, it’s rented out. Not so much during the summer months because it’s so damn hot and it’s hurricane season.”
Rory darted a quick look toward the endlessly blue horizon. “Hurricanes?”
“They happen,” Mac replied. “They aren’t that bad. A lot of wind, a lot of rain.”
“Super,” Rory said drily.
Mac shifted in his seat and winced when he moved his injured arm, trying to find a more comfortable position.
“Did you take your painkillers and the anti-inflammatory pills?” Rory demanded.
“Yes, Mom, that’s why I’m feeling so damn sleepy,” Mac murmured. He waved a hand toward the house. “Food and drinks in the kitchen. I asked our rental agent to arrange for someone to stock the place. I’ve also arranged for someone to come and clean and do laundry a couple of times a week. Otherwise we’re on our own.”
On our own was a phrase she did not need to hear.
“Okay,” Rory said, watching him fight sleep.
“Jeep in the garage. Keys in the kitchen. San Juan is thirty-five minutes away, north. Casinos, restaurants five minutes away, south.” Mac yawned again. “Make yourself at home.”
“Will do,” Rory said, but she doubted he’d heard her because he’d drifted off to sleep. He still had a frown on his face as she moved an umbrella closer to him so he could sleep in the shade. Her thumb moved over the creases on his forehead and she wondered what was making him worry. Their deal to buy the Mavericks franchise, his injury, being alone with Rory in this house?
She might have her fair share of problems but Mac had his too.
He wasn’t always who she expected him to be, Rory admitted. Sure, he could be overconfident about his abilities and about the effect he had on her, but he was also honest enough to admit that their attraction was a two-way street. She affected him just as badly. She didn’t know Mac well, not yet, and because he was so damn reticent, she probably never would. But she did know he wasn’t the arrogant jerk he’d been ten years ago. He was ambitious and determined, but he wasn’t selfish. He was smart and loyal and, yes, infuriating.
It was a surprise to realize that she liked him. A lot. And that liking had nothing to do with his masculine face and sculpted muscles.
There was a great deal more to Mac McCaskill than his pretty packaging. Dammit.
With every conversation they shared he shattered another of her preconceptions. If they continued these conversations, she’d start to like him a little more than she should, and there was a possibility she would feel more for him than lust and attraction.
She couldn’t let that happen. She would have to try to ignore him,